Nat drove up a small hill, finally pulling the car into a gravel driveway, and your heart fluttered in your chest.

It wasn’t a campground.

It was a fucking cabin. Small, wood-paneled walls, a triangular red roof with a chimney on its left side like the whole thing had come out of a children’s book. There was a large strip of green grass ahead of it — an actual front yard, filled with majestic trees and a beautiful selection of potted plants by the porch, not to mention a rocking chair right next to the door and a round firepit a few feet away, two thick logs on either side of it. In the distance, a lake. An actual lake with an actual pier and an actual kayak tied to it. The forest stretched a bit further, a clear pathway between some trees leading to what you could only assume was a hiking trail.

You were speechless.

“Nat…” You blinked, trying to make sense of what you saw. “What is this?”

She chuckled proudly.

“I told you you were gonna like it when you saw it,” she simply said, letting out a breath as her back relaxed against the driver’s seat.

Luke’s soft snore in the backseat brought a smile to your lips, or maybe it was the view, you couldn’t know for sure.

“I thought this was a camping trip,” you muttered, still disbelieving.

“It is,” Nat tilted her head, pointing at the front yard area. “There’s a place to build a fire, there’s a lake, there’s enough space to set up a tent for Luke. He’s gonna have the full experience.”

You chuckled, incredulous.

“There’s a house.”

She nodded, the grin widening on her lips as she gave you a smug look.

“Technically, it’s a cabin.”

You kept staring at the whole ensemble with your jaw on the floor, still assembling the fact that the weekend ahead was about to be infinitely easier than you’d anticipated, all things considered. Nat shrugged lightly in that same way she used to when she knew she did a good thing but didn’t want to draw any attention to it.

“You didn’t think I was gonna make you sleep in a tent, did you? Little miss indoors?” She huffed a laugh, casual, low. “Just because Luke wants to camp doesn’t mean we have to suffer through it. This way everybody’s happy.”

You shook your head, trying to avoid the weakness in your knees that came with the realization of how incredible this was. Sure, you were pretty certain Nat also didn’t want to have to go through the whole cramped-up-RV or shacking-up-in-the-same-tent situation, but you didn’t expect her to be so amazing. To go through the trouble of finding a place that would work for everyone. To give Luke exactly what he wanted while making sure you’d be as comfortable as you could in a situation like this.

“That’s fucking genius,” was all you managed to say, getting one last good look at the view through the windshield before unbuckling your seatbelt. “How did you even…?”

“Crazy what Google can do when you use the right words on your search,” she unbuckled herself too, looking at you for just a brief moment before turning around to catch a glimpse of your son. “You get him while I pick up the bags in the trunk?”

“Yeah, sure.”

And so you stepped into your co-parent role, fighting not to let yourself get too impressed, grabbing Luke from the backseat while he stayed out like a light in your arms, ever the heavy sleeper.

The inside of the cabin wasn’t as big as it was intentional, perhaps even more charming than the outside — a living area that opened up to the kitchen, a stone fireplace dominating the far wall, a leather couch with knit blankets in muted greens and browns thrown over it. There was an L-shaped counter attached to the farmhouse sink, a retro style fridge that hummed softly on the corner next to a stove, a cute little round table by a bay window that overlooked the lake. Two bathrooms, two bedrooms — a twin with two beds, a dresser and a desk, and a suite with a queen bed and a quilt that looked handmade tossed across it. The latter was connected to a small deck through a sliding glass door, facing the woods.

It was cozy, perfectly pleasant, the type of place you might have taken advantage of in another life when it would’ve been acceptable to snuggle through the day and steal kisses through the night.

Now you’d have to settle for awkward small talk.

You struggled a bit to carry Luke to the couch, he’d been getting heavier every day and you figured soon you wouldn’t be able to do it anymore. Once he was settled, you deemed it best to let him rest for now, knowing how much easier it’d be to set everything up if he wasn’t running around as you were sure he would once he realized where he was.

“Let me,” you offered at the door, taking your bag from Nat’s hand as she clumsily tried to carry two at the same time.

“Thanks,” she graciously accepted it, smiling awkwardly. “Just… leave it in the suite. I'll bunk with Luke in the other room.”

You stopped, looking at her for a second. She'd already booked the trip. She'd already paid for the whole thing without even mentioning it. She'd already been the one behind the wheel for over an hour on the way there.

“No, Nat,” you shook your head. “You take the suite. I'm happy to share with him.”

But she didn't budge.

“No, no. He'll probably wanna spend most of the time in the tent, anyway,” Natalie shrugged as if it was no question. “It's cool, I don't mind sharing.”

“Nat—”

“Just take the room, Y/N,” she walked past you toward the twin room, not rude or dismissive, simply not offering a chance to argue back. “You take longer in the shower anyway.”

You let out a chuckle, a bit startled by the comment like it was normal for her to tease you about how long your showers usually ran, letting yourself simply stare down at the bag as Nat disappeared through the door.

“...Okay, then,” you muttered under your breath, only for yourself to hear.

In no time, Luke was already up and running all over the place, the nap doing nothing to dampen his energy. He talked a mile a minute, nearly colliding with Nat as she brought a hand to his shoulder, laughing with recognition like she wasn't surprised at his eagerness, his shoes scattered and forgotten on the floor where he'd carelessly kicked them off.

“Calm down, bud. Let's get you something to eat first, then we'll go for a swim,” she said calmly, hand moving up to fix his hair, messy from sleep. “Maybe we can set up the tent, too?”

“THE TENT!” He yelled, just remembering the camping aspect of the trip as if that wasn't what he’d been expecting all along. “Can I help? Please! Can you teach me, please, please, please?!”

You leaned against the doorframe of the suite, watching quietly as she chuckled, Luke's eyes shining with all his seven-year-old excitement.

“Of course. Shoes back on, though,” she called out. “Shoes, then food, then you can pick what we do first. Deal?”

“DEAL! YES!” His eyes scanned the cabin, settling on you, smile widening as he caught a glimpse of your own. “MOM! We're gonna SWIM! Then we're gonna set up a TENT! And there's a KAYAK! Did you see? Did you see?!”

You laughed, melting by the second at the way he could barely finish a sentence, too excited to function properly.

“I saw, baby. Fun, huh?” You nodded, making your way toward him. “But you heard mama, come on. Go put on your shoes while I make you a sandwich.”

“Okay, mom, but do it fast!”

By the time Luke was fed and the midday sun had reached its peak, Nat had already taken him to the twin room in order to help him find a pair of swim trunks. Don’t forget the sunscreen, you’d gently reminded, not wanting to take any chances with his skin as pale as his mama’s. In the meantime, you took the opportunity to change into a swimsuit as well — staring at your reflection in the full-length mirror, eyes set on a specific spot, biting on the inside of your cheek like you did every time you let yourself look for too long.

You had a finger hooked around the side of the bottom, pulling it down just enough to reveal the spot below your hipbone. You took a deep breath. There it was, the only tattoo you’d ever let Nat give you, the only time a tattoo gun had come anywhere near your skin — the letter N, in black ink, small but present like a cruel reminder of the life you’d lost every time you took your clothes off.

You’d both gotten each other’s initials done on the same spot on the day you got your marriage license from city hall. We’re barely gonna wear rings, Nat had argued, since neither of your jobs really allowed them on the clock. This is so much better. I’ll give you yours, you’ll give me mine. I promise it won’t hurt.

While it didn’t hurt the day you got it, it certainly did now.

You’d thought about getting it lasered, or maybe even getting something else tattooed over it, but you chickened out every time. Besides not wanting to go through the pain, the little ritual you had of staring at the small letter on your skin every time you changed clothes or took a shower was your favorite kind of torture. Even though it was a constant reminder of the life you didn’t have anymore, it also served as proof that, even if it was over now, it’d been real. She’d been yours. And you were foolishly still hers — with her initial branded on your body and everything.

You let the swimsuit snap back into place, the one you’d consciously bought for this occasion because the ones you owned didn’t do much to cover that specific spot. You slung a towel over your shoulder, staring at yourself in the mirror one last time, mentally preparing to go outside and see your ex-wife in similar gear.

You wondered if Nat still had her tattoo, your initial just below her hipbone, wobblier and more amateur-looking than yours.

It didn’t matter now. She probably didn’t. She had unlimited access to tattoo guns and artists every day, and she was no stranger to needles. She must’ve gotten it covered in the first month you’d been apart. Why would she even keep it anyway?

You made your way outside, reluctant but purposeful, knowing it was all in favor of a greater good once Luke flew in your direction, swim trunks on, smelling of sunscreen and smiling like he was about to live the best day of his short life so far.

“MOM! COME ON! You're taking too long!” He grabbed your hand eagerly, running outside as he pulled you, making you wonder when he'd gotten so strong.

“Easy, buddy,” you laughed, never immune to your son's happiness. “I'm coming.”

Nat was already in the water when you stepped outside, up to her waist, back turned to you. She stared down at something, maybe a fish, maybe the distorted image of her hands underwater — Natalie Scatorccio and her ability to look for beauty in the mundane, in tiny little aquatic creatures, in the refraction of light when it shined against her skin. Luke could be the same sometimes, observant and careful, though it'd often get outshined by his urgent need to explore and dive head first into something he was excited about. That was all you. The need to be in the thick of things. The restlessness you couldn't shake. The need to do, to be, to move.

“MAMA!” He yelled, letting go of your hand when he realized Nat had already beat him to testing out the water. “IS IT COLD?”

Natalie turned around as soon as she heard him, smiling brightly, shaking her head.

“It's perfect, bud. Come on in.”

Luke ran like a bullet, not needing to be told twice. Luckily, he remembered to kick off his sandals at the last minute, tossing them carelessly onto the grass before making a splash into the water and mercilessly launching himself in Nat's direction. She laughed, immediately matching his energy, welcoming him with open arms and letting them both sink for just a moment before resurfacing.

“WHOOOA!” He yelled excitedly, arms tight around her neck, shaking his hair.

Nat laughed again, visibly endeared, bringing a hand up to push wild, wet locks away from his eyes.

“I know, baby. Pretty rad, huh?”

“Yeah! So rad!” He clung to her, turning his head around to catch you standing on the shore. “Mom! The water is so good!”

“That's great, buddy!” You said, looking at him and only him, cheeks burning when you realized Nat's eyes were set on you too.

“He's right,” she called, making you feel bare in your swimsuit just from addressing you when that's all you wore. “You coming in?”

You shook your head.

“You guys go ahead,” you grabbed the towel from your shoulder, shaking it slightly as proof of your excuse, looking at Luke. “Gotta catch up on my tan. I'll be right here, though. Gonna see just how fast you can swim right from the shore.”

“COOL!” He gave you a thumbs up, still keeping one arm clutched around his mama. “You can time mama and me to see who holds their breath under water the longest!”

You smiled, happy he didn't insist. Truth was you couldn't care less about a tan — you simply didn't trust yourself to be near Nat in the water, wet hair and tattoos on display, without completely breaking.

“You're on, mister,” she laughed, once again giving you an out.

So you set your towel on the grass, sunglasses on, letting the sun hit your face as you did your best not to stare at your ex-wife too much. Luke and Nat splashed around in the water, his laugh filling your ears for what might've been hours in between timed competitions and races and her pointing out random fish that were brave enough to swim by the both of them. Eventually, she left the water with heavy breaths, smiling as she told him not to swim too far, mama just needs a little break to catch her breath.

You lay back on the towel, propped up on your elbows, thankful for the advent of sunglasses and their ability to hide your gaze — because, even though you absolutely shouldn't, the view was simply impossible to pass up on.

It was the first time that day Natalie's body had been completely on display, not covered to her waist or higher by water, and the scenery was just unfair. The sunlight, now lower than when they'd gone in, worked overtime to highlight her in all the right spots — golden streaks against brown hair, darker from the water, droplets glowing as they dripped down her skin and disappeared into her waistline in a way that couldn't be described as anything but mesmerizing. Sinful, maybe. But all the while still majestic, still scary beautiful, still hypnotizing and magnetic and gorgeous in the way Natalie had always been. With her like that, finally still, arms up as she dried her face with a towel, you could at last get the good look you'd been secretly craving.

All of her old tattoos were still there, as far as you could see. The plant on her right hip, branches you used to trace with your fingertips all the way down to the side of her thigh. The dagger just above her knee. The one across her ribcage — a sun and a tree and two stick figures, poorly drawn, an exact replica of one of Luke's mama and me drawings from when he was about four or five. The same one she'd excitedly shown you after an exhausting shift one day, the one you liked to look at and kiss once it'd healed, right before everything started going wrong.

Your eyes drifted to her left hip, but the search was inconclusive. As it turned out, Nat’d apparently had the same idea as you — that fucking swimsuit covering just what you looked forward to seeing most.

Something else caught your attention, though — one new tattoo, one you didn't recognize, one you'd never seen before. Proof of how much time had passed, of how much it'd all changed, of the long way you'd come from a time when you'd know every single inch of her skin by heart. A clock. Technically a pocket watch by the looks of it, about as big as your palm, right on the left corner of her stomach. Pretty, clean style, clearly done by a skilled professional. Probably Van's work — you recognized the trace, plus you knew at least two thirds of Nat's ink had been done by her and vice-versa.

Nat dried herself half-heartedly, droplets of lake water still trickling down her skin by the time she walked up to where you lay.

“Mind if I…?” She gestured at the spot beside you, making your heart race with the proximity, though you'd never admit it.

“Go ahead,” you nodded, sitting up on instinct.

She lay her towel next to yours, sinking down on it with a groan, clearly tired from Luke's relentless creativity for water games.

“So,” she said, close but not enough to touch, eyes set on the little boy who now swam around with his snorkeling gear on, “apparently hyperventilating is a good strategy for holding your breath longer under water. Luke says it makes more oxygen go to your blood. Wonder where he learned that.”

You chuckled, knowing damn well that'd been your doing.

“I told him to use it moderately,” you shook your head. “But it's good to know the lesson stuck.”

“He also said superventilating,” Nat smiled, fondly watching him swim in the distance, “but I figured I'd let it slide since he explained the whole biology of it so well.”

You laughed, light, careful.

“Kid's smart. Nothing gets past him.”

“Must drive Ms. Lee crazy,” she let out a snort, endeared. “Has an opinion on everything. Wants to know why stuff's the way it is. He'd make a good scientist.”

You smiled, looking at him too, your heart melting in the way it did whenever you let yourself think about your son for too long.

“Last I heard he wanted to be a doctor-tattoo artist-guitar player. And I'm pretty sure he's kind of going through a vet phase too.”

Nat laughed, easy, and you could feel the smirk that lingered even though you didn't dare look.

“Yeah, the vet phase is definitely there. He's been bugging me about getting a puppy for a few weeks now.”

“You too?” You asked, all too familiar with the please, mom and I'll take good care of him and I promise I'll clean up after him! “Sly kid. Trying to get it where he can.”

She chuckled.

“A little more pressure and I might give in.”

“Oh, I'm sure,” you said, looking down. Daring to tease because you simply couldn't help yourself around her. “You'd give him your left arm if he asked nicely.”

“I'm right-handed anyway,” Nat joked, soft. “Plus, you're one to talk.”

You raised a brow, finally giving into the pull and letting your eyes fall on her face.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

She looked at you too.

“It means exactly what it is. You're just as much of a fool for the kid as I am.”

Your heart did that thing it usually did when Nat's eyes found your face, slamming against your ribcage so violently you thought it might break through. Still, you did your best to act natural, choosing to stick with the safe option and keep talking about Luke.

“Maybe a little,” you countered, swallowing the nerves. “But I'd say you're worse.”

Nat didn't back down, the smirk still there.

“Y/N, you're on a fucking camping trip.”

Caught red-handed.

“Is it really a camping trip if I’ve got hot water and a bed?”

Nat chuckled, visibly amused, and you were just as thankful for the lightness in the mood as you were heartbroken by it.

“You didn't know those would be there until a few hours ago,” she retorted, and you knew you couldn't argue anymore. “Admit it. You're a sucker. No shame in it.”

She gestured at her rib tattoo, the one of Luke's drawing, as if to prove you were both on the same boat — the two of you just as helpless when it came to your son. You looked on instinct, for just a second, knowing that staring down at Nat's body from this close was a dangerous game you couldn’t afford to play.

“Fine,” you said, eyes landing back on Luke, who still swam around like his energy would never run out. “What can I say? We're both suckers.”

Natalie let out a small sigh, looking at him too.

“We are,” she muttered, voice softer now, no longer carrying that teasing tone. “Can't blame us, though. Anyone in our place would. We've got the best kid in the whole world.”

“We really do.”

“MOM!” Luke yelled in the water, eyes meeting yours from afar, saving you before the moment between you and Nat turned into more than you could handle. “COME SWIM WITH ME! IT'S SO FUN!”

You smiled. Well, there you had it. The proof of Nat's accusations, and you'd fallen guilty.

“I've been summoned,” you joked, low enough so only she could hear, stepping to your feet as you threw your sunglasses on the towel. “Coming, baby!”

By the time the sun started to set and Luke was already bathed and changed into dry clothes, the three of you stood outside, gathered near the firepit as Natalie pulled the unassembled tent off its bag. He had insisted all of you put it together as a family — the word landing like a punch to your gut, but this weekend was about him, so he'd get everything he wanted.

Plus, you figured it'd be kind of fun to see Nat try to assemble a tent. She'd often tease you about your aversion to anything crafty back when you were together, but she wasn't exactly handy either — one time, about three or four months into the pregnancy, you'd seen her spend over an hour trying to figure out how to set up a dresser for the nursery, even with the instruction manual (with pictures on it) right beside her the whole time. So, as torturous as this whole experience might be, at least you'd get a good laugh out of it.

“Okay, little man,” she looked at Luke as he bounced on his heels, gesturing at the equipment spread on the grass. “Basically what we need to do is grab the poles, slide them through the holes on the fabric and then clip the edges together with those little plastic thingies.”

He nodded.

“Got it.”

“We gotta do it as a team, though,” she continued, grabbing one of the poles, free hand picking up the fabric so she could slide the pole in. “Because if one of us messes up, we can't move forward. So let's… take it easy, okay? Take turns doing it.”

Much to your surprise, she got the first pole in smoothly, barely looking, as if she'd done the same thing about a billion times before.

“There,” she smiled at Luke, proudly holding the evidence of her work, “now we do the same thing on all four sides and then move on to clip the ones that'll go on the bottom.”

“Can I go next? Please? Can I try?”

She chuckled, ruffling his hair with her free hand as she held the fabric up with the other.

“Sure, bud. Grab a pole. I'll show you how to do it.”

Luke eagerly grabbed one of the tent poles, trying but failing to mimic Nat, his rushed motions getting the pole stuck halfway through the sleeve.

“Gentle,” she took his hand, guiding it, helping him slide it through till it reached the other end. “There, like that. Can’t rush it or it doesn't work.”

You watched the scene silently, eyes narrowed at Nat's unexpected ease when it came to the task at hand. She must've gone through that manual a million times at home, you thought, because that was the only explanation for her to be so good at this. Either that or this was easier than it looked, because you knew Natalie Scatorccio simply hadn't been built for handy work, and you had the evidence to back it up — the dresser, the bookshelf that always leaned to the left in her old apartment, that one time she tried to hang a picture in the shop and ended up drilling a hole right through the wall.

“Gentle,” Luke repeated, calmer now, the same focus and determination on his face as you'd seen the day he drew a dragon on Nat's tablet, “okay. Now it's your turn, mom.”

You nodded, stepping to your role, knowing the shared activity was an excellent opportunity to give your son a lesson on the importance of teamwork. Plus, then again, if Nat didn't have any problems doing it you were sure it couldn't be so hard.

If only you knew how wrong you were.

“Alright, let's do it,” you picked up a pole confidently, ready to give it a go. “Explorer 101.”

Luke stayed beside you, watching like he couldn't wait to get another turn again.

“You gotta do it gently, mom,” he instructed as if you hadn't been right there to hear Nat say it the first time. “If you rush it then it doesn't work.”

You chuckled, the little parrot repeating his mama’s lessons as he often would.

“Okay, honey. I’ve got it.”

And then you slid the pole through the fabric sleeve, face falling when it got caught halfway through. You pushed it further, figuring it might have just been a little jammed, but it didn’t work — all it did was bend the pole, which you were pretty sure wasn’t meant to happen.

“You alright there, explorer?” Natalie teased, already smirking like she couldn’t help it.

“I’ve got it,” you emphasized, regretting not having sat this one out.

You kept trying to push the pole through, careful not to tear through the fabric, but also not ready to pull back and start over. This was harder than it looked. You should be good at it, for fuck’s sake. You’d given patients central lines much more complicated than that, and even then you hadn’t struggled this much to get the fucking tube in.

How was Natalie so good at it?

“Mom, you’re bending it,” as if the whole show wasn’t humiliating enough, now you were getting humbled by a seven-year-old. “You have to be gentle, remember?”

Nat chuckled, infuriatingly amused by your distress.

“You heard him. You’ve gotta pull it back and reposition.”

“I said I’ve got it,” you insisted one last time before pushing again, unsurprisingly to no success.

This wasn’t going to work.

“I think there’s something wrong with mine.”

Nat snorted obnoxiously.

“With the pole?”

Luke shook his head.

“Try again, mom!” He encouraged, placing a small hand on your arm, smiling in the same way you would when trying to get him to tie his shoes or get his spelling right. “Mama can help you, she’s really good!”

You sighed, watching his careful face, taking in his gentle tone. He was so sweet. A sensitive kid through and through, which you’d made a point out of encouraging ever since you’d sat next to Nat in that cold doctor’s office and found out you were going to have a boy. You wanted to raise him right. Teach him all about respect, about the importance of allowing himself to feel things, show him it was okay to cry when he needed to. That he didn’t have to struggle to do everything by himself. That there was no shame in asking for help.

You and your fucking lessons.

“Okay,” you gave in, looking at Natalie, who smiled victoriously at your lowered head. “Mind helping me, Nat?”

She looked at Luke for a moment, basking in the win, then back at you.

“Yeah, of course. Get the edge of the pole and pull it all the way out of the sleeve,” she instructed, the tease slowly giving space to something softer as you followed the steps. “There. It’s not bent anymore, see?”

“You’re doing it, mom!” Luke exclaimed, eyes shining, a welcome distraction from Nat’s raspy voice as she guided you so carefully.

“Now push it back in. Gently. You can feel it out with your other hand to see if it’s coming through.”

And just like that, you got it right.

“Good job, mom! You did it!” Luke yelled eagerly, encouraging, jumping up and down before lifting a flat palm in your direction.

You laughed, not immune to your son’s adorable cheerleading, giving him a high-five.

“Thanks, buddy.”

“I knew you could do it! She did a really good job, right, mama?”

Nat chuckled, eyes landing on you for a moment, the smile lingering on the corner of her mouth. It didn’t look teasing this time — instead, there was earnestness to it, the kind you recognized from when Luke said please and thank you to a stranger or wanted to place his own order at a restaurant, and you knew she was proud for seeing her lessons stick.

“Yup,” she raised a hand in your direction, just like he’d done, playing it up for the sake of your kid. “Good job, mom.”

We’re both here for Luke.

“Thanks,” you high-fived her too. “And thanks for helping me.”

“Anytime.”

“Okay, can I get another turn now?!” Luke was already reaching for the equipment on the floor, eager to build something, wanting to prove how he’d get it right this time.

But you stayed still a moment, heart fluttering in your chest, Nat’s eyes shining in the sunset suddenly too much for you to handle.

The three of you finished setting up the tent, carrying all kinds of pillows and blankets from the cabin in order to make it cozy enough to sleep in — which Luke insisted he was going to do. It didn’t take long for night to fall, the air getting cooler, causing everybody to put on their jackets before moving outside to roast marshmallows by the fire.

The fire which Nat had started the old fashioned way, with sticks and rocks and determination, even though the kitchen had a perfectly fine blowtorch in one of its drawers.

“Wanna see something cool, Luke?” She’d asked, sitting next to him, guiding him through the steps though she never let him touch the fire.

Who was that person?

First she knew how to put together the world’s most complicated tent, now she was building fires from scratch like Tom Hanks in fucking Cast Away. Natalie Scatorccio. The same you’d seen accidentally break about a hundred wine glasses in your lifetime. The same whose solution for every little problem around the house was to call a guy.

It didn't add up. Either she'd taken a survivalist course after the divorce or she'd been replaced by a handier, more adventurous doppelganger. Whatever it was, you shrugged it off, not wanting to ask just yet — not when Luke was straight up carbonizing his marshmallow, pouting disappointedly when it came out looking like a piece of charcoal.

“Easier, Luke,” you poked a stick through another marshmallow, showing him the ropes because that you could do. “Not so close to the flames.”

The evening was easy, you and Nat falling into a nice rhythm that consisted mainly of listening calmly as Luke narrated the highlights of his day like you both hadn't been there to see it. He talked about the fish, about the kayak, about how he’d totally beat mama in a race again tomorrow, yawning into his marshmallow because he couldn't help it after such an exciting day.

Once you started alluding to the idea of getting him ready for bed, he frowned, sticky hands clinging to your arm.

“But mama promised she'd let me sleep in the tent,” he whined. “It's not camping if I have to sleep inside.”

You sighed, not crazy about the idea. It'd been fun to show him the tent in the afternoon, to lounge around for a few minutes while Nat got ready inside, but sleeping in it? Absolutely not.

“Lucas.”

“Please, mom. Please. Mama promised.”

You shot a glance at Nat, who smiled sheepishly.

“Guilty,” she admitted. “Tell you what, kiddo, why don't you go change into your PJs and brush your teeth while I get some more blankets?” Natalie looked at you, shoulders relaxing as she fixed the sleeve of her jacket. “I've got it.”

And so you cleaned up while Nat equipped the tent with enough blankets to build a fortress, supervising as Luke got his Spidey pajamas from the suitcase.

A few minutes later, ready to get in bed and relax the tension of the day off, you looked at the bedside table and didn’t see the book you'd brought there. Fuck, you thought, I must've left it outside. You thought about toughing it out and trying to fall asleep, but you knew it'd be useless. You didn't stand a chance without your faithful reading session before bed.

So you stepped outside, finding it on the swinging chair by the porch exactly where you'd left it, but that wasn't what called your attention.

Luke and Nat did.

They weren’t in the tent yet as you'd expected — instead, they sat on one of the logs by the fire, Luke leaned against Nat's side as she kept an arm around him, fingers threading gently through his hair. They had their backs turned to you, talking calmly, just loud enough for you to hear while they didn't seem to notice your presence. You hung back a second, observing. Enjoying the rare opportunity to just stand and watch. Taking in the ease, the tenderness, the love.

“So,” Nat said, looking down at the top of his head. “You excited about the big eight tomorrow?”

He nodded, tired, clutching something in his hands.

“Mm-hm. It's gonna be the best birthday ever.”

She chuckled.

“Yeah?”

“Yup. This is the coolest place in the world,” he snuggled closer, shooting his eyes up, smiling sleepily. “Today was so fun, mama. Like, the most fun.”

“I'm glad you liked it, baby. I had fun too.”

He let out a soft sigh, keeping his gaze on Nat's face like he had something on his mind.

“Mama.”

“Yeah, bud?”

“How did you get so good at camping?”

You smiled to yourself, quiet, still watching. That observant kid. Attentive to detail in ways that still managed to surprise you. Wanting to get to the bottom of things in the same way you did. Noticing the people he loved in a way that was all Nat.

She let out a soft breath, as if bracing for something, and you stilled in place.

“Uh, my father used to take me sometimes,” she muttered, eyes on his face, fingers still in his hair. “When I was about as big as you.”

You froze, heart breaking in your chest. Nat never talked about her dad. You'd only ever heard her mention him twice — that time she showed up at your door after the first breakup and on the night she first brought up the possibility of divorce, and on that second time she hadn't even explicitly said anything. You had no idea about the camping trips. So that's where her experience came from, that's why she'd been so good at everything you'd been doing all day.

Luke frowned, a new found curiosity on his face.

“You have a father?”

Nat shook her head.

“Not anymore, bud. But I did when I was your age.”

He nodded as if he understood it, even though you knew he was too young to make sense of her words, bringing his free hand to Nat's knee.

“Did he die?”

Natalie watched his face carefully, tender, smiling sadly.

“He did, baby.”

“That's too bad,” he said, rubbing her knee gently, comforting her. “Maybe mom could have saved him. She can save everyone's lives, she's really good at it.”

You felt your chest burst with so much warmth and so much pain you didn't know what to do with it. You simply stayed there, eyes filling with tears despite yourself, clutching the book in your hands like it could somehow ground you.

“It was a long time ago,” Nat shook her head, still smiling, stroking Luke's hair with the utmost affection. “Way before I knew your mom.”

“It's okay to be sad about it, mama. Cry if you need to, remember?”

She chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“Mama's okay, buddy. Thanks for being so sweet.”

He wrapped his arms around her neck, pushing to get on her lap, whatever he had in his hand shining in the moonlight.

“It's okay, mama. We're gonna have so much fun tomorrow anyway,” he pressed a wet kiss to her cheek, causing her to let out a laugh. “Can we go exploring?”

“Only if you get a good night's sleep. Eight-year-olds need all the energy they can get if they wanna face these woods,” she gave him one last squeeze before tapping his back, helping him up. “Come on, let's check out how cozy that tent feels with all the blankets. Charmander can come along.”

“Charizard, mama,” he corrected, waving the object in his hand — which you now recognized as a Pokémon card, of course. “Aunt Van gave it to me.”

And so you stepped back inside before you could be seen, heart heavy and warm all at the same time.

Sleep didn't come, not even with the book. Not when your head was filled with thoughts of Nat — sweet, as little as Luke, forced to go camping with a father who didn't know how to love her. Getting yelled at when she couldn't set up a tent or start a fire. Subjected to everything she refused to repeat with your son, her son, the boy both of you loved more than anything in the world.

When the words started to blend together on the page and you still couldn't seem to shut your fucking eyes, you sighed. Good thing were prepared for this — knowing how close you'd be to Nat this weekend, you'd brought a pack of chamomile tea as a last resort just in case.

You snuck out to the kitchen, making some tea, sitting at the table in order to have it before trying to sleep again. It wasn’t going to happen anyway, not now. You figured you might as well make good use of the time while you were at it.

So you opened your laptop, placing it before you, thankful for the advent of wifi as you logged onto the hospital’s internal system and checked on your patient’s clinical evolutions for the day. It wasn’t like you’d be there tomorrow to help with any changes, but it was good to be kept up to speed. If anything happened, you were just a call away from your residents anyway.

As you typed something up on the page, already halfway through your cup of tea, the creaking sound of the front door made your eyes shoot up. Nat carried Luke inside, body limp and heavy with sleep, his head tucked into her shoulder as he breathed steadily. She stopped when she saw you, seemingly surprised, smiling softly, politely.

“Hey,” she muttered quietly, not taking any chances even though he was a heavy sleeper. “I thought you’d be asleep by now.”

You shook your head slightly, looking at her face, the words you’d overheard her tell Luke earlier echoing in your head.

“I could say the same about you,” you offered back, soft, careful. “Whatever happened to spending the night in the tent?”

“Please,” she chuckled, “no fucking way I’m sleeping in that thing. Was just waiting for him to pass out before coming inside and sleeping in an actual bed.”

You matched her expression.

“Can’t blame you. At least he got to live his camping fantasy.”

“Yeah,” she pulled her head back a bit, staring at Luke for a moment before settling back on you. Her eyes carried so much love, so much devotion for the little boy that anyone could see it from miles away. “He’s having a good time. Out here, I mean.”

You smiled. My father used to take me sometimes, you heard in your head, once again thinking about how difficult those trips must’ve been for her judging by what you knew about the man. And she’d been so amazing today. Giving Luke all the attention he needed, encouraging him, always patient. Always kind. Never once raising her voice. Never once losing her head.

You thought she deserved to know it.

“He is,” you nodded, earnest. “You did good, Nat. This place is incredible. He’s gonna remember it forever.”

Natalie smiled too, honest, beautiful.

“That’s the goal,” she said like a mantra or a prayer, the words genuine on her lips. Her eyes drifted to the laptop before you and she chuckled again, shifting Luke slightly in her arms. “Get some sleep, doc. Got a whole day ahead of us tomorrow. I’m sure they’ll find a way to hold the fort without you.”

You nodded, surrendered, a little smirk popping up on the corner of your lips. Doc. The old nickname, the one she’d use when you were bent over the kitchen table in your apartment, looking over books and charts like they’d been written in a foreign language.

“Soon,” you reassured, just like you used to in another lifetime when you knew she’d be waiting for you in bed once you were done. “Just need to wrap something up real quick.”

“Sure you do,” she snorted, picking her rhythm back up. “Good night, Y/N.”

“Night, Nat.”

You finished your tea and went to bed, even if you weren’t sure you’d be able to sleep, even if no one was there waiting for you anymore. She was right — if anything happened at the hospital, it didn’t concern you. Not this weekend.

You woke up extra early the next morning, surprised when you didn’t see Nat’s car outside through the balcony doors. You smiled to yourself, she didn’t. Upon further inspection and the torn piece of paper with her handwriting you found in the kitchen, you realized she absolutely did.

Gone into town to pick up Luke’s cake, be back before he wakes up — N

The cake. The chocolate and vanilla swirl from that bakery you’d been ordering from since he was old enough to try it, which you’d already learned by now was only good if you got it the same day you were supposed to cut it. The place must’ve been at least an hour away from the cabin, and you’d already practically woken up at dawn, so Nat must’ve barely gotten any sleep in order to drive there and back before Luke woke up on his special day.

She really was an excellent mom.

You got to work too, knowing your son’s birthday meant no effort would be spared, already getting started on the balloons you’d packed and the coffee you were sure Nat would need when she got back.

By the time she arrived, box in hand and a paper bag dangling from her arm, the living room was already covered in multicolored balloons as you hung a HAPPY BIRTHDAY LUKE banner on the wall by the kitchen table.

“Wow,” Nat said from behind you, moving to place everything on the counter so her hands would be free to help out. “You really went all out, huh?”

“Says the woman who got up in the crack of dawn to go pick up the cake,” you joked with recognition, standing on a chair, arms stretched all the way up. “How was traffic?”

“Not too bad,” she came closer, right behind you, grabbing the roll of duct tape from the table without you having to ask. “Banner looks really good.”

“Thanks, there’s this place at the mall that makes them in—” as you reached for the tape she handed out, your foot slipped in an awkward way that caused the chair to wobble, making you lose your balance.

It happened fast. You gasped, bracing for the fall, but it never came.

Instead, Nat’s hands moved up to your waist at the speed of light as if on instinct — steadying, balancing. Tight and strong. Not letting you fall.

“Careful,” she said, looking up at you as your chest heaved from the scare, knees now trembling for an entirely different reason. “You good?”

You still had your back to her, except now your neck was turned, eyes on hers, blue and soft and genuinely concerned. Her hands were still tense on your waist like that was normal, like it hadn’t been two fucking years since they’d last touched that spot.

You nodded, letting out a soft exhale.

“…Yeah,” your voice came out lower than you intended it to, “I’m okay.”

“Sure?”

Nat’s hands softened their grip, but she didn’t let go.

“Mm-hm,” you muttered, absolutely not okay, but that didn’t have anything to do with the almost-fall.

Natalie was touching you. Not just anywhere, not just accidentally in passing or for a split second while handing you something, but actually, intentionally touching you — firm, familiar, fingers spread across your waist in a way that had the tip of her pinky right where she was marked on your skin forever.

“You can let go now,” you let out in a near whisper, not wanting the moment to end, but worried about what stupid thing might come out of your mouth if she stayed that close for too long. “I've got it.”

Nat blinked like she'd only now realized her hands were still on you, pulling them back, her absence suddenly making your body feel cold.

“Yeah, yeah,” she murmured awkwardly, clearing her throat. “Watch out, though. Those chairs can be real unstable.”

“I'll be more careful. Thanks.”

“Yeah, of course.”

A beat went by, both of you silent. You finished hanging the banner — not threatening to fall this time — as Nat grabbed the paper bag she'd left on the counter, starting to set the table with the pastries she'd brought from the bakery.

“Bear claws?” You chuckled, already down on the ground, trying to lighten the mood.

“Luke's favorite,” she pulled out some croissants and muffins too, moving to grab plates from the cabinet to put those in. “I figured we could all use some carbs since we're going hiking today.”

“Hiking?”

“Luke said he wants to explore,” she let out a snort, shaking her head. “And, well. Birthday privileges, right?”

You nodded, not excited about the plans, but determined to make this the best day ever for your son.

“Birthday privileges.”

By the time Luke appeared in the hall, Spidey pajamas on and eyes full of sleep, the decorations were already set and the presents you'd both brought were wrapped and on display by the table. You ran to light the candles stuck on the cake, putting on your best smile to start your son's day off the right way.

“There's the birthday boy!” Nat exclaimed, joyful, arms open to welcome him. “Whoa, man, I think you're already getting taller!”

Luke giggled, slowly waking as he took in the decorations.

“Am not, mama.”

“Are too,” she crouched down to get on his level, hugging him tightly, kissing his cheek. “Look how big you're getting.”

He laughed, melting into the hug, clingy arms wrapping around her while you stood and watched the scene with warmth in your heart, the earlier chair incident now gone and forgotten.

This was all that mattered.

“THERE'S CAKE!” He jolted toward you as soon as Nat let go of him, stopping where you stood with the cake in hand, excitedly bouncing on his heels. “Is it chocolate and vanilla, mom? Is it? Is it?”

You laughed, nodding, leaning down so he could blow the candles.

“Yes. Chocolate and vanilla, your favorite,” you said with a smile, so full of love you thought your chest might burst. “Happy birthday, baby.”

You and Nat sang him happy birthday and he blew the candles, hand over his heart while he closed his eyes shut and silently made a wish. I can’t say what it is, he insisted once you'd both pried, or it won't come true.

The morning settled nicely over the three of you, Luke talking a mile a minute about his new Lego set and the cool pair of binoculars you'd gotten him (the wrapping paper now scattered all over the floor), making plans for the day, eating pastries and cake and begging you to let him have just one sip of coffee.

“When you're older, buddy,” you chuckled, shaking your head, because apparently even birthday boys couldn't have everything they wanted. “But there's OJ in the fridge if you're thirsty.”

By the time you were all fed and Luke was covered head to toe in sunscreen and bug spray, you and Nat walked side-by-side as he ran ahead, new binoculars around his neck, following a little wooden arrow that led to a well-marked hiking trail.

You watched him for a second, chuckling to yourself. The things I do for this kid, you thought, still not believing you were spending a very rare day off out in the woods with your fucking ex.

“How sure are we about this?” You asked, hanging back beside Nat as Luke looked at everything through the lenses. “He's a city kid. Closest he's gotten to hiking was that time we took him to see The Lion King.”

Nat snorted.

“The ad said the trail was kid friendly. And, well, he's nothing if not determined,” she nodded in Luke's direction, making you smile as you noticed him go WHOA! at the sight of a bird. “I think he's good for it.”

And so the three of you fell into step — Luke excitedly cataloging every creature, plant and rock with his binoculars, you and Nat just behind, watching, assessing, making sure to periodically warn him not to run too far.

As time passed, you noticed Nat's cheeks starting to blush, hair beginning to stick to her forehead in a way that should not be this attractive. She took a sip from the water bottle in her hand, letting out an exhale, eyes following Luke as he walked ahead like he wasn't the least bit fazed by the exercise.

“It's kid friendly alright,” she muttered, breathy. “Not sure it's meant for adults, though.”

You chuckled, amused, probably just as flushed as she was.

“The wonders of hiking. Sweat and mosquito bites and muscle cramps,” you took a sip from your bottle too. “Yet everybody seems to be doing it these days.”

“I fucking swear. You open Instagram and it's all hiking this, yoga that,” she rasped like that was a topic she'd debated before.

“Don't forget kayaking.”

She chuckled.

“For fuck's sake, right? It's like everyone's suddenly an outdoors person,” she shook her head. “You know Shauna Sadecki?”

You frowned, confused at the sudden change of topic.

“Callie's mom?”

Nat nodded.

“We were talking the other day at pick-up and she told me how she's been on those dating apps lately,” she leaned slightly closer, lowering her voice. “You know, since the divorce.”

You raised a brow, but Nat kept talking before you had a chance to ask.

“Four different people have asked her on hiking dates,” she chuckled, shaking her head. “Guys and girls. It's a fucking epidemic. Whatever happened to bars?”

Your shoulders relaxed and you allowed yourself to laugh, half because what Nat said was indeed absurd, half because she finally pulled away and you didn't have to hold your breath in anymore.

“Those apps are nightmares,” you commented offhandedly. “Craziest people you'll ever meet.”

Nat stopped for a second, looking at you with a smirk she couldn't seem to hide — though, to be fair, you weren't sure she was trying.

“Speaking from experience?”

Shit, you thought to yourself, realizing you’d talked too much.

“What— no,” you immediately corrected, suddenly wishing you could dig a hole and crawl into it. “I just— I heard it from some friends, that’s all.”

But Nat didn’t budge, for once leaning into the slip instead of letting you off the hook.

“Friends. Right,” she chuckled. “It’s no shame, you know. You’re single. You’re successful. I’m sure you’d get a ton of… likes or whatever.”

“I'm not on dating apps,” you reinforced, cringing to your bones, flushed for a reason that didn't involve all the exercising anymore. “I told you, I just have some friends who've done it.”

Nat let out a snort that made you want to bash her head in. That teasing, relentless, gorgeous fucking woman you'd always had a billion soft spots for.

“No need to get all defensive about it. I'm just fucking with you,” she kicked a pebble, resuming walking in order to catch up with Luke's pace — who still did his own exploring a few feet ahead, oblivious to the conversation. “And I wouldn't judge you if you were, by the way.”

“Sure, Nat. I'll set up a profile right now,” you rolled your eyes, following suit. “I can squeeze a few dates in my schedule when I'm not working or driving Luke to soccer practice. Who knows, I might get some action by the time he turns eighteen.”

She laughed, the shit-eating grin on her face denouncing the fact that she knew she'd successfully pushed your buttons.

“What, you're gonna tell me you’re not dating? At all?”

“Wouldn't you like to know,” you huffed, exasperated, turning your eyes away from her.

Why did she care anyway?

“I'm just making conversation,” she shrugged, annoyingly composed. “You know. Friendly asking.”

“I barely have time to stop and breathe, Nat,” you gave in, figuring she wouldn't leave you alone anyway — classic Natalie. “Dating's not exactly at the top of my to-do list right now.”

“You work too hard,” she countered, unfazed. “Should give yourself a little break sometimes.”

You frowned, eyes falling on her again, trying to decipher what she meant. What was she trying to say? Was she just being friendly? Was she genuinely just worried about your tendency to overwork yourself? Was she implying she had been dating? 

Your breath caught in your throat, that name flashing in your head again — Lucy, some faceless woman texting Nat, asking her if she was okay.

You figured you wouldn't get another chance to ask.

“Well, have you been—”

“MOM! MAMA!” Luke exclaimed, interrupting you mid-question, which you couldn't decide whether it was a good or a bad thing. “Look! Blackberries!”

Nat caught her step as if the whole conversation had never happened, smiling excitedly at Luke. You followed right behind, putting the mom mask back on, opting to try to put whatever that had been out of your mind, as hard as you figured it'd be.

“Those aren't blackberries, buddy,” Nat instructed, stopping beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “They’re mulberries. Blackberries don't grow on trees, they grow on vines.”

“Oh,” he nodded, interested. “Mulberries. Cool! Do they taste sweet?”

“When they're ripe,” Nat placed a hand on her hip, looking up at the tree, little berries hanging from it just out of her reach. “You wanna try one?”

“YES!” He jumped eagerly. “Just like a real explorer!”

“I'll grab a handful, hold on.”

You watched her, knowing there was no way either of you would be able to reach them, they were simply too high up.

Nat didn't seem to care about her odds.

She placed a foot on the trunk of the tree, crooked and curvy, using a hand to support herself as you realized just what her plan was.

“Nat,” you warned, having seen enough accidents at work that had started just like that. “What are you doing?”

“Getting mulberries,” she answered like it was nothing, ever the stubborn idiot when she wanted to be.

“That's dangerous.”

“I’ve got it,” she said smugly, pushing herself up, placing both feet on a lump on the trunk as she carefully picked up the berries. “Alright, one, two, three…”

Luke watched the whole thing like a movie, mesmerized, eyes shining like he'd just found out his mama was a superhero.

“Mama, you can climb trees! That's so rad!”

She let out a soft laugh from up there, definitely a little smug.

“Thanks, bud. Tell that to your mom,” she teased, making you roll your eyes again. “Alright, I think I got enough. Coming down now.”

Nat lowered herself, using her free hand to lean against the trunk, and it seemed to work in her favor — until, at the last minute, it didn’t. Before either of you knew it, her feet slipped, making her land with them both on the ground, but not without scraping her arm against the tree first.

“Ah, f—” she caught herself, groaning, mulberries tucked in her hand as she used the other one to cradle her injured arm on instinct. “Jesus!”

Your heart stopped, and you were stepping up to her side before you even knew it, unsure if the readiness came from being a doctor or from the fact that it was Nat getting hurt right in front of you.

“Let me see,” you said, prompt, unhesitant.

“It's—” she huffed, clearly masking the pain. “It's nothing, I'm fine.”

“Mama!” Luke yelled beside you, eyes wide, focused on Nat's arm. “You're bleeding!”

“I’m okay, buddy,” she reassured him, visibly shaken by the pain, but toughing it out. “I’m okay, it’s just a little scratch.”

“Natalie, let me see,” you insisted, unable to see anything clearly when she kept turning away, just spotting a red blur of what could only be blood dripping down her forearm.

She opened her mouth to protest again, but Luke was faster.

“Mama! You’re hurt!” He exclaimed in panic, a second away from crying, chin already starting to tremble. “Let mom look! She’ll know how to fix it!”

“Okay. Okay, buddy, okay,” she said calmly, gently, wanting to give him a sense of security. “Here. Here, I’ll let mommy look. It’s okay. It’s okay, mama’s alright.”

Luke curled into your side, forehead against your ribcage as you brought an arm around him and Nat finally lifted hers in your direction.

“It’s okay, baby,” you muttered, rubbing gentle circles on his back to soothe him. Your free hand moved to support Nat’s elbow, steadying it, offering you a better look at the injury just below it. “It’s not deep. Just a little scrape that looks scarier than it actually is. Mommy can make the bleeding stop and then we can put some nice bandages on it when we’re back at the cabin.”

“You can make it stop?” Luke asked, voice muffled, clutching onto you.

“Yeah, darling. You’ll see, it’ll go away in a minute.”

You let go of Nat’s arm gently, fiddling for a hand towel in the backpack you carried, handing it to her without hesitation.

“Press it down on the cut,” you instructed, careful. “Should stop bleeding soon, it’s a small one. Shallow.”

“Thanks,” she followed your instructions, visibly calmer now that the scare was gone, looking over at Luke with soft eyes. “Really, buddy, mama’s okay. It doesn’t even hurt anymore. You heard mommy, it just looks scary, but it’s nothing.”

“It looks really scary,” he muttered, still tucked into your side.

“I know. I know it does, baby,” Nat ran a hand through his hair, wincing just a little, opposite fingers pinching the towel against her arm as the mulberries stayed safely tucked in her palm underneath. “Tell you what, how about we go back to the cabin now so your mom can patch me up and make me good as new? Then we can go kayaking or we can play some soccer or we can eat more cake. Whatever you want.”

He nodded, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

“Okay,” he sniffled, not really crying, but nearly there. “Okay, let’s go back.”

Back at the cabin, you grabbed the first-aid kit you’d packed in Nat’s car just in case, promptly getting to work on the wound. She sat across from you on a kitchen chair, toughing it out as you sprayed antiseptic on the cut, an apprehensive Luke holding her free hand for emotional support.

“Does it hurt, mama?”

Nat shook her head.

“No, little man. I can barely feel it anymore.”

You knew she was lying for the sake of his innocence, but you went with it. You were careful, steady, gentle hands cleaning the wound and placing sterile dressings over it, explaining every step to Luke in order to try and keep him calm.

“There,” you said once you were done, looking over at your son with a reassuring expression. “All done.”

But he was still skeptical.

“You’re sure it’s all better now?” He asked, looking between you and Nat, brows still furrowed. “Mama’s all fixed up?”

“As good as new,” she moved her arm, trying to prove her point. “See? All better.”

He pressed his lips together in a thin line, staring at the dressings for a moment.

“I don’t know,” he muttered, worried, eyes falling on your face. “Maybe you should kiss it just in case.”

You froze.

“Luke—”

“Just like you do with me,” he explained in his eight-year-old logic, clutching Nat’s hand. “It always makes me feel better. It might be what mama needs.”

He looked at you pleadingly, like a kiss would be the answer to finally settle the lingering distress on his little face, and you found yourself at a loss of words. The fucking kid. Unknowingly putting you through the world’s most dangerous situation. Unknowingly breaking your heart all over again when you knew that two years ago the kiss wouldn’t even have been a question.

Shit. It was his birthday after all.

Natalie stayed quiet, eyes on you as if her plan was to follow your lead, whatever you decided, and you sighed resignedly.

“Okay,” you said, defeated, looking at her to make sure that was alright. “Just in case.”

Nat nodded, lips pressed together.

“Work your magic, doc.”

You held Nat’s elbow, trying not to let on just how much your hands shook. Even with sweat dripping down her temples, her scent was just as pronounced as the day you met her — earthy and mature and still just a little sweet —, which didn’t help your nerves. Her eyes stayed on you the whole time, blue and focused, lacking the ease from the hike — that annoying nonchalance, the I have my shit together she might as well have screamed while asking questions about your dating life now all gone, giving space to silence and breaths she didn't fully let out. You got closer, Luke's eager stare in your peripheral vision working as the only thing in the room capable of grounding you.

You've kissed her a million times before, you thought to yourself, not sure if it helped or just made everything worse. You've kissed every inch of her body, a little peck on her arm is nothing.

It was quick. Soft and salty and barely there, just next to where you'd placed the dressings.

Still, you felt it in your whole body.

“There,” you muttered, eyes finding Nat's for just a second before turning to Luke for safety. “All healed.”

“Do you feel better, mama?”

Nat cleared her throat.

“Yeah, bud,” she said with a weak nod, her gaze following the same path as yours. “All better now.”

Luke let out a relieved breath, at last fully relaxing once he believed his mama wasn't hurt anymore.

“Told you,” he squeezed Nat's hand, still in his own. “Mom can make everyone better, she's so good at it.”

“She is,” Nat smiled, small and tame, touching his hair tenderly. “The best.”

“Okay, now we can play soccer!” And just like that, he was already back on full birthday boy chaos. “I'm gonna go get the ball! Mama, you play against me! And mom can be the goalie! Come on, people!”

Luke jolted like a lightning outside, leaving you and Natalie alone in the kitchen, both staring at the path he'd taken.

“He just… bounced right back, didn't he?” Nat chuckled, voice low.

You swallowed the lingering tension, doing your best to act normal.

“Like it never happened. Eight-year-olds and their perpetuous resilience.”

“Right? They should teach a class or something like that,” she snorted, weak, pausing for a second. Her eyes landed on you. “Uh, thanks, by the way,” she lifted her arm. “The way you handled that was… pretty amazing.”

“Just… doing my job,” you shrugged, trying not to let the effect of the compliment show on your cheeks. “Uh, make sure to change the dressings once a day, by the way. I can show you how to do it if you want.”

“Thanks, doc,” she grinned, nodding. “Anything else I need to do?”

“Just steer clear from trees,” you joked. “Or, you know, you can look. But no climbing anymore.”

“Can't make any promises. But I'll try.”

As you were about to tease back, thankful for the rhythm you'd managed to maintain even with the unspoken awkwardness of the kiss, Luke ran back inside, ball in hand.

“COME ON! WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!”

And so you both stepped back into your roles.

Night fell a bit more warmly than the one before, Luke's birthday high and sugar rush decreasing by the second, especially after you'd gotten him bathed and ready for bed. You lay next to him in the tent, Nat inside taking care of cleaning up the decorations, his body curled against your side as he fought off sleep and lost by a mile.

“Mom?” He muttered quietly, nearly gone.

“Here, baby.”

“If I make a birthday wish and tell just one person what it is… then it's okay, right? It can still come true?”

You smiled, taking in the moment while you still could. While he still believed in birthday wishes and the unspoken rules behind them.

“Sure, buddy. Why do you ask?”

“Because I wanna tell you mine,” he whispered, eyelids so heavy you expected him to fully pass out any second now. “But you can't tell anyone else. I don't wanna risk it.”

“Cross my heart.”

He shifted against you.

“I wished we could come here every year. You and me and mama. Family camping trip for all my birthdays.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest at the word family.

“We can make that happen, honey.”

It didn't take long for him to fall asleep after that.

You carried Luke inside with a grunt — he was getting so heavy —, his head tucked into your shoulder as you let the smell of his shampoo ease every nerve that had been on edge over the weekend. It hadn't been easy — being this close to Nat after so long, having to act natural even though you were dying inside half of the time —, but now, on your last night here, holding your baby in your arms, you took comfort in the fact that it had all been worth it. He'd had so much fun. He'd been cared for and appreciated and loved through every second of it. He'd loved it so much he wanted to come back every year with his moms, who still managed to make him feel like part of a family even with everything that had happened.

You'd done your job, and you'd done it well.

“He's out?” Nat asked quietly, leaned over the kitchen counter with a glass of water in hand.

“Like a light,” you whispered. “I'll go put him to bed.”

Natalie followed you suit, opening the door for you, hanging back as you gently tucked Luke into the twin bed. You leaned down, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Happy birthday, buddy.”

Nat watched the scene, arms crossed, leaned against the doorframe with a little smile on her lips. You looked at her, knowing exactly what was going through her mind — all the love for that little boy practically oozing out of her every pore in a way that made her glow. You nodded in recognition, smiling back.

“He's the best thing I ever did,” she commented, earnest, watching his chest move up and down with steady breaths. “Best thing we ever did.”

“He is,” you looked at him too, stopping beside her, letting go of all the ex-wives drama for a moment. Right now, you were both Luke's moms. “Turning out pretty great.”

She chuckled, endeared, shaking her head slightly.

“Best kid in the world,” Nat uncrossed her arms — the dressings still tight in place —, feet slowly moving backwards into the hallway, eyes landing on your face. “Hey, think you can come outside with me a second? I wanna show you something.”

You raised a brow, stepping out of the room, carefully closing the door.

“What is it?”

“Come on. You'll see.”

You couldn't think of a world where you'd ever say no to that.

Outside, Nat circled the cabin, stepping onto the deck that connected to the master bedroom without a word. She sat on the little couch there, fiddling for something in her pocket — an Altoid tin, as it turned out, making your lips curve immediately with recognition.

“You didn't.”

She laughed, cracking the tin open, showing you what was inside — a single joint, carefully rolled in those same fucking rolling papers she used to carry around back when you met her.

“I did.”

You shook your head, amused and surprised, taking the spot next to her — careful enough not to touch her as you sat. Maybe you shouldn't, maybe you were digging your own grave and setting yourself up for the biggest embarrassment of your life, but you couldn't pass up on the opportunity. Nat sat there, beside you, smiling with a joint tucked between her fingers like no time had passed and you were suddenly ten years younger.

And when it came to her, a little part of you was always going to be that same clueless college girl with the wide eyes and the shaky knees.

“I haven't touched one of these in years,” you chuckled, looking at her in disbelief.

“Eight years,” Nat tightened the roll, an old habit you immediately clocked. “Me neither. But when I saw the pictures of the cabin online, I mean…” She shrugged, that gorgeous grin still painted across her lips. “I had to. For old time's sake, you know?”

“I'm not even sure I still know how to.”

“We can find out right now,” she handed you the joint and the lighter, raising her brows slightly as if checking if you actually wanted it. “Do the honors, doc.”

You looked at it for a moment, unsure whether or not you should.

Well, you were already here. Fuck it.

“Gladly,” you placed the joint between your lips, lighting it, fighting tooth and nail not to cough from the smoke that suddenly invaded your throat. You were rusty, but you still had it in you.

She laughed, watching you inhale the smoke.

“There she is.”

“Like riding a bike,” you said with an exhale, handing her the joint.

Nat smoked too, and you watched her ring-clad hands shining in the moonlight, the smoke curling in the air and enveloping her face in the same way it used to. She was gorgeous. So fucking beautiful, especially from this close, especially with that little grin that met her lips the second she exhaled.

“Like riding a fucking bike.”

You both took about two or three more hits before you started feeling lightheaded, shaking your head, laughing as you handed her the joint back.

“Alright, I think that's it for me,” you leaned back against the couch, breathing softly. “Maybe I still need training wheels, just in case.”

“I know,” Nat put out the joint on the corner of the coffee table, placing it back in the Altoid tin with a giggle. “Fuck. I used to go through these like water. Whatever happened to that? When did I turn into such a fucking lightweight?”

You chuckled.

“We’re moms now, Nat. Which means we’re pretty much ancient.”

“Been out of the game for too long,” she joked, staring into the distance — a dark blur of trees blending together in the horizon. “Eight years old. Can you believe that?”

You nodded, warm, the weed making you feel pleasantly light.

“Eight years old,” you repeated. “Feels like yesterday. I thought you were gonna rip my hand out in that delivery room.”

She laughed.

“Yeah, only because he was the biggest newborn ever. I thought I was gonna die. Felt like giving birth to a watermelon.”

You looked at her, amused, shaking your head.

“Well, got Travis to blame for that. The guy’s basically a human closet.”

Nat lowered her head with a snort, thinkative. Her lips pressed together in a thin line, and you raised a brow.

“What, did I strike a nerve there?”

She shook her head.

“No, no. It's just— I don't know. Weird,” she paused, eyes falling on your face. “I just forget he's not yours sometimes.”

It took her a second to catch herself.

“I mean, he is yours. In all the ways that matter. You're his mom. What I mean is just… I forget we didn't make him together, you know?”

You chuckled, understanding what she tried to say, the slight high lowering your inhibitions just a bit.

“I think that would've been a little difficult, Nat.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I don't mean it like that,” she nudged you softly, daring to move just slightly closer, thigh still not touching yours. “He's just so much like you. Getting more and more similar every day.”

You smiled, chest filling with warmth.

“He's my baby,” you muttered, full of love for your son, mind drifting back to his soft words in the tent earlier. “And he's just like you too, you know. It's like looking at a carbon copy.”

Nat sighed softly, visibly more relaxed.

“I think we're doing a good job,” she muttered, leaning back. “All things considered.”

“We are. He had a really good time this weekend, you know,” you grinned. “Said he wants to come back every year.”

Nat's lips curved in a big smile, proud, knowing she'd done something right.

“Every year?”

You nodded earnestly.

“It was his birthday wish. But it's a secret. You can't tell anyone.”

She nodded too, determined.

“My lips are sealed.”

You both paused for a moment, settling into a silence that was, for once, comfortable.

“It was all you, by the way,” you cut through the quiet, gentle, voice trailing off in the light breeze. “You did all this. The cabin, the tent, the… patience you have with him. You're a really good mom, Nat. He's lucky to have you.”

She licked her lips — that same habit that resurfaced whenever she was excited or curious or nervous —, her smile softening into something smaller, gentler now.

“He makes it easy,” she looked over at you. “And give yourself some credit. You're very good too.”

“We both are,” you recognized, “that's why he's such an amazing kid.”

She chuckled.

“I can accept that.”

Silence again. Nat tapped her fingertips on the armrest, taking a deep breath before speaking.

“I'm sorry if I made it weird, by the way. With the, uh, dating app thing earlier. I was just trying to make the mood light.”

You let out a little snort.

“Make the mood light?”

“Yeah, just— get rid of this wall that seems to have set itself between us, you know?” She shrugged, and you knew exactly what she talked about. “Joke around like we used to.”

You nodded, heart melting for the billionth time this weekend. Classic Nat — cracking jokes when things got uncomfortable, trying to keep the atmosphere comfortable however she could. Being the easiest person to be around, if only you weren't still so completely in love with her.

“It's okay,” you reassured, “you didn't make it weird.”

“Well, sorry anyway. It's not my place to meddle.”

You stayed quiet for a second.

“I set up a profile about six months after the divorce,” you confessed, blushing, smiling embarrassedly at your knees. “And I texted a grand total of three women before freaking out and uninstalling the whole thing. There, now you know.”

Nat's laugh sounded out, not mean-spirited or mocking, just amused.

“What, they weren't your type?”

You sighed.

“It just… felt like work,” you shrugged, honest. “I don't think I could've stood to explain to one more person what a hospitalist does.”

She laughed more freely this time, brows furrowed, eyes meeting yours again.

“You deleted the app because you didn't wanna explain what you did for work?”

“Not that,” you shook your head, searching for the right words. “I just… didn't feel like it. It didn't feel right. I’m already spread thin with Luke and work and managing the house and… dating felt like a chore, you know? Like one more thing to do.”

She nodded, chewing on the inside of her cheek, a bit more serious now.

“I know what you mean.”

It was your turn to raise a brow, the question that had been in the back of your mind since the hike earlier threatening to slip right through your impaired filter.

“So… you haven't been dating either?”

She chuckled.

“Wouldn't you like to know,” she mimicked your words from earlier, making you roll your eyes.

“I told you when you asked,” you countered, “only fair you do the same.”

Nat pressed her lips, a smirk on the corner, nodding her head.

“Alright, alright. Since you shared with the class,” she took a deep breath, leaning both hands on her knees, turning her neck to look at your face. “I… haven't. Kinda been focused on other things right now.”

“Other things?”

She nodded again.

“Yeah. Same as you. Work, Luke. Adult stuff, you know.”

“Adult stuff,” you repeated. The question you'd been dying to ask still tickled the back of your throat — you shouldn't, you knew it, but your lips were moving before you had any control over them. “So Lucy is just a friend then?”

Nat’s brows furrowed, curious, confused.

“Lucy?” She snorted. “Where'd you hear that name?”

You looked away, sheepish, already regretting it.

“Uh— I didn't mean to look, it's just…” You cleared your throat. “The notification popped up on your phone and I happened to see it. Which I didn't mean to do. Just figured she might be a girlfriend or something like that.”

Nat laughed, eyes a bit red, landing on the side of your face in a way that was so magnetic you couldn't help but stare back.

“Lucy is my therapist, Y/N.”

You blinked — once, twice, processing. Therapist? How long had that been going on?

You'd suggested it a few times, hinted at it in a way you figured wouldn't offend her, but it'd all been pointless. I'm fine, she'd insist, even when she wasn't, I can manage.

And now she was seeing a therapist?

“Your… therapist?”

Nat nodded, smiling softly, not shying away from the topic as you expected her to.

“Mm-hm,” she hummed, gentle. “My therapist.” As if seeing the question mark all over your face, she kept talking. “I’ve been seeing her for, like, a year now. Maybe more.”

“That's…” You exhaled softly, genuinely proud. “That's great, Nat.”

Her smile didn't fade.

“Yeah. Yeah, she's kind of amazing,” she licked her lips again. “I, uh, just figured it'd be… good. After the divorce. After seeing this version of myself I didn't recognize and all the hurt I caused. Took me a while to get there, but… well. Here we are.”

“I… I'm happy for you, Nat. Really. Couldn't have been easy.”

“Not at first,” she shook her head, “but the payoff is… you know. It's everything. If that's what it takes for me to be a better mom and a better wife then that's what I'm gonna—”

She paused, abrupt, catching herself mid-sentence.

But you'd already heard it.

“A better wife?”

“I didn't mean—”

“But you said it,” you interrupted, not sober enough to shut your mouth and let her off the hook this time. “You said a better wife.”

Nat looked at you, then at the trees, then at the spot behind you. Then at you again. She appeared to be deep in thought, the gears that turned in her head practically visible, and you prepared for her to joke, to deflect, to go with the safe route.

But she didn't, not this time.

“I've been thinking about it,” she said, determined, blurting it out in the same way someone jumps into cold water — all at once, just to make sure they won't back out halfway through it. “A lot. About everything I lost. About what I threw away because I didn't know how to have it.”

“Nat—” you started, but she didn't let you finish.

“Just… let me say it,” she took a deep breath, picking it back up. “I did the stupidest thing in the world, Y/N. I wasn't the person you deserved. I— I ran, and I avoided, and I didn't know how to deal with myself so I figured you wouldn’t either. I should've given you more credit. I should've… I should've fought harder. For you, for our family.”

Your knees trembled, and you were sure you would've fallen if you weren't sitting down. Family. The word Luke had used, the one you'd been suppressing in your mind all weekend long. And there Nat was, saying it like it meant something, like she was finally ready to scream what apparently the both of you had been hiding.

“Lucy's been helping me,” she continued, completely focused on you now. “She's been helping me build myself up piece by piece so I can be the woman you deserve. So I  can honor you, so I can honor Luke, so I can do everything right this time. If you'll still have me. If you'll forgive me for the dumbest thing I ever did in my life.”

Nat brought a hand to cover yours on the couch, bold, shaky. You didn't stop her.

“I wasn't gonna tell you like this. I had this whole— speech worked out in my head,” she chuckled nervously. “In a few months, when I… when I had a more solid foundation, when I worked through some stuff a bit more, I'd ask you to dinner and… I'd do it properly. I had a plan. But then Luke came up with this weekend and you've just been here all the time, and I've been trying so hard not to just—”

Nat finally stopped, breathing heavily as if she'd just run a marathon, but you weren't done.

“Trying so hard not to what?” You asked, needing to know what she was about to say.

She grabbed your hand more tightly, those gorgeous blue eyes staring right into yours.

“To tell you that I love you,” she said, the words landing right in your chest, heart beating so violently you could feel it in every cell. “That I never stopped.”

“Nat…”

“You don't have to say it back. I know it's a lot, I know you weren't expecting me to—”

“Nat, I love you,” you interrupted her, unable to stay quiet as she poured her heart out to you, saying all the words you'd been waiting two years to hear. “I love you, I've loved you for eleven fucking years now. I didn't stop once, not for a second.”

“Y/N, you don't—”

“No, now you let me finish,” you covered her hand with your other one, shifting closer, voice shaking. “I love you more than anything in the world, Nat. I don't— I don't to wait until some new and improved version of you comes along, I want you as you are. You're working on bettering yourself? Don't look for me when you're done. Let me be there through it. I wanna be there for everything, please don't make me wait. Not anymore.”

She swallowed, eyes wet, taking in the words you said like they were all she'd ever wanted to hear. Once you finished, she let out a shaky breath, voice barely above a whisper:

“You sure? Even after I—”

“I’m sure, Nat. It's the only thing I’m truly sure of, that I want you. I want my wife. I want my family.”

“You have me,” she leaned forward, touching her forehead to yours, hands flying to cup your cheeks. “Fuck, Y/N, you've always had me.”

You couldn't wait anymore.

You kissed Nat's lips with a softness that didn't last long, soon turning into hunger, into promises of I love you and I miss you and I need you that didn't need to be said. Her fingers threaded into your hair like that's where they'd always belonged, the overwhelming mix of familiarity and excitement only she was able to give you making your skin burn. Nat didn't waste time, straddling your lap with urgency, hands meeting everywhere they could possibly reach until she finally had enough and rasped:

“Take me to bed.”

You'd be insane if you ever said no to that.

You stumbled into the suite through the sliding glass doors, kissing her again and again, falling into the dance you both knew so well at this point. You undressed her, and she did the same to you, taking her sweet time even with all the anticipation. The clock tattoo on her stomach shined majestically under the low light, and she didn't have to explain its meaning to you — you understood it, it all made sense now.

“You still have yours,” she traced the N on your hip with her fingertips, slowly lowering herself on your body until her lips met it with soft kisses that gradually turned into more.

You did the same to hers — your initial, still black and wobbly and so fucking perfect on her hip just as it was the day you'd promised yourself to her forever.

You were tangled with Nat into the morning, learning and relearning each other all over again, whispering sweet words and muttering soft curses until you were both limp and spent in the queen-sized bed, only moving your muscles in order to smile.

When Luke woke up and found you both in the kitchen, lazily chatting and grinning at nothing in particular over cups of extra-strong coffee, your heart felt full. Nat looked at you with a knowing nod, squeezing your hand under the table, and you knew everything was finally okay.

You had your wife. You had your family.

You hadn't seen her in a couple of weeks. Things cooled a bit between you two during that period, but she'd been reaching out more, warming again, recently. To the point of asking to see you once she got back from Chicago.

She'd given a vague apology - busy, travel, exhaustion - and maybe it was true. It would be fair, but it just felt off. You knew there were times she'd text you even if she was falling asleep, so to go so minimal - always polite though, always civil - felt like...felt like a loss.

Still, you'd missed her. And again, you had no right to be hurt or to expect more. Just friends - you had to keep reminding yourself.

"Uh, here," Jessie announced, drawing you from your thoughts.

She stood before you, back straight, chin up with a half-nervous smile as she held out a gift bag to you.

"Oh," you said as your eyes shifted from her to the bag and back again. You tentatively stepped forward and retrieved the bag from her. You weren't expecting anything.

She stood quietly, watching you, and you took it as a hint to open the bag. You took out the tissue paper standing out of the top of the bag and moved over to your kitchen counter to set it down. Jessie followed you wordlessly.

You peered into the bag and a smile automatically crossed your face. You glanced over your shoulder briefly at her and she flashed you a smile of her own before you reached into the bag and pulled out a few small boxes.

"Jess-"

"-I know you like the original kind, but they released new seasonals so I thought you might like to try those, too," Jessie talked over you.

You turned the boxes over in your hands to examine them and gave her a steady look, though the corner of your mouth tugged upward.

"This is really generous, Jess-"

She was already shaking her head with a comical frown. "They're just treats."

"Yeah, sure, but I know you're on a tight schedule and you didn't have to get me anything," you explained calmly. "This better not be a Spain situation," you went on as you narrowed your eyes playfully at her.

She shook her head again. "No, no. We were in that area anyway. It was nothing."

You stared at her a moment longer before relenting. "Okay. As long as it was convenient," you insisted with an emerging smile. She grinned.

"Of course. Anyway - yeah, uh, those are for you," she went on, her hands clasped behind her back now.

"Well - thank you -" you emphasized as you held her gaze, "this is very thoughtful and sweet. I really appreciate it."

She gave a dismissive shrug. "You're welcome. Glad they're the right ones. I saw them and thought you'd talked about them at some point, but couldn't really remember. But it was nothing, really."

"Well," you held up the boxes as evidence, "it is something." You finished with a soft laugh. "Have you ever tried these?"

"No."

You opened the box and held it out to her. She held up her hand in mild protest.

"They're yours. You don't have to share," she said.

You gave her another look and held out the box further with a chuckle. "I've got enough to share."

She eyed you suspiciously for another moment before retrieving one and taking a small bite. You watched her as she chewed. And chewed. And gave you a smile and a thumbs up that was not remotely convincing. You legitimately laughed.

"Jess. You don't have to pretend to like them just because I like them," you assured her with a fond look. She made a show of swallowing her bite and her smile turned humourously forced.

"They're delicious," she feigned and you laughed again.

"Hey, this works in my favour. These are hard to find. So - more for me," you said haughtily and she chuckled.

"Thanks again," you said as you reached out and you two embraced in a hug. You hardly noticed as you instinctively tucked your head against hers. It just felt - good - being with her again.

When the hug ended, you noted her step back and how her hands went behind her back once more. She seemed rather interested in the plant on your table and rocked up onto the balls of her feet before dropping back down.

You should keep your mouth shut, but you were finding it harder and harder to do so.

"Feel like we haven't really talked in ages," you said, keeping your tone light. "Which is funny, because I guess it hasn't really been," you backtracked with a faint laugh.

She'd looked at you as you spoke, but shifted her gaze away as she began to respond, her hand coming up to the back of her neck.

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry about that," she offered a bit slowly. "It's just been really hectic and intense lately."

She started into an extended explanation of training, team obligations, tournament preparation, fitness tests, and you eventually cut her off with what you hoped was a gentle smile.

"Hey, sorry, I wasn't trying to interrogate or anything. I know you're busy and you're juggling a lot. Things get intense for you - and that's totally fine," you offered a chuckle as you continued to reassure, "for the record, I have no problem with intense. I was just commenting. What I meant, I guess, was more like - it's good to see you again."

She exhaled inaudibly, her shoulders visibly relaxing and a slow smile formed on her face.

"Yeah, it's good to see you, too," she said. A beat passed and she went on. "So tell me, did you cave and work on the puzzle without me?"

It took you a second to map the shift in topic, but you released a laugh.

"How dare you accuse me of such moral weakness," you returned facetiously and her smile grew. You laughed once more and held out your arm in gesture towards to the table. "Shall we, then?"

Even if you went into today with lingering questions, maybe a desire to not be so open, as you sat next to her plugging away at the puzzle, catching up, joking again with one another, it was alarmingly easy to slip back into things with Jessie.

The afternoon carried on until the need for dinner was undeniable. After a quick discussion on what to eat, you collectively decided to walk to the nearby grocery store, pick up some ingredients and come back to cook together.

While at the grocery store, you two spontaneously decided it would be a good idea to bake blueberry muffins, which - by the time you were done dinner, done chatting, meant you were baking together at 8 o'clock at night.

And, of course, Jessie had to stay to taste test and to split the batch, and by then it was well into the night.

And yet, when you said goodbye to each other at the door, you still didn't want her to leave.

-------

"Hey, I saved you a seat. No rush - get here whenever you can."

You hardly noticed the soft smile on your face as you read Jessie's text. You replied.

"Thanks! I'm probably 10 min out. See you soon."

"Cool. We're in one of the rooms at the back. Take a right after you pass the host stand."

You followed Jessie's instructions once you entered the restaurant and made your way towards the room. You could hear boisterous, overlapping conversation and laughter as you approached the entryway.

You stepped in and were immediately spotted by the series of Jessie's teammates sitting with their back towards the wall. There were a couple of large tables in the room with Jessie's friends situated throughout. They waved at you cheerfully.

"Look who's here!"

Jessie had her back to the door, but immediately sat up straighter and turned towards the door. You locked eyes and she smiled broadly.

"Hey," she greeted as she reached to the chair next to her and pulled it out slightly. "Here."

"Thanks," you said as you approached, waving and saying 'hello' to the group along the way.

There was a pair you didn't recognize, but otherwise you knew everyone there.

And as you sat down, your mind pieced together that all of the people in attendance - coincidentally or not - happened to be couples.

Not you and Jessie though.

"So, how's your day been?"

Jessie's voice pulled you from you thoughts and you turned to her. You answered and the two of you shared a couple of quick updates before you were both drawn into larger conversation.

Eventually, a couple of servers came in, setting down various small plates across the tables. One server came up next to Jessie, setting down a plate.

"And you had the cauliflower bites over here, right?"

"Oh. Yeah. That'd be great," Jessie replied as she sat back to give the server room. "Thanks."

"I love those," you said as they were placed near you. Jessie wordlessly moved the dish closer to you with a concealed grin.

"Did you order those for me?" You asked with a scrutinizing look. She remained tight lipped and merely took a sip of her drink. "Jess," you admonished with less-than-successful seriousness before you nudged her with your shoulder. "That's sweet. Thank you."

"They're good," Jessie said casually with a shrug, though you caught the faint smirk on her lips.

The servers then started taking dinner orders and you shot Jessie a playfully wide-eyed look as you snatched up the menu. She laughed and leaned in, pointing to a couple of items.

"You might like these," she said before leaning in a touch more, enough that your arms were pressed against one another's, and pointed at another item. "There's also this if you don't like the other two. And, you know, the entire menu."

You had to admit your mind was a lot less on the menu and more focused on your proximity to her.

You were growing vaguely aware that you should speak sooner rather than later. You quietly cleared your throat and turned your head subtly to speak to her while others were giving their orders. She tilted her head in towards you to hear you better and you tried not to smile.

"What are you going to get?" You asked, reprimanding yourself mildly as you stumbled over your thoughts to get to that. She turned to speak closer to your ear, now, and you swallowed subconsciously.

"I think I'm just getting the gnocchi. You?"

You didn't put much thought into it, and truthfully, her recommendations sounded spot-on. You chose one of them and she pulled back with a smile.

With food eventually ordered, conversation began to flow once more. You felt a sweet tension in your chest and you couldn't resist smiling as you engaged with Jessie and her friends.

As the appetizers depleted and the group waited on dinner. People began to circulate around the room and chat with different folks. At some point, the pair you didn't recognize came and sat in the newly vacant seats across from you and Jessie.

They both extended their hands to you and introduced themselves and you did the same.

"It's been way too long since we've seen each other," Jessie said with a smile as she sat relaxed in her chair, hand casually wrapped around her drink. You tried not to think about how her knee brushed yours if either of you moved.

"I know! Sure you don't want to come play in the Bundesliga? You can play with us and Vanessa," Pernille said teasingly. Jessie laughed and you smiled naturally.

"You know, I'm good here," Jessie said with a smile you were trying hard not to stare at. She glanced your way.

You listened in as the three caught up, adding comments or questions in where appropriate. Eventually, attention turned to you.

"So, Fleming," Magda said, now leaning in conspiratorially as her eyes darted purposefully between Jessie and you. "Stop with all the mystery. Tell us everything. How long have you two been together? You know, Jessie's always been coy about dating, but-"

You were hardly processing the rest of what Magda was saying and instead could only really focus on your heart thumping loudly in your chest. You probably stared at her a moment too long already, but Jessie sitting up in her chair and moving her glass a few inches over on the table snapped you back into the moment.

"Oh," she started, with a smile moving into place a moment later as she released a small laugh and gave you a cursory glance. She frowned, eyes settling on her glass as she gave a couple of quick shakes of her head. "Oh, no, we're friends."

The sweetness that had been fluttering in your chest abruptly transformed into a sharp pain that twisted behind your ribs.

You felt your jaw tighten subconsciously and you did your best to not break your gaze or react. You swallowed again involuntarily and mustered up an expression you hoped looked easy and unbothered.

She let out another brief laugh and you two locked eyes for a fleeting moment before you both looked at Magda and Pernille.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry," Magda said, her expression - and Pernille's - showing obvious regret and embarrassment. "I just-"

"Don't worry about it," you interjected with a gracious smile as you ignored the lump that was forming in your throat. The more you all lingered on this, the more humiliating it felt and you weren't sure how much you could tolerate.

Some part of you was determined to assert your dignity and take ownership of the moment. You offered a gentle laugh and gestured pointedly to the couples around the table.

"I mean, fair assumption," you joked as you continued to smile at them.

Sparing any of them further, Pernille jumped in with a vaguely connected anecdote and eventually you felt your pulse calm. The ache in your chest and the knots in your stomach weren't as easy to settle though.

Dinner came and everyone returned to their seats. You mustered up a smile as Deyna and her partner sat down across from you once more. Not wishing to be further exposed, you started up conversation to eliminate any room for scrutiny.

Meanwhile, Jessie sat next to you, quiet and subdued. Her knee, that was brushed up against yours just minutes prior, no longer at risk of touching yours; same with her shoulder and arm. You valiantly banished the observations from your mind.

Maybe it was wishful thinking, but you swore you caught Jessie glancing at you out of the corner of her eye as everyone ate. Yet, she didn't say more than a word or two to you.

She still smiled, still responded when spoken to, but things were off now. Again, maybe you were reading into things, but to you, it felt like you could practically see the walls going up.

"How is it?" You asked as you glanced at her still half-full plate, Jessie pushing a piece of gnocchi around on the dish.

She seemed almost surprised, back straightening for a moment before her shoulders rounded out again and she absently pierced the piece with her fork.

"Yeah, it's good," she answered, though her eyes didn't leave the plate. It took her a moment before she glanced at you. Your chest twinged at the effort it seemed to take her to do it. "How's yours?"

"Fine," you responded, voice still friendly enough, though you felt suddenly deflated. You swallowed and looked to her briefly before adding. "The beets are really good."

You saw her try to smile and she glanced your way. "Good."

In time, the plates were cleared, more drinks were ordered and people began to disburse around the room again. You took the small opening you had.

"Hey," you said under your breath as you leaned toward her, albeit nothing like earlier this evening. She held her hands clasped firmly in her lap though she did tilt her head down in another way of indicating she was listening. You bit back a sigh. "Are you okay?"

A frown creased her forehead as she glanced your way. "Yeah. I'm good."

Frustration began to creep up within you, but you tried to tamp it down. She returned her attention to her near-empty drink.

"Is this about what Magda said earlier?"

Your heart beat heavy in your chest once again as the words left your mouth, but you held your eyes steady on her. Her head snapped towards you, that frown still on her face.

"What?" She asked, looking maybe offended - maybe just confused - and your stomach dropped. You pulled back slightly and her expression softened. "What?" She asked again, gentler. "No." Her gaze fell to the ground before returning to yours and away again. She shrugged and drained her drink. "I'm just kind of tired."

Your eyes remained on her as you struggled with what to do or say next. What to feel.

She solved it for you as she stood up out of her chair. She stretched, looking around the room.

"Ugh. I've been sitting for too long. I'm gonna run to the bathroom - I'll be back," she announced with a fleeting glance your way.

You watched her walk away, disappointment seeping throughout your body before you forced yourself to snap out of it.

Truthfully, you envisioned yourself just grabbing your things and leaving, but you refused to be chased out so abruptly or to draw attention to yourself in that way. Instead, you looked around the room and grabbed your glass before settling in across from Mac and Reilyn.

When Jessie returned, you refused to look her direction though you caught her looking your way before returning to her chair though that part of the table had mostly emptied out.

"So, how were your treats?"

"Hm?" You asked, eyebrows raised before giving a quick shake of your head. "Sorry, what?"

"How were your cross-city confections?" Mac asked with a mischievous grin.

"Uh..." You narrowed your eyes at her in consideration and she and Reilyn both laughed.

"You know, the boxes of treats that Jessie took two trains and a bus to get," Reilyn explained playfully matter-of-fact.

"Yeah, and nearly dislocated my elbow she snatched the bag away from me so quickly when I tried to grab a box," Mac laughed. "Then she pointedly ignored me the rest of the evening."

"Huh?" You asked, that low level ache in your torso replaced suddenly by confusion as you leaned in slightly. "She said you guys were already in that area."

"'Area'," Reilyn said sarcastically with air quotes. "City, sure."

You looked between them as you processed what they were sharing with you.

It should have made you feel special. An hour ago, it probably would have.

You reminded yourself to respond.

"Oh. Well, yeah, they were great," you managed with a smile.

Mac was still nearly doubled over in laughter about the whole thing before Reilyn waved her hands excitedly and launched into a new story.

You feigned following along, but your gaze drifted towards Jessie, catching her politely nodding as she listened to conversation at her table, but seemed distracted by the condensation on her glass and whatever was on her phone. You had to make sure not to let your eyes linger on her for too long.

So, now what. She - evidently - went very much out of her way to get those treats. And things were going good again. Hell, just an hour ago you two were nearly cuddled up together at the table, smiling and chatting and - it just felt right.

And now, she would hardly talk or look at you.

But it wasn't about the comment earlier. Evidently.

You made a point of trying to make the most of the evening, but you couldn't rid yourself of the heaviness that had descended upon things. You didn't want to be here. It wasn't about her friends - they were great - it was everything else.

Did she know it was couples only when she invited you? Or did she not know? Did something else about the night cause her to withdraw? Was it the question? Or was she really just tired? She went halfway across Chicago to get you some silly snacks you liked. Maybe there was something else she wanted to do in that area - she liked taking photos, she liked checking out random places - who knows. Did it mean anything?

You circulated the room. Jessie did too, to a lesser degree, but at no point did she come over to you.

You felt drained all over again.

Once it was socially acceptable to leave, you graciously excused yourself from your current conversation, said your goodbyes and went to gather up your things.

"You're leaving?"

You nearly paused upon hearing Jessie's voice behind you. You finished gathering your things and turned to face her. She was standing casually with her hands in her pockets.

"Yeah. It's been a long day," you said, offering a thin, but polite smile.

She looked away the way she did when she was thinking. She shrugged a shoulder idly. "Do you want me to-"

"No," you cut her off gently. "I'm okay. Stay. Have fun," you finished lightly, trying to control your breath.

She quieted and gave a couple of small nods, gaze falling to the floor.

"Okay. Well. Text me when you get home," she said, returning her eyes to yours. You held steady and gave a nod.

"Yep. Sounds good," you accepted. You side-stepped her. "Night."

You caught her turning to keep her eyes on you as you walked on.

"Night."

------

You were getting ready to get into bed and still hadn't texted Jessie. You didn't see the point in rushing.

Your phone lit up.

"Home safe?"

"Yeah. Sorry. Just been settling in."

"No need to apologize. Glad you made it home safe."

You sighed and locked your phone, setting it on your nightstand as you got under the blankets. Your body felt heavy and you rubbed your eyes.

Your phone buzzed again.

"Thanks for coming tonight."

You watched as the three dots lit up in sequence on your screen. You waited.

"Sorry if anything was awkward tonight."

Seriously?

You huffed in disbelief. You wanted to lock your phone and toss it on the bed. Sometimes you weren't sure what was worse. Her apologies or her silence.

Your thoughts and feelings clashed back and forth and you eventually responded.

"Sure,” Jessie said flatly with a lingering frown. “Or incriminate myself further. Who knows.”

"It's okay, babe. We're all fine now," you assured her, though you still wore a hint of a teasing smile.

"Thankfully," Jessie continued in the same tone, slouching further in her chair and planting her feet firmly on the ground, arms crossed.

"Hey yeah, we haven't talked about that in so long - where do you think you'd be if we didn't get together?" You asked with bright curiosity, and immediately had to swallow a snort of a laugh at the bewildered and tired look Jessie gave you.

"Right. A talk for another time," you relented and she gave you an affectionate eyeroll before grabbing your hand and pulling it onto her lap. You smiled, your eyes lingering on her for an extra moment before you cleared your throat subtly and looked back to the girls.

"Okay," you started anew. "Where to begin..."

------

Flashback

You sat at your coffee table and ignored the faint tightness in your chest as you subtly looked over your shoulder towards your front door. Your eyes fell to Jessie's bags that were neatly lined up against the wall, ready to go.

Your eyes panned towards the clock and that familiar pull in the pit of your stomach started up again.

You turned back to face Jessie and all of the tension that had started to fester inside of you settled almost immediately. She sat hunched over the table, resting her chin between her thumb and forefinger and wore the most serious, adorable frown on her face as she scrutinized the puzzle in front of you both.

It took you a moment longer than it should've for you to find your words.

"Not that I'm trying to get rid of you, but don't you need to be leaving? Your flight's at 2:20, right?"

Jessie's frown deepened momentarily before she looked up at you doe eyed.

"Hm?" Her expression cleared and she glanced down at her watch. She studied it for a couple of seconds before giving a shrug. "Mm, it's okay. Security won't be too bad."

You frowned, unconvinced. She used to give herself more of a buffer. And Jessie was someone who didn't like to be late or have to rush.

"You sure? I mean, it's nice that you got to stop by this morning, but I don't want you to be late," you offered. She simply returned her attention to the puzzle pieces she'd arranged neatly in front of her.

"It's okay. I'm not worried," she said casually before picking up a piece and setting into place. She lit up and looked immediately to you with a bright smile. "Got one."

You laughed. "Well I'm glad one of us is having luck."

"It's not luck," she said as she scanned the pieces before her.

"Right. Miss Methodical. Miss I-like-math-and-systems.”

"It's called 'focus',” she remarked deliberately with a hint of a smirk.

"Ah, of course. A foreign concept to me,” you quipped.

Her eyes continued to scan the puzzle and she replied. “I mean, considering how many pieces you placed today…possibly.”

“Wow,” you said, mockingly affronted. “So we’re keeping count now.”

“I’m just tracking progress,” she refuted simply with a wry glance your way. Her eyes snapped back down as soon as they locked with yours, missing your smile at the banter.

“Uh huh. And here I am - distracting you."

Jessie sat up a bit straighter though her eyes didn't leave the puzzle. The edges of her mouth tightened just so and she fidgeted momentarily before clearing her throat.

"I don't mind," she said after a moment passed, tone simple and light. Her eyes still didn’t leave the table as she picked up a piece and held it overtop, but with no clear plan for placement.

A small twinge went through you before you rallied. You smirked and reached out to give her a playful nudge on the shoulder.

"You're supposed to say I'm not distracting," you teased.

A cheeky smile crossed her face and she finally looked up at you, relinquishing the piece back to the others. "Well either way, it clearly hasn't stalled my progress, so..."

You gave her a scandalized look, hand to your chest. She chuckled.

"Wow. The disrespect," you remarked, smile growing at seeing her own.

Her smile quieted as she sat back in her chair and placed her hands on her thighs. She exhaled and checked her watch once more.

"I guess you're right. Not exactly giving myself a lot of leeway," she relented.

She sighed once more and stood, grabbing her empty glass and reaching for yours but pausing, turning towards you, “Are you done?”

“Oh. Yeah,” you responded after a moment’s delay and she grabbed your glass and headed to the dishwasher. “Hey. I could’ve done that,” you told her.

She shrugged as she placed the glassware into the top rack and spoke casually, “No problem. Least I can do.”

You gave her a withering look. “We’ve been over this. Just relax. I don't need you to do anything. You-” you nearly stumbled over your words, the lack of definition leaving the options too open-ended, “can make yourself at home.”

“And I’d clean up after myself at home, too,” Jessie said decisively as she walked back over. “I don’t want to impose,” she tacked on in a somewhat exaggerated way. She was probably trying to deflect with humour, but you didn’t fully believe the air of sarcasm.

“You’re not imposing,” you corrected calmly, seeking her gaze, but she’d started arranging all of the stray puzzle pieces strategically on the roll-up mat, eyes set on the task at hand.

You let out a faint chuckle, allowing the corner of your mouth to turn up subtly. “Believe it or not, if I thought you were a pain or didn’t like you, I wouldn’t invite you over.”

She rewarded you with a soft chuckle as she began to carefully roll up the mat.

Your pulse began to quicken as your mind debated back and forth before you forced your concerns aside and simply spoke.

“I want you here.”

Her movements stilled so briefly that by the time you blinked she’d continued. You wondered if you imagined it.

What you didn’t have to wonder about? Her lack of acknowledgment beyond a tight-lipped smile and a cursory glance.

Your stomach twisted faintly as you tried not to fidget or think too much. You distractedly began tidying up other things as she set the cleaned up puzzle aside in its usual spot.

"You can't work on it until I'm back,” she said as she finally turned to you with a teasing smirk.

The coiling inside of you relaxed some.

"No touching the puzzle. Got it. I know the rules," you agreed as you held up a hand in innocence.

She paused, her smirk fading and her shoulders dropped a touch. You could visibly see her suddenly - unnecessarily - second-guessing herself. "I mean, well, it's yours, and it's your place, so - you're obviously allowed to do whatever you want. But-"

You held up a hand again with a laugh. "Jess. We're good. You're my puzzle partner - I'm not touching it until you're back. I won't even be tempted," you assured her jokingly. Warmth flared in your chest at the relieved look that crossed her face. One you could tell she was at least partially trying to hide.

You two began to walk to the door together, your shoulders brushing briefly as you entered the hall. You felt the need to speak.

"And a reminder - you bought that puzzle. So, it's actually yours."

"Well, it lives here, and possession is nine-tenths of the law, so," she trailed off as she slipped on her shoes and reached for her backpack.

"Honestly," you half-glowered, half-pleaded as she swung the bag over her shoulder. She looked back in a mix of confusion and concern. You glanced down to her shoes. "It's none of my business. But. I would feel better if you tied your shoes."

She stared at you wordlessly for a moment before the corner of her mouth turned up in a lopsided grin.

"Okay, mom," she said flatly though she leaned down and tied her laces with no further protest.

You felt heat rush up your neck to your cheeks. You held back an embarrassed groan.

Mom? Yeah. That's exactly how you wanted her to think of you.

"Yikes," you deadpanned. "Making sure you catch your flight. Making sure you tie your shoes. I'll tone it down," you finished with a slightly forced laugh. She gave you a small smile and a quick shrug after a moment’s contemplation.

"I don't mind," she said once more.

You did your best to muster up an easy smile, but managed nothing more than a closed-lipped one with wavering eye contact as you folded your arms against your chest.

"Okay. Well. Glad to know you won’t suffer a shoelace-related mishap.” You managed to joke and she chuckled softly.

You looked at one another for an extended moment and you filled the impending awkwardness with what felt logical.

“I hope you have a good flight.” You tried not to scrutinize the stiffness in your delivery.

She gave a nod and pushed her hands into her pockets. "Thanks," she said before giving a shrug, her gaze falling to the baseboards of your wall. “It’ll be fine.”

You two stood before each other, intermittently staring at the other to looking anywhere but at one another.

You deflated internally. Things always got weird before she left town. Some times more than others.

The energy between you that felt so calm and easy sometimes felt anything but. And it was like this more and more. It was like there was so much beneath the surface, so much to say, more to do, but neither of you had the guts to poke at whatever it was.

You’d known Jessie for, God, nearly a year now. You met through a friend of a friend. Hit it off one night at an event neither of you wanted to be at.

A couple of book and coffee recommendations had turned into a few follow-up texts. Those turned into idle, yet slow conversation. Into a tentative invite to a market. To more texts - deeper conversations, funnier conversations - to more hang outs.

More ease. More warmth.

To her suddenly being a near constant, somehow intertwined in your life. Cheerful or humorous morning texts, updates, good night texts. Seeing each other during her down time. Making a point of seeing you before hitting the road. Scheduling catch ups before she was back.

You loved it. You loved-

No. No. Not going there yet.

You guys were just friends.

And that was the issue.

It didn’t feel like friends. It didn’t feel casual. It didn’t feel light in the sense friendships do. So much of it felt like there was another layer, more weight, more meaning, behind it.

And yet, you’d never kissed. Never held hands. Did you sit too close to one another on the couch? Stand unnecessarily close to each other when you scrutinized something together at a store? Yes. Absolutely. Sometimes. At least in your humble opinion.

But anytime you thought you had boundaries figured out, she'd back off. Next time you hung out, hell, sometimes even 5 minutes later, she'd sit stiffly a foot apart from you. Or if you brushed against each other she'd practically recoil.

You just couldn't figure it out.

Never mind comparisons. She hugged her friends all the time. Leaned into them in pictures. Brushed against them when she was in a good mood and animated about something.

The truth was, she did those things a lot less with you.

And there was the fact that she’d never said a thing beyond friendship to you. Yes, you two bantered all the time, something you were inclined to read as flirtation sometimes, but she was dry and sarcastic with her teammates too.

Your stomach sank.

And this wasn’t like you. You weren’t used to feeling like this. Second-guessing. Conducting thesis-level analysis over the most mundane things. Pining.

"Hey, uh, I downloaded that book you told me about. I'll start reading it on the plane."

Her comment drew you out of your thoughts.

As much as you wanted to keep talking, the fact that she was running late hovered in the back of your mind.

“Oh,” you said, coming back to and allowing yourself a receptive smile. “Okay. Can’t wait for another one of Jessie’s Judgements.”

She scoffed with a playful eyeroll. “Well, your recommendations have rarely let me down, so…I think you’re safe.”

You wanted to build off of what she said, but, she should really go.

“Glad to hear it,” you accepted with a lingering smile before playfully tapping your wrist in gesture. "Time," you stated.

"Right," she nodded with a small laugh. She brought a hand up to her mouth and quietly cleared her throat as she seemed momentarily transfixed on the wall. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

“And we’re still on for Sunday?” She asked, finally looking back at you, sounding nonchalant but with eyebrows raised.

You frowned briefly before your mind caught up. “Oh yeah. Of course.”

"Alright. Cool," she said as she idly rubbed the back of her neck, eyes still anywhere but yours before digging her hands back into her pockets. "Guess I better go." She mindlessly tapped the toe of her shoe against the rug. "I'll text."

You couldn't help but let out a breath of a laugh. It was all so awkward.

"Sounds good. Don't worry, okay? I know you're busy. If you can text, great, but it's all good," you reassured, not for the first time, with a small laugh. "We'll connect when you're back."

You saw her exhale through her nose, her shoulders relaxing and she soon straightened with a small smile.

"Kay. I'll see you later, then," she said. A brief second of indecision seems to take hold of you both before you simultaneously stepped forward into a hug.

Today, the hug lasted longer than it probably should have. When you finally pulled away, you strongly suspected your cheeks were flushed. Your only solace was that Jessie's cheeks seemed a bit redder than usual, too.

She remained rooted to her spot for a second longer, before swiftly grabbing her luggage and giving you a nod.

"Alright. Thanks again for letting me swing by-"

"Jess," you admonished with a laugh. It was so absurd. She gave a sheepish grin.

"-I'll see you Sunday."

She stepped through the door and gave you an adorable wave that you returned with a chuckle.

"Bye."

"Bye, Jess. Have a good flight."

When you closed the door behind her, you braced your hands against the door and exhaled as you leaned into it with your weight, your head eventually resting against it. You shook your head slowly.

You didn't understand how you could feel so charged and so drained all at once.

Before you could scrutinize too much, you made yourself take a deep breath and you busied yourself around the apartment to settle your nerves.

You checked your phone to see a missed text from your best friend. You responded.

"Hey. Sorry. Jess just left."

"Uh huh. I figured that's what was distracting you. So. Dare I ask. Any progress?"

Your shoulders rounded out as you felt yourself deflate.

"No."

You paused. Unsure of what else to say. You knew [y/best friend] was losing patience with this whole situation. To which you'd respond with, 'Imagine how I feel??’

"She was being weird and quiet again. Well, her version of weird and quiet lol."

"Surprise."

"Hey. Don't be mean."

"Sorry. You know I'm half joking. The whole thing's just mind boggling. This woman stocks your favourite drinks and snacks at her apartment, half-lives at your apartment now in her down time, is honest to God sweeter and more attentive than actual girlfriends or boyfriends I know, but won't define anything or be direct."

"I know. Believe me."

"She’s sweet. She's nice. Don't get me wrong. But she's a coward."

You frowned as a pang went through you upon reading the message. You felt protective of Jessie, and yet, it hurt.

"Or. You know. She’s just a really genuinely thoughtful and sweet person who doesn't like me as more than a friend. She develops deep friendships. And maybe that’s all this is. And I'm just reading into things like some narcissistic idiot."

"This is not that. And you are certainly not a narcissistic idiot in any sense. And the fact that she makes you even ponder that makes me want to dislike her."

"[Y/best friend's name]. Please. This is hard enough. I don't need you taking up arms on my behalf."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry. It's just been like a freakin' year and I don't like seeing my friend strung along. But I hear you! I'll let it go. For today lol."

You sighed. Were you being strung along? You didn't even know anymore.

Still. Throughout the rest of the day, you heard from Jessie.

"Made it through security. Shoes tied and everything."

"Also started the book. I’m saving judgment until chapter three, but so far you’re safe."

"I'm finally wrapped up for the day, just back in the hotel room getting ready for bed. How was your dinner?"

It was like that, you two texting back and forth when you could, over the next few days.

Until Sunday.

"Hey [Y/N]. I really hate to do this, but I need to cancel our plans for this afternoon. My flight's been delayed and it's looking like we'll miss our connection on top of that. I'll be lucky if I make it home today at all."

"I'm really sorry. I hate flaking out like this."

Your heart dropped a bit, but you mostly just felt badly that she was dealing with all of that. Of course it would've been nice to see her today, but there was always another time.

"Hey, no need to apologize. These things happen. And it's entirely out of your control. I highly doubt you want to spend your entire day in airports."

"I'm sorry you're dealing with all of those delays. That's gotta be frustrating. I trust Reilyn and co have plentiful games and such to keep you all occupied. Maybe this is the universe telling you to finish your crochet project 😂"

"Still."

"Haha. Yeah, we always find a way to stay occupied. Thanks for being understanding."

You frowned, slightly amused at your phone.

"It's honestly no problem, Jess. I understand travel complications."

"And hey, this is a good chance for me to run some errands I didn't get around to yesterday. If you do happen to make it home today and still want to hang out though, just shoot me a text."

You stared at the text after you sent it. Did it sound too desperate? She'd come over after late flights. So this wasn't weird, right?

"Thanks. I won't make you wait around for me though. We'll just see each other another time."

A brief pang went through your chest at the response, but you tried to not read into it. You chewed your bottom lip and texted again. Any inkling that you were being pathetic and over-available, was recrafted in your mind: you didn't like games. You liked being direct and clear, and - she was your friend...or something... - there shouldn't be a need for mental gymnastics.

"You mentioned that gallery opening later this week. Want to check that out?"

You stared at your phone waiting for the three little dots to come up again. You switched to another app as you waited. You switched back a while later - still nothing.

She was probably just busy. The team wrangled her into something or maybe there was an update about her flight.

With a sigh, you went on with your newly open day.

You hated how you practically felt your chest fill with anticipation any time your phone vibrated.

Eventually, it was her name on your screen.

"Maybe. I'm not really sure what my week is looking like right now. I don't want to say 'yes' if I'll just have to bail."

Your chest constricted faintly again. You almost started texting back right away, but your thumb stalled over the keyboard and you tucked your phone in your back pocket.

No games, huh? You scolded yourself internally and texted back sooner than you intended.

"All good. I know your schedule changes - I don't mind, honestly, mine does too, sometimes. Regardless, we'll play it by ear."

"Cool. Thanks."

Your stomach dipped at the minimal reply.

You put your phone away. Her message didn't exactly invite continued conversation, and quite frankly, you felt you'd put yourself out there enough today.

Eventually, you were winding down and getting ready for bed. You hadn't heard anything more from Jessie. No travel updates today, apparently.

You were lying in bed and gave in, checking Insta. You saw stories from Mac and few others. You opened them and that pit of disappointment in your stomach grew.

They'd gotten home a couple of hours ago. Meaning, Jessie was home and hadn't even texted you.

You closed your eyes and grit your teeth.

So what? She didn't owe you an update. Why should she keep you posted? You weren't her girlfriend.

You. Weren't. Her. Girlfriend.

You exhaled brusquely and turned onto your side, abruptly turning out the light on your nightstand and setting your phone down with a louder-than-necessary thud.

You needed to get some sleep. You'd feel better in the morning.

Except, when you woke up, you still didn't have a message from Jessie.

Which meant you had to admit - on some level - that without that, you didn't feel better.

She was being distant. Again.

You wouldn't say you waited all day for her to text, but in time, you eventually sent her a message.

"Hope you made it back okay."

"Hey. Yeah, thanks. Got in super late. Your day's been okay?"

It was better than nothing. But it was slow. And it was off. It wasn't like her usual texts to you.

The teen directly across from you, with freckles that had become more and more pronounced over the years to the point where she was a near-spitting image of Jessie, gave you a self-impressed look.

"Momma thinks I'm funny," she said haughtily.

"That makes one of us," Harper quipped before chuckling into her bowl at her own remark.

"Shut up!"

"It was a joke!"

"Girls," Jessie cut in as she held out her hands for silence. "Please." Their comments quieted and then died as they both quietly pouted. Jessie smiled sweetly at them, well aware it would probably irritate them. "Thank you. And Ky, yes, watch your language, please. At least while we're enjoying a dinner together."

Ky rolled her eyes dramatically as she folded her arms against herself with a huff.

"No fair. You always side with Mom," she pouted.

Jessie leaned in with another smile. "She's my wife. The mother of my darling children-" she grinned when they both fussed over the comment "-of course I'm going to side with her."

"Thanks, babe," you said as you leaned your shoulder into her and she turned to give you a peck on the cheek.

"Gross. If we can't swear at the table, then you guys shouldn't get to be gross at the table either," Harper objected.

"We're adults. We're married-" you started.

"-Happily married," Jessie interjected pointedly, a finger in the air. You snickered and placed your hand on her thigh as you looked to your children with a quietly pleased smile.

"Right. Happily married," you confirmed with a pointed, sidelong glance to Jessie that was met with the woman sitting up proudly at the declaration. You looked back to Harper and Ky. "Would you rather your parents be arguing day in and day out?"

They rolled their eyes yet again.

"No," Harper said in a way that made it seem like it pained her to say it.

"Okay," you said with a light shrug. "So a little affection between your parents isn't so bad, now is it," you teased.

"Anyway," Ky responded pointedly, drawing the word out with a look to both Jessie and you. "As I was saying, it's stupid that Thalia is putting up with Reese's mixed messages. Like, if he actually liked her, it would be clear. She wouldn't have to guess."

You sat across from your daughter as you absorbed her words. She wasn't wrong. In fact, you were glad that she was so self-possessed and had those expectations.

However. Sometimes. Things are complicated.

You hesitated for a couple of moments as you internally debated and it was long enough for her to frown at you in question. You released a faint sigh and offered a subtle shrug.

"True. And I am very proud that that's how you feel and how you think." You paused to take a quick breath as you gathered your thoughts. "But, sometimes, there's more to it."

Ky arched an eyebrow and shot Harper a questioning look the other teen shared.

"I'm not saying you should put up with being strung along, and certainly not indefinitely," you protested preemptively, "but sometimes it's not as simple as it seems."

Ky gave you a scrutinizing look.

"It's a situationship. You're telling me you'd tell her to stick around?" She challenged.

"No, I wouldn't," you responded primly as you tilted your head up at them, now feeling on trial in front of your children. "But. That would make me a bit of a hypocrite. I mean, your momma had me in one."

"WHAT!?" Both girls blurt out, both leaning in simultaneously against the table and staring between you and Jessie wide-eyed.

"Well, hold on-" Jessie interjected, sitting forward quickly and giving you a bewildered look before looking intermittently at the kids with a frazzled smile probably meant to diffuse things.

"Wait - what," Harper reiterated, craned forward and looking at both of you with such disbelief. "Momma-" She pointed at Jessie as if to verify we were all talking about the same person, "Momma had you in a situationship?" Her tone finished high in confusion as her brows knit together.

"No-"

"Yeah."

Silence fell over the kitchen table as you and Jessie looked to one another. She looked mortified and affronted and you actually couldn't help but let out a short laugh.

God, how things had changed.

There was a time where just the thought of Jessie nearly had you tears. Now here you were, so many years later, her ring on your finger such a mainstay that you could hardly remember a time it wasn't yours; your two teens sitting across from you; and Jessie herself - older, more settled, more herself - giving you the most helpless, puppy-eyes at your proclamation.

Despite there being a period where you didn't even know if you two would speak again, here you were, a warm, loving family - and you could even laugh about it now.

You held Jessie's stare, trying not to laugh further.

"Babe," you said knowingly. She wilted.

"It's not what it sounds like," Jessie half-pouted, half-protested as her hands fell into her lap and her shoulders rounded out in defeat.

"It kinda is," you couldn't help but tease as you propped your elbow on the table and rest your chin in your hand with a playful look her way.

"Oh my God," Jessie complained with an exasperated sigh and a dramatic roll of her head from one side to the other.

"Wait. Wait. You guys still haven't explained anything," Ky spoke up, holding out her hands to get your and Jessie's attention.

"Yeah this is crazy," Harper said. "Momma's obsessed with Mom. Like, it's embarrassing."

"Yeah, we always tell you you're embarrassing yourself, Momma," Ky piled on.

Jessie rolled her eyes, cheeks flaring red by now as she fidgeted. She gave an irritated look towards her daughters' ribbing, but it was evident she was still sheepish and aghast by this whole conversation.

"Don't be mean," you mildly chided the girls as you leaned over and wrapped your arms around Jessie, who audibly let out a pouting huff and half-collapsed into your embrace. "Your Momma's grown up a lot," you said, unable to entirely hold back your laugh. The girls' expressions and Jessie's reactions were just too amusing.

"Oh my gosh," Jessie complained as she pulled away petulantly and shot you a look of betrayal. "For the record," she held up her hand in defiance, "this is all a lot more nuanced than it's sounding right now."

"Right," you nodded with false seriousness. You looked to the girls. "Like your Momma breaking up with me - well, guess there was nothing to officially break up because she just refused to acknowledge things or make a real move - but basically ghosted me. Got super formal on me, distant, and then quickly went no contact."

Jessie groaned and hung her head in her hands. The girls' jaws dropped and Harper's hand shot out to Ky's shoulder as if to brace herself.

You couldn't help but delight in the chaos around you. You wrapped your arms around Jessie again and kissed her hair. "I'm sorry, baby. I can't resist."

"I'm sorry," she mumbled as she leaned into you with another huffing sigh.

"I don't get it. I'm having trouble reconciling. Like, you," Ky gestured to Jessie who had sunk into her seat with both mortification and resignation, "who - again - embarrassingly, will follow Mom around at events. Tag along with her on the most boring errands because she 'might need company'. Look to her first for her reaction when you crack a lame joke. Or are watching her like a hawk to see if she needs anything. Momma - bringer of Mom's perfect drink, sweaters, whatever. You," she paused as if to process further, "ghosted her?"

Jessie eventually let out a sigh of defeat and removed herself from your embrace to brace her arms on the table to look the girls in their eyes.

"...I guess."

The girls erupted, talking loudly over one another to the point where none of it was legible.

You signaled for the girls to quiet and you spoke.

"This is funny and harmless because we all know where things landed. Your Momma is the absolute sweetest and I - and each of us - can count on her for absolutely anything and we all know that. She has more than made up for some of that...angst...from the past," you offered and Jessie gratefully took your hand in hers, giving it a kiss.

Your expression remained steady, but the corner of your mouth twitched as you went on.

"She just happened to, at one point, be a kind, sweet, earnest and deeply noncommittal jock who once upon a time broke my heart."

The room erupted once more and Jessie looked at you partially wounded and partially like she just wanted to collapse in your arms for reprieve. You squeezed her hand and she pouted, letting her head fall to your shoulder.

"Okay, come on," Harper protested. "You have to tell us everything now."

"What? I thought we were gross," you challenged with a self-satisfied smile.

"You are. You absolutely are," Harper countered without the slightest flinch. "But we need to know."

"Oh, so now your parents are interesting," you teased as you turned your head enough to kiss the top of Jessie's head.

"Well. Maybe," Ky hedged with a playful smirk. "We thought Momma was just a love-sick, down bad wife. I mean, one night you can casually mention a particular pastry you liked, and next morning Momma's up before everyone, running across town to get you that specific one. I literally can't imagine her playing it cool with you and not texting you back or whatever."

"Believe it," you laughed. "And hey, yes, Momma is extremely generous and sweet, but that extends to you two as well. She may be getting me a chocolate croissant, but she's getting you those little macarons you like and you those fruit tarts. So don't complain."

"No macarons and fruit tarts for you two," Jessie sulked with a facetious frown at her girls. She lifted her head and gave you a look. "And, quite frankly, not sure I want to get you your croissant either."

You laughed and kissed her cheek.

"We've been a little merciless. Well...me anyway. I'm sorry, baby." You still chuckled further as you squeezed her arm.

She made a comical face and looked up at the ceiling with a quiet exhale through her nose.

"Fine," she said flatly as she shifted her gaze to the girls. We'll tell you."

She wasn’t aggressive; she was ready. She’d been waiting for that first day when she could have free rein over patients and push herself to her limit. Trinity knew she was smart. Knew she was capable. Approval felt nice, sure, but she’d convinced herself early into her schooling that she didn’t need it. Gold stars and praise weren’t things she should be focusing on when she was holding a heart in her palm or someone’s will to continue living heavy in her mind. That mindset had carried her through med school. Through all of her rotations. The confidence and assertiveness had made her stand out as someone her superiors could trust to think clearly in intense moments, and had earned her compliments over her peers for the fact that she didn’t hesitate. 

The sentiment had boosted her confidence. It had cemented her thinking that it was most important to encourage help toward those, even if they didn’t necessarily want it. It was for their own good. Besides, Trinity knew how quickly things could change. How they could go from good straight down to hell.

So after that first day of her residency, even with one of her new coworkers in the guest room of her apartment, she couldn’t understand why those same traits that had earned her acclaim in the past now made her stand out in the complete opposite way. She didn’t understand why these residents prioritized connection for every case they worked. Many didn’t need that connection. They just needed the firm word of a doctor and immediate treatment, and then they would be better.

Samira Mohan and Melissa King and even fucking Dennis Whitaker apparently wanted to be best friends with their patients before running through potential treatment plans or giving second thoughts to what might be wrong. And they apparently thought she was some kind of evil human for the fact that she didn’t want to do the same. 

It had to be the reason that they didn’t like her.

That much was clear from the way they adjusted to you so effortlessly.

The contrast in the way you handled your patients was what made Trinity develop a distaste for you, so it only made sense. You smiled too much; it made Trinity feel like she was experiencing heartburn and, honestly, she extended her sympathy to the muscles of your face. You were stupidly fair. You wanted to hear every single thing out before making any decisions. No ‘Ah Ha’ moments or rushing to get things done, even if the situation was life-threatening. You considered every aspect and angle before proceeding out of respect, or so you said. A trait of yours that was handed to everyone without them even having to earn it. You trusted too easily. Thought the best of people. Wanted to make them feel seen and heard, even if it meant that they didn’t get the urgent care they needed. 

Blind trust made people likeable when it came from those with a position of power, Trinity had concluded. It had to be the reason the residents favored you over her. Favored, yes, even if Trinity was led to believe that these places were supposed to carry that justness you so often preached about. She understood why you preached it: it put you in your superiors’ good graces. And you were slow due to all of these things, which was definitely why Samira liked you so much.

However, the entire concept of you irritated Trinity because she knew you were smart. You didn’t need anyone’s help. Just like her. 

“Hey, Girl Scout, you out of North 12 yet?” 

Your head snaps so quickly at the nickname that Trinity bites back a sneering laugh, one corner of her mouth lifting as her bottom lip sticks out slightly. You slow, she doesn’t. Instead, the dark-haired woman holds your gaze as she turns her chin back over her shoulder, hands clenched at her sides as she watches your expression change. Your nose scrunches just barely, sprouting the urge in her to reach out and tap at your skin till it goes away, as your lips push into a small pout as well. Not upset. Hiding just the smallest bit of vexation, though. The thought of her getting under your skin enough to disrupt that ease you always had with interactions makes something in Trinity’s chest swell with pride.

“Central 5 is open,” you inform her without missing a beat, those few seconds where your face had morphed from composure to almost slipping only lasting one step past each other.

“Nope, just put a patient in there,” Trinity hums. She likes to think that she’s always one step ahead of you–able to predict your next moves just so she can try and show everyone that even though they may like you more, she’s still better in terms of actual work. “And I’m going to pick up another. Yours has been in there for… what? 12 hours?”

“Since–” You huff, turning fully now as Trinity raises her brows and parts her lips in what you can only describe as a leer that in turn makes all trains of thought halt in your brain. “Since 11 this morning!”

Trinity’s hands lift beside her head in mock-surrender as she returns her upper half forward again, cutting you off. “Just saying,” she calls back. “Shift’s over in two hours and I’m trying to break my PR.” The sentiment has you halfway to stomping your foot like a child throwing a tantrum and the idea to take up as many rooms as possible just to deter her growing, but you don’t. You take a deep breath. You straighten your shoulders. Because whatever Trinity Santos said was not going to affect you in the way she so clearly wanted. The way she’d managed with everyone else in this ER.

“What does that have to do with me?–”

“Figure it out, Scout!” She finally stops, pausing in her steps to pivot around, lifting her forearm just enough to point at you. “Maybe being the favorite down here will finally start paying off and have beds opening for you upstairs sooner.”

You almost throw the tablet in your hands that contains your most recent labs (the ones for North 12) at her head. 

Instead, because you are an adult and you are always determined to be the bigger person when Trinity Santos is involved, and even if she wasn’t, you have better control than that–you turn with more force than necessary and (maybe) stomp off to wherever you’d initially been headed. You honestly couldn’t remember. And you would never admit that your tennis shoes hit the tile quicker than your normal pace, violently enough to make little squeaking sounds with each step.

Originally, you hadn’t had a problem with Trinity Santos.

Sure, she was brash from time to time and gave you strange looks that were followed by eye rolls more often than not. And some of the nicknames she came up with were almost as mean as the jokes she made. But she had a good work ethic, and she had to at least somewhat care about people to make it this far in her career. Even if she wasn’t the best at interacting with them. Being one of the hottest women you’ve ever met had to help as well.

But no one’s perfect. So you gave her grace whenever she mumbled something under her breath when you would raise your hand to answer a question, or when she would let out a scoff of a laugh when you would double-check any kind of calculations with Robby, or when you would search Dana out for her opinion on each of your cases before making any diagnoses. You’d ignored it, told yourself that it was better to be safe than sorry, rather than letting someone pressure you into making rash decisions that could affect the rest of an individual’s life. 

Until she started making comments about favoritism. 

“Is that the reason you take so long with cases? Cause you were the teacher's pet in med school, so they didn’t care to put you under pressure?” / “Use your own brain instead of someone else’s” / “Have you even done a case on your own?” 

It was like she’d found the exact button to press to set you off, and now, it was never-ending.

The switch was more confusing than the fact that she had become playfully cruel with you in the first place, because you were just as good as her. You answered more questions than her, got more of them right compared to her. Your solutions worked on the first try with no need for re-evaluation or the concern of the patient crashing coming to the surface. You would be neck-in-neck with her in terms of intelligence if it weren’t for your willingness to actually receive input from your coworkers.

It was enough to have you searching her out for once, finding the dark-haired woman sitting at the central nurse’s station with Whitaker. The computer in front of her clearly had some kind of documentation pulled up, but you quickly conclude that it’s more for show than anything else, considering the way her hands are gesturing as her mouth moves. Yet another factor that is immediately jotted into your mental list of how you’re ahead of her. 

“Up,” you say as you approach Whitaker from behind, smacking a hand on his shoulder and pushing at him enough to have him peeling up from the stool. You don’t look at Trinity yet, even if you can feel the weight of her eyes on you, her words from earlier still heavy in your mind as Whitaker’s gaze flicks between the two of you.

Then, with the press of his lips together into a thin line, he’s off.

When you finally settle your eyes on Trinity’s face, that stupid smirk is back on her lips. 

Her arms fold over her chest, ends of her hair swaying slightly as she tilts her head to the side. “Are you gonna sit or just interrupt my conversation for no particular reason?” That part of you that she’s been picking at for weeks, the petty one, wants to keep standing. Maybe even walk away and completely disregard this confrontation–a skill usually reserved for the woman sitting in front of you. But that other part of you, the one that had the desire to continue one-upping her by being the bigger person, has you taking Whitaker’s place, one elbow moving to rest on the edge of the counter. “There we go.”

Her words, the way she says them, makes the base of your neck heat, and you subconsciously shift your head to try and hide your skin from her light eyes. 

“Can you stop telling people I’m only here because our attendings like me?”

The smirk on her face turns into a full-blown smile, teeth and all. Trinity’s arms unfold and she spins on the stool to face the computer she was working at. “Why?” she scoffs, voice thick with something that you would’ve mistaken as teasing if it weren’t for the topic of conversation. “It’s the truth.”

You look away briefly, trying to keep your composure as you suck in a small breath. “Look,” you mumble back to her. “I don’t know what I did to you, but we have more important things to worry about than people liking me more than you.”

“Sorry– What is this?” Trinity interrupts, cocking her head back to you as her eyebrows furrow, lips pushing into something between a frown and a pout. You can tell her feelings aren’t hurt, that she has stronger walls up than you do, but this–you addressing her, is new. 

You clear your throat, straightening up. “This is me asking you how we can get over this so we can be efficient at working together.”

She laughs. 

If it weren’t for the fact that she was finding humor in your attempts to create a bridge, you would’ve maybe acknowledged the squeeze of your heart at the sound. Instead, it has you shifting uncomfortably, that confidence you’d been carrying a few moments ago dissipating slightly. 

“Efficient at working together?” she repeats, laughter quieting as you shush her. “Who the hell talks like that?–”

“I’m being serious,” you try again, watching as Trinity rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, I know you are,” she half-scoffs, half-chuckles as her fingers finally move over the keyboard, maybe getting one or two sentences down before she stops. You watch as her jaw tenses, then her lips, as her tongue presses against the front of her teeth. “You know, we’re never going to be buddy-buddy.”

“That’s fine,” you say quickly, hands moving to fold in your lap, eyes lingering on her mouth as her chair squeaks when she faces you again. “But we work together,” you repeat. “Nothing should be personal.”

“Right,” Trinity says slowly. Her right hand clenches into a small fist, the side of it bumping against the countertop a few times as she apparently thinks things over. “This is about work.” When the corners of her mouth twitch up again, it has something in your stomach twisting. “Let’s get over this by seeing who’s better at it then.”

For some strange reason, your heart stutters in your chest.

“Better at what?” You hate how breathless you sound. How your eyes keep getting stuck on the curve of her mouth and you’re pretty sure she’s repressing a laugh. 

She sits up straighter, copying your position as her voice raises slightly in pitch to mock your tone. “Work.” The look you fix her with is what you can only hope is deadpan, because you feel a kind of warmth that doesn’t stem from irritation. “Show me that you’re capable of working without another resident breathing down your neck,” Trinity continues, voice returning to normal as she slouches again. “We’ll keep tabs on who has more patients this month, and if you get more, I’ll drop it. If I get more…” She trails off with a shake of her head and the downturn of her mouth. “I want you to admit that you’re doing well here because of favoritism, and then I’ll drop it.”

For a moment, you’re at a loss for words. Honestly, though, you weren’t sure what you were expecting. It was difficult to get a read on Trinity, things always depending on what kind of mood she was in or what kind of day she’d been having. In your mind, you had figured it wasn’t going to be a quick, easy apology and reconciliation, considering the way she seemed to track you throughout the Pitt. 

It could be worse, though.

And maybe you wanted to prove to her that you were better than her. That you were more capable and more likeable. Which is the only reason you say: “Fine.” 

Your hands press against the edge of the counter as you push yourself to stand. “We’ll start tomorrow.” 

The flash of surprise on her face is satisfying to you–the way her eyebrows lift briefly and her eyes widen while they turn to the side. They’re back on you after a moment, but you hold the contact as you begin to veer off past her to finish the rest of your shift. And so are her fingers, hooking onto your badge to tug you back. The brush of her fingers even over your scrubs makes a heat spread through your lower half, your shoes stumbling over the tile as you move hastily to smack her hand away. 

Trinity lets you, even if the action is accompanied by a derisive chuckle.

🤎: Oh, this is very cute. I wonder what the project is.

🤎: Do you think it's something we bring materials for or they provide everything?

🤎: Also what does "light refreshments" mean?

🤎: Are we talking fruit and crackers or are we talking actual food? Are we expected to bring anything?

🤎: I can stop at Giant Eagle on the way home from work.

🤎: Do you think any of the kids have nut allergies? Would you please ask Kaveh?

You stare at your phone. The car behind you honks. You pull forward six inches.

you: are you fr right now

🤎: What?

you: b, it’s an art event for second graders

🤎: ?? 

you: "light refreshments" will mean a little bowl of goldfish crackers next to a juice box situation 

🤎: I already looked it up on the school website, it says "collaborative mixed media collage" which is actually really fun. Mel was just telling me how collage has such a rich history as an artistic medium—

You put your phone in your cupholder rather than finishing reading because you are in a school zone and you are a responsible adult. Also, you’re grinning so wide at the windshield that an elementary schooler who catches sight of you might shit their pants. 

You pick the phone back up at the next red light.

🤎: —and i think i have some good scissors at home so the paper edges will be much cleaner. 

you: you are not bringing your good scissors to kaveh's school 

🤎: Sure I will. They can go my purse.

you: it’s not a bring your own scissors event, b

🤎: That is why I am going to put them in my purse. 🙂

—

Saturday arrives and Baran is up before you. You find her in the kitchen at eight-fifteen in her Lululemon set, her jug of a water bottle on the counter and a bowl of fruit cut into precise little cubes beside it. Kaveh is in his chair eating cereal. There is already, somehow, a small tote bag by the door, fit to bursting with supplies.

“Oh my god,” you stop walking. "Don’t tell me you packed a bag.”

"Kaveh packed a back," she corrects, without looking up from her phone.

You glance at your son, quirking a brow. He grins toothily and shakes his head. 

"Right,” you grin, rounding the table to kiss his curls. “What’s in Kaveh’s bag?”

"Scissors and a bone folder. Oh, we also found some washi tape I had left over,” Baran lists, “Plus a few good magazine pages I pulled last night—"

"Y— Kaveh pulled magazine pages?"

"From the ones we were going to recycle anyway."

"When?” 

“Last night?” “Kaveh went to bed at 7.”

Baran frowns. “Well, I did the magazine part. I couldn't sleep."

Kaveh calmly takes a bite of cereal. "Maman also printed some pictures," he offers helpfully.

You turn to gape at your wife.

"They were reference images," she clarifies, taking large sip from the bucket bottle. "For composition."

"Baby," you say.

"Don't."

"Sweetheart."

"I mean it."

"It’s a second grade—"

"Kaveh, are you done with your cereal?" Baran asks, very loudly, in the direction of your son.

"Almost," says Kaveh.

"Take your time, azizam." She picks up her Hydroflask — truly the size of a small child, you've always thought, a gallon jug with a straw — and takes a long, dignified sip, looking at you over the rim with an expression that communicates, very clearly, that this conversation is over.

You love her so much it's honestly a little embarrassing.

—

Kaveh's school gym has been transformed, sort of. There are round tables covered in butcher paper and each table has a big tray of supplies in the middle, kids magazines, construction paper, tissue paper, glue sticks, safety scissors, stickers. A hand-lettered sign on the wall says CREATE SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL TOGETHER  and there are, as you predicted, goldfish crackers next to juice boxes on a folding table by the door. Kaveh's teacher greets you both near the entrance.

"Dr. Al-Hashimi, Dr. Y/L/N! So glad you could make it." She crouches to Kaveh's level. "Kaveh, do you want to pick your table?"

Kaveh points immediately at the table closest to the snack station.

"Fantastic choice, buddy," you tell him sincerely.

Ms. Blake straightens up and gestures broadly at the room. "So the project today is totally open, families just work together to make a collage. The theme is 'us,' so whatever that means to your family! There's no wrong way to do it. Just have fun."

"Wonderful," says Baran warmly. "Is there a particular size constraint on the final piece?"

"No constraint!" Ms. Blake says brightly. "Just whatever fits on the paper!"

"Great," says Baran. "And the adhesive provided is just the glue sticks?"

Ms. Blake blinks. "...Yes?"

"Perfect," says Baran, smiling. "Thank you so much."

You wait until Ms. Blake has moved on to the next family, then you turn to tease your wife, but her head is down into her tote back, hands already rummaging through it to pull out her own supplies.

“There she goes,” you whisper to yourself as Kaveh dashes off to greet his friends and their families who are taking their seats. “B, I need you to have fun."

Baran looks up from where she’s rummaging through the bag. "Sorry? I am going to have fun."

You put both hands on her shoulders, look her dead in the eyes, and say: "Baran. Please put the bone folder away."

She holds your gaze for a long moment.

Then she puts the bone folder back in the bag.

"Thank you," you say.

"You're lucky I love you," she frowns. You just laugh and kiss her cheek, leading her to the table by the small of her back.

—

Within ten minutes of sitting down, Baran has organized the supply tray. Not dramatically, just — tidied it. The magazines are stacked by approximate size. The tissue paper is in a small pile off to the side. She has looked through approximately forty pages of a National Geographic with the expression she wears when she's reading a lab result, head slightly tilted, completely still.

She pulls out a page. Blue water, some kind of aerial shot. Holds it up to the construction paper background she's already selected — a deep navy. Nods once, to herself.

"Maman," says Kaveh, who is on his third helping of goldfish and has crushed four capri suns, and has cut out a picture of a golden retriever with the safety scissors. "Can I put the dog on it?"

Baran looks at the dog picture, her navy paper. “Yes, fandogham. Let’s put it in the bottom left corner."

Kaveh slaps the dog picture enthusiastically in the center.

The corner of Baran's mouth tightens almost imperceptibly. You press your lips together.

"What if," Baran says carefully, "we tried it over here—" she nudges it gently toward the left— "just to give the other elements some room?"

"I like it better here," says Kaveh.

"I think the dog could stay," you tell her, rubbing a grounding circle on her back.

"The dog can stay," Baran says with a bit of tension to her voice. YOu watch her distract herself by trimming the edge of the blue water page with a precision that is making the dad at the next table visibly insecure. He has been trying to cut a straight line with the safety scissors for five minutes. 

He glances at Baran's scissors.

"She came armed," you tell him, quietly, with great sympathy.

He tsks. “Smart woman. These safety scissors are sh— crap.”

You grin. “Oh man, don’t let her hear you say that. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

A warm, amused voice from beside you, without looking up: "I can hear you."

—

Twenty more minutes pass.

"You know," you say conversationally, watching your wife hold a piece of tissue paper up to the light, "Ms. Blake said there's no wrong way to do it."

"Sure, but there is a right way," Baran replies, tilting it again. She notices a crinkle and frowns, placing it down and selecting a new one to inspect.

"Well, so, no. That is exactly the opposite of what she said."

Kaveh ignores you both, tongue sticking out as he sorts through the various little cutouts he’s made. He picks one and brandishes it to you guys.

“Is that a wheel of cheese, baby?” you beam.

"Uh-huh," he nods. “I’m gonna put it on.”

You look at Baran, who is trying so hard to fight back her grimace.

"Where are you thinking?" she asks.

Kaveh points to the upper right corner.

"Next to the moon?" Baran asks. Her task of the past ten minutes has been cutting out planets and stars and asteroids from a cosmology magazine she found in the stack. She’s been planning an elaborate sky.

"No, it is the moon," Kaveh says. “Like the story with the cow where she's playing the fiddle and jumps over the cheese moon.”

You pull a face. “I’m 90% sure that was a different story.”

"Interesting," Baran responds to him, elbowing you in the ribs, but she's smiling now. "Making it a celestial body. Kaveh, that's very creative."

Kaveh accepts this as his due. "I know," he says, and reaches for more goldfish.

—

About forty minutes in, you have, collectively: the aerial water shot, the cheese moon, a golden retriever and two dobermans, Spiderman next to a cutout of red carpet Lady Gaga (Kaveh really liked her outfit,) a cutout of that the tsunami from that one famous panting, some random house from that one realtor show with the twin brothers — all framed by four strips of washi tape that Baran has placed with a level of care that you find both ridiculous and deeply attractive.

You are in charge of the text elements, which means you are cutting letters out of magazine headlines. You are doing this badly. Your hand slipped cutting out the B so it looks like a 3. Your A is missing the crossbar. 

Suffice to say, you can feel Baran sweating next to you.

"You can say it," you tell her, very focused on cutting out an H for Kaveh.

"You're doing great," she says, very carefully.

You hold up your jagged P. "I think I nailed this one."

She just hums, eyes not leaving your hands, and you decide to take pity on your wife.

"My love,” you say pleasantly, “Would you like to do the letters?”

Her hand is already out.

You grin “Wow, so you actually think I suck. I didn't even finish the thought.”

"Oh, you were going to offer me the scissors,” Baran teases, wiggling her fingers. “C’mon, we’re on the clock here.”

You put them in her hand. She's already reaching for the magazine before they've fully left your fingers, flipping through with the same focused efficiency she brings to everything, and within about thirty seconds she's found a headline she likes and is cutting clean and even. You try to absorb what it is she’s doing that you obviously were failing at, but aside from the fact she rotates the paper rather than the scissors, it seems just to be her. Naturally composed, completely absorbed, dedicated to the job.

Kaveh has pressed flower stickers up and down her sleeve at some point in the last twenty minutes. She hasn't said a word about it. She finishes the letters, wipes the dried glue off Kaveh's hands before her own, and then holds the collage out to him at arm's length, tilting it slightly.

"What do you think?" she asks him. "Is it good?"

“I think it’s okay,” he nods, “But look at what I found!”

He holds up a children’s magazine from the 1990s that has the three little pigs on the front. “It’s us!”

Your eyes giddily shoot to Baran’s, half expecting her to self-implode, but you’re surprised to find she’s grinning.

“I think you’re right,” she replies warmly, finger tapping the book. “I think that one is Mommy.”

You squint toward the one she’s pointing at. “What, why?”

“Because those two are doing labor,” Baran gestures to them, then lowers her voice to whisper in your hear. “Your piggy isn’t doing shit.”

“Woah!” you grin, “Hey, I’ve been trying to help but I keep getting benched.”

This is true. After Baran took over cutting you suggested adding some pretty little flower stickers on the “grass” (represnted by a thick strip of green paper Kaveh had pasted down) and were met with two resounding, disgusted Nos.

"Mmhm. Excuses, excuses," she tuts, already reaching for the magazine. You watch her carefully cut out the three little pigs with the same scissors she used for the letters, clean around every curve.

She hands the cutout to Kaveh, who immediately glues them down slightly crooked, but Baran just laughs.

You lean in and press your nose to her temple, just for a second, and she tips her head toward you without thinking about it. 

"For what it's worth," she murmurs, "I think your piggy is very cute."

“That sounds like a terrible euphemism.”

She pulls back, scandalized, and slaps your arm. “We’re in our son’s second grade classroom.” “He doesn’t know what that word means,” you defend with a beaming smile, then turn back to your son. She huffs, but she's smiling, and she stays leaning against you.

“Kav,” you prompt. “What do you think, bud? All done?”

He tilts it a full 360 degrees, mimicking his Maman, then nods. “All done.”

—

You carry the collage out to the car. Kaveh runs ahead to press his nose against the car window, which he does every single time, without fail, despite the fact that it is his car and he knows exactly what is inside it.

Baran falls into step beside you. Tote bag over one shoulder, Hydroflask in her other hand. The October air is cool and bright and the trees on the block are just starting to turn.

"Fun?" you ask.

She considers it the way she considers everything, properly, all the way down. "Yes," she says. "Really."

You look at her. The small smile she's not bothering to hide. The flower sticker still on her sleeve, right where Kaveh put it two hours ago.

"You know," you say, "the collage is really beautiful, B."

She glances at you sideways, a little pleased, trying not to show it. "Kaveh did most of it."

"Kaveh did the cheese moon and the three little pigs," you say. "You made it beautiful."

She's quiet for a moment. "It was a good morning," she says, simply, and you can hear everything she means by it.

You take the tank of a bottle from her so you can take her hand instead, and she lets you without comment, fingers finding yours easy and warm. You stop walking. She takes one more step before she realizes, and turns back to look at you, brow lifting slightly in question. 

You answer it by stepping forward and kissing her, free hand wrapping around her waist. She makes a small sound against your mouth, warm and soft, tilting her head to make it deeper.

When you pull back she's looking at you with sparkly eyes and a pleased quirk to her lips. "What was that for?”

"You are a very good mom," you tell her. "And I had a really good day."

She holds your gaze for a moment, then pulls you back in by the front of your jacket and kisses you again, slower this time, high on happiness.

Kaveh peels himself off the window and turns around with a smear of grime across his forehead, a toothy grin on his face.

Baran pulls back, smooths your collar down with both hands, and goes to get the keys. She wipes the grime off with her sleeve, the flower-sticker side, and says absolutely nothing about it.

You told yourself you would not do this.

You would not get used to the way it felt to be surrounded by her and her things - one of her leather jackets slung over the chair, a pair of her boots by the door, the faint scent of her shampoo still clinging stubbornly to the pillows around you.

And yet... here you were anyway. 

Pathetically laying in her bed... Curled up beneath her blankets, your head buried in her pillow, surrounded by traces of her that made the absence somehow worse. 

Missing her.

The thing was, you had spent years learning how to be alone. It had never bothered you before. You liked your own company. Liked the quiet, liked having your own space.

Then Natasha had happened.

And somewhere between late-night takeout, stolen hours between missions, and waking up tangled together more often than not, your definition of normal had shifted without asking permission.

"You’re such a traitor." You murmured quietly as Liho, her black cat, shifted slightly against the side of your head and let out the biggest sigh known to catkind.

Her tail flicked in response, unimpressed, before settling more comfortably against you, warm and solid and very clearly thinking the same as you.

You sighed as well, letting your head tilt to the side as you glanced down at her.

"You're supposed to make this less pathetic, you know?" 

Liho blinked at you slowly, greenish eyes looking at you as if she were waiting for something.

You reached down absently, gently scratching behind her ears. She leaned into it immediately, purring, and you could not help the small smile that tugged at your lips even if you tried. She always seemed to have that power over you. And her owner too.

"Yeah, yeah. I know," you mumbled, pursing your lips. "You miss her."

Because that was the thing, it was not just you. Perhaps the situation would be easier if it had been the case.

The whole room felt like it was waiting. Like it was holding its breath until Natasha walked back through the door and everything clicked back into place.

You let your gaze drift towards the nightstand - everything exactly where she left it, like she will be back any second.

Except she will not.

Not tonight.

Not for a few days, at least.

Solo missions would do that.

Liho shifted again, stretching this time, one of her paws pressing lightly against your ear.

You exhaled slowly, staring back up at the ceiling.

This was stupid.

You were being stupid. And you knew it, but apparently reason had no play in your feelings.

She was fine, after all. She was always fine.

You did not need to...

But your hand moved before you fully decided to, reaching for your phone where it rested on the mattress beside you. You stared at the screen for a second, the background picture greeting you not helping to talk yourself out of doing what you wanted to. Still, you paused for a second, teeth grazing your lower lip as you forced yourself to think rationally about this.

She was on a mission, after all. She did not need distractions.

She definitely did not need you calling in the middle of the night because you... Well, because you what? Missed her? Wanted to see her? Heard her voice? Make sure she was okay?

That felt... dangerously close to something neither of you were ready to unpack right now. Liho let out a small, impatient sound, nudging your hand with her head.

You glanced down at her, eyebrows raised.

"...You’re not helping." You grunted, closing your eyes before letting out yet another sigh. 

God, you were so pathetic.

Liho was still staring at you when you opened back your eyes, you rolled them before hitting the call button.

It rang once... Twice... You almost talked yourself out of it and hung up but by the third ring, the line clicked.

"Yeah?" Natasha's voice answered, slightly hoarse, a little quieter than usual.

Relief hit you so fast it almost made you dizzy and angry at yourself. One word, one raspy, sleep-roughened word, and suddenly the knot that had been sitting beneath your ribs for days loosened.

Were you this desperate and gone for this woman? You hated that, hated how immediate it was - as if some part of you had been waiting for proof that she was still there. Still breathing. Still okay.

The realization hit a second later and made you want to throw your phone across the room. Because, God, you really were gone for this woman. You needed to get a grip on yourself, and that as soon as possible. And preferably before she found out as well.

"Hey, you..." You replied, smiling at the ceiling, scrunching your nose as Liho's snout nudged your chin.

There was a faint rustle on the other end - movement, maybe. Fabric shifting. The soft, distant hum of a foreign location you could not quite place.

"You okay?" Natasha asked immediately, worry lacing into her voice.

Of course she did.

You huffed a small breath, glancing down at Liho as she curled tighter against your shoulder, ears shifting at the voice coming out of your phone.

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m fine."

There was a beat of silence where you could practically hear Natasha thinking.

"Then why are you calling?" Straight to the point, not hitting around the bush with her - you always liked that. Usually.

You hesitated, because you did not actually really have a good answer. 

"Can't I just call m-" You stopped yourself just in time, clearing your throat. Logically you knew she was your girlfriend. You had been on too many dates together if that was not the case. But you never said the actual word. There was actually more than one word you had not said yet. "Can't I just call you? It's been almost a week, I wanted to hear your voice."

Natasha let out a faint exhale on the other end, almost a huff.

"Of course you can call me, I just thought something was wrong at first," she grumbled, stopping as she heard you shift. "You're in my room."

It was not a question, it made you blink, caught off guard by her words. 

"Wha-how did you even know?"

"Background noise," she replied, a smile in her voice. "And... you just confirmed it."

You shifted slightly, pulling the blanket up a little higher as you rolled your eyes at her smug tone. 

"Well, for the record, I’m here for a very important reason."

There was a soft, amused sound from Natasha on the other end.

"Huh uh, sure."

"It's true. You said Liho needed supervision and she doesn't wanna leave your room, so... here I am." You replied, chuckling when the cat let out a soft chirp, shifting closer to the voice.

"Alright, turn the camera on." Natasha asked, waiting.

You smiled, turning on your side and putting the phone on the other pillow to make sure she had a good view of Liho too. 

Natasha's face appeared on the screen seconds later, her hair pulled back in a neat braid. 

"There are my girls," she smirked, the corner of her mouth softening as she took in Liho's curled up position next to you. Her gaze flicked briefly to the side - like she was taking in the angle, the background, the way you were positioned. "You're on my side." She hummed, one eyebrow raising knowingly.

You narrowed your eyes, biting down the inside of your cheek. 

"What?"

Natasha's smirk deepened, slow and knowing.

"The bed... you're on my side." She repeated, voice dropping just slightly as she raised both eyebrows this time.

You froze, because... you were. Without even thinking about it. 

"It's... more comfortable." You said quickly. 

Natasha did not respond right away, just looked at you like she knew that was not the real reason. Or to the very least, not the only one.

Your pulse picked up slightly at the look on her face so you quickly cleared your throat, looking down at the cat. 

"Liho chose it first." You added, gesturing vaguely to the cat as backup. But of course, the traitor that she was, barely even reacted, simply staring at the screen while licking her paw absently.

Natasha chuckled, low and warm.

"Of course she did." She looked at the cat with playful suspicion before her eyes slid back to you.

You huffed out a quiet laugh, nodding. 

"Yeah, she’s been complaining. A lot. I think she misses you."

Natasha pressed her lips together, taking in the sight in front of her.

"How is the roommate's situation going?"

"...She knocked over a glass earlier." You glanced down at the cat again, making a face. 

Natasha sighed, glaring at Liho through the screen. 

"I chose her name so well." She shook her head, but there was unmistakable affection in it.

You smiled before you could stop yourself.

And she saw it.

Of course she did.

Her gaze lingered on your face for a second longer than necessary, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes.

"Why did you call?" And there it was, the question you knew was coming again at some point.

You hesitated, because the real answer was sitting right there, obvious and inconvenient and a little too honest for comfort.

Because you wanted to see her.

Because you missed her.

Because her room felt too empty and wrong without her in it.

Because ever since you met her, she was always in a corner of your mind and these last couple of days you went back to that place more times than you would have liked - and actually needed to hear from the real her before turning completely crazy.

You shifted slightly, picking at a loose thread on the blanket. 

"Just checking in, you know..."

Natasha’s expression did not change but you could tell she did not buy it.

"Okay, and now the truth?"

"Hey, that's mean. I am checking in too." You grumbled, frowning at her.

She leaned closer to the camera, her face taking up more of the screen. The way she called your name always got you, and this time was no exception.

"You would check in if you knew I could actually talk about the mission. Which I can't. Which you already know. So...?"

"Wow. Okay. Read me like a book, why don’t you..." You huffed a small breath, rolling your eyes.

Natasha gave a small, smug shrug.

"I am."

You glanced back up at her. And unfortunately, she was still watching you like that. Too focused, too attentive, like she was waiting patiently for you to find the words.

Your chest tightened.

"...Couldn’t sleep." You admitted instead, softer this time.

It was not the whole truth but it was not a lie either.

Natasha's face softened.

"Yeah? Even if you're in my bed, surrounded by all my things... And wearing my shirt?" She sounded almost amused.

You glared at her, frowning. 

"Stop being mean, I'll hang up."

"Okay, okay." Natasha held up one hand in mock surrender.

She looked genuinely amused for a minute though. But then silence settled again, not the same as before. It felt heavier now. Charged with something you could not quite name, only feel.

You watched her for a second. The way her eyes scanned the area behind the camera. The way her shoulders stayed just a little too tense, even when she was standing still.

She was working.

Even now.

Always.

"But I will anyway, you should get back to it..." You added quietly, offering her a gentle smile.

Natasha exhaled, and for a moment you thought she might actually protest.

"Yeah, probably." But she did not move, did not end the call, neither did you.

Your heart was beating a little too fast. There was something sitting in your chest again - that familiar pressure, that weight that had been building for weeks now, threading itself through every moment like this.

You swallowed.

"I-" You started, breaths burning your lungs.

Natasha stilled, eyebrows raising as you suddenly stopped talking.

"Yeah?" She prompted.

Your fingers tightened around the phone as you brought it closer. God.

This was stupid.

It was just words.

Just three words.

You could say them.

Right now.

She was right there. Looking at you like that. Like... like she was waiting. Like she could see the battle happening behind your eyes, like she was standing at the edge of the same cliff.

"I... I l-" The words caught, your teeth sinking into your lower lip as you drew in a breath before panic slammed into you. You saw it then, so clearly, the possibility of silence. Of surprise. Of not hearing it back... And suddenly every survival instinct you possessed grabbed the wheel. "I mean I... You know,Liho is being very well taken care of. And I'll keep on doing that," you finished abruptly, the words coming out too fast. "Just so you know. Don't have to worry. About anything." You added with a smile.

Natasha blinked, then her face did something complicated, and suddenly she looked like she was the one whose air had been punched out of her chest even though you were the one actually out of breath. 

"Yeah... I can see that."

"Good," you murmured, nodding a few times, hesitating again before clearing your throat. "Stay safe, okay?"

Natasha nodded slowly, eyebrows furrowing. 

"...I will," she said finally, her gaze lingering on you for a second longer than it should. As if she were suspicious. "I’ll call you when I’m done."

You smiled, even though the motion felt rushed and out of place. 

"Yeah. Okay."

Neither of you hung up immediately.

You just sit there for a second, looking at each other through the screen, waiting for more. Like there was something else to say.

Something just out of reach.

But then the screen went dark.

And the room felt just a little too big again, leaving you with words too big to deal with.

⧗

The plan had been simple on paper.

It always was.

In reality, however, it had dissolved into noise, smoke, and the kind of chaos that made your ears ring and all your carefully constructed thoughts scatter like startled birds. 

Somewhere above you, something heavy collapsed with a metallic shriek, sending vibrations through the whole floor. The lights flickered twice before settling into a dim, unreliable pulse that painted everything in uneven shadows as dust fell from the ceiling like dirty snowflakes.

You pressed your back against the cold concrete pillar behind you, forcing yourself to breathe through the adrenaline clawing up your throat after taking down five other men. Your comm crackled with overlapping voices - Sam swearing, Tony complaining about power surges, someone yelling coordinates that immediately got drowned out by static.

Your earpiece buzzed again after another slow breath, and this time Natasha's voice came through clearly: "Status?" 

Her voice was calm and grounded. Far too calm for the situation.

You exhaled sharply, something in your chest loosening just from hearing her - the sound of her voice hit you with embarrassing force. The building was still trying its absolute best to collapse on top of you. Your ears were ringing and your shoulder hurt and there were armed men somewhere in the vicinity actively trying to kill you. And yet the moment Natasha spoke, something inside your chest loosened.

You actually hated that she could do that, like some part of your brain had quietly filed her under safe, under trust, under the person you wanted beside you when everything else went to hell.

"Took down most of them but pinned on the lower level, door won't fucking open," you muttered, glancing around the corner before quickly ducking back as a burst of gunfire shredded the wall where your head had been a second ago. "Shit, three hostiles, maybe more. You?" There was a brief pause when you could practically hear her calculating.

"On my way." Natasha replied, voice steady despite the gunfire echoing faintly in the background of her comm. 

You huffed a breath that was half relief, half exasperation, dragging the hand that was not holding your gun through your damp hair as dust still rained down from above. You perked by the wall, shooting one of the three guards. 

"Nat, you’re not exactly in a position to be detouri-"

"I said I'm on my way." She cut in sharply before you could get another word out. 

That tone meant she was not taking anything for an answer besides what she had already decided.

You rolled your eyes - even though she could not see you - before dodging another bullet as you ducked into another corner, firing two more back and hearing a groan as one bullet touched a shoulder. 

"Yeah, okay, Romanoff. Because this mission hasn’t gone off the rails enough already, let’s just add 'reckless heroics' to the list."

"Shut up and hold your fire," Natasha scoffed, appearing on the other end of the hallways and taking down the two men before quickly jogging back to your side. "Well, you're welcome." She breathed out, bruised lips forming a small smile.

Before you could fire back, another explosion rocked the building, way too close this time. The wall at your back shuddered violently, cracks splintering up its side. You stumbled as the floor shook, catching yourself just in time, heart slamming hard enough to make your vision blur as the ceiling above the three guards lying on the floor suddenly collapsed on them.

"Fuck-" You gasped, pushing off and moving quickly to a slightly less terrible piece of cover with the redhead following. "Okay, that was... not ideal. Like at all." You added, one arm extended in front of Natasha - even though no one was coming your way as she stopped at your side. 

"No shit." She grunted, scanning the area before tugging on your wrist to urge you to follow her.

"Took the long detour to come to me, huh." You joked as you carefully climbed back the stairs to find yet another issue.

"Traffic." She replied dryly, already peeking around the corner, assessing, calculating. Always working.

And God, even now, even like this, even with alarms screaming overhead and dust coating the back of your throat, even while your heart was trying to punch its way through your ribs - your eyes kept finding her. 

The steady set of her shoulders. The quick, efficient movements of her hands. The way she assessed every angle, every exit, every threat in a matter of seconds.

Natasha always looked like she belonged in chaos, like she had made peace with it years ago and simply learned how to move through the storm, or perhaps had made a pact with it and already knew nothing would happen to her.

It should have been terrifying, instead it made something warm and painful unfurl beneath your ribs. Because every impossible situation somehow became more manageable when she was standing beside you. Because she had come for you.

The mission had gone sideways and the building was falling apart. And somehow Natasha had still heard you were trapped and immediately changed course. No hesitation, no discussion.

Your chest tightened - not from fear this time, but something sharper, heavier. Something that had been building for weeks, months, quietly threading itself through moments each more inadequate than the last.

You swallowed hard, forcing your attention back to the situation at hand. 

"Hey, Nat," you said slowly, glancing up at the ceiling that was definitely not supposed to be doing that. "Tell me you have a backup plan."

Natasha glanced at you, lips pressed together.

"I do..." She grumbled, forcing a door open with her shoulder before quickly climbing up the next stack of emergency stairs. "Not sure you’ll like it, though."

"Natasha, I already don't like that we're going up right now..." You grunted, running to catch up with her.

She did not answer, just kept moving. The stairs were narrow and creaky underfoot. 

"Sam or Tony’s gonna catch us on the rooftop." She replied, frowning at the door that refused to open. She kicked the combination lock, hissing as she grabbed a bunch of wires, ignoring the look you gave her.

Another tremor rippled through the building, stronger this time. A section of the ceiling caved in somewhere nearby with a deafening crash, the sound echoing through the corridors like a warning bell.

Your pulse spiked.

This was bad.

This was really bad.

Not because of the collapsing building, not because Tony's voice had disappeared from the comms three minutes ago, not because every instinct you possessed was screaming that the situation was deteriorating faster than anyone could fix. But because, for one horrible second, you genuinely thought this might be it.

And suddenly, all the things that normally seemed important vanished.

And suddenly, all you could focus on was Natasha. Natasha, crouched beside a broken security panel. Natasha, covered in sweat, soot and bruises.

And suddenly, the words were there.

Right there.

Sitting at the back of your throat, heavy and insistent and impossible to ignore anymore - because the thought of leaving this world without telling her hit you harder than any fear you might have felt all night.

You took in another shaky breath, your eyes tracking the smudge of soot along her jaw, the way a strand of red hair had come loose and was sticking to her cheek, the dried blood on her chin, the sharp focus in her eyes even as the world quite literally fell apart around you.

God.

If there was ever a moment... If the building came down right now, if this was the last conversation you ever had, you might actually not bear the idea of her never knowing. 

"Nat," you started, your voice coming out tighter than you intended, almost swallowed by the distant sound of collapsing concrete. "If we, you know, don’t make it-"

"We will." She cut you off, the response immediate, like she had not even needed to think about it.

You blinked, lips parted as you observed her work on the colorful wires carefully.

"I... well, yeah, but like, if we don’t-"

"But we will," Natasha repeated, sharper this time, finally glancing at you. There was something in her eyes now - something stubborn, unyielding and fierce. "I won’t accept otherwise."

You stared at her for a second, incredulous, adrenaline and frustration tangling together in your chest. 

"Oh my god, I know," you shot back, gesturing vaguely at the crumbling building around you. "I’m just trying to tell y-"

"Dekta," she cut in, her voice dropping just slightly, softer but no less firm. "It’s me. I won’t let anything bad happen to us... If you let me work on those fucking wires."

And there it was.

That certainty.

That absolute, unwavering belief that she could hold the entire world together through sheer willpower alone if it meant keeping you safe.

Your chest ached.

Because you knew her.

You knew where that came from.

And you knew how dangerous it was.

You let out a breath that turned into a frustrated half-laugh, dragging a hand down your face. 

"Fuck, you’re so stubborn," you muttered, shaking your head at this impossible woman. "Whatever."

But the words did not go away.

They just settled deeper, heavier, waiting.

And the building gave another violent shudder, as if reminding you that time was running out.

⧗

It started as nothing.

At least, that was what you told yourself.

Just another debrief after another mission successfully wrapped. So, naturally, another cluster of agents and Avengers lingering a little too long in the common area with glasses in hands and loud music all around.

You noticed her by accident.

At least, that was what you told yourself later.

The truth was that your eyes had developed a bad habit over the past several months.

No matter how crowded the room was or who you were talking to, no matter how hard you tried to focus on literally anything else - they always found Natasha eventually.

Like a compass needle snapping north.

You could be in the middle of a conversation, could be laughing at something Tony said, could be halfway through a story - and somehow your gaze would drift across the room searching for red hair and green eyes before you even realized what you were doing.

Tonight was no different.

One second you were pretending to listen to Sam rant about government paperwork, leaning back against the counter with a drink you had half-drowned already, the next your eyes had wandered.

And there she was...

Beautiful.

Effortlessly, unfairly beautiful.

Standing a few feet away and talking to... someone.

You would not have thought twice about it, except... Well, she was smiling.

Not the polite, diplomatic curve of her lips she used when she was playing a role. Not the sharp, amused smirk she gave when she was teasing.

A real smile. Soft and easy and unrestricted.

Your stomach flipped, and not the pleasant kind of movements it usually did when it involved her.

You narrowed your eyes slightly, trying to focus past the noise in the room to get a better look at who she was talking to. Some agent, you recognized the face vaguely, newer, maybe. You did not really know. What you could decipher however was the confident stance, way too relaxed to be speaking with Natasha, and leaning just a little too close.

And you realized with anger seeping into your veins that your girlfriend was not stepping away.

In fact, she tilted her head slightly, listening carefully before saying something back. And God, the agent had the fucking audacity to laugh.

Your grip tightened around the glass in your hand.

It was nothing.

Right?

It had to be nothing. Natasha knew plenty of people. People you did not know yourself. It was part of her job, after all. And it was not fair, she was not doing anything wrong. It was fine, not a big deal. But your slightly inebriated brain was set on convincing yourself it was a very big deal.

You forced your shoulders to relax, dragging your gaze away.

She was allowed to talk to people, a completely normal activity that human beings engaged in every day.

She was allowed to smile, too. Hell, you loved her smile.

This was normal.

This was-

You glanced back before you could stop yourself, and they were still talking. God, how long was this discussion going to be?

Your eyes kept on tracking every movement for the following minutes while the rest of your face was still pretending to listen to Sam’s story.

Every smile, every second she remained standing there. The worst part was that you trusted Natasha completely. This was not about trust, it was somehow more embarrassing than that, it was wanting.

Wanting her attention.

Wanting that smile.

Wanting to be the person she looked at like that.

And watching someone else get it felt like tiny little paper cuts somewhere beneath your ribs.

Death by a thousand stupid insecurities.

You took another drink.

An excellent decision, clearly.

Natasha said something else, her expression shifted - something amused flickering in her eyes - and the agent reached out briefly, brushing her dirty, unworthy fingers against her arm as she responded.

Something in your chest twisted. 

Okay.

No.

Nope.

That was not happening.

You pushed off the counter before you could think better of it, crossing the room with the purpose you intended. You told yourself it was casual. That you were just... joining the conversation. Gathering information before actually stepping in.

Not interrupting.

Definitely not interrupting.

Natasha noticed you coming the moment your footstep hit a particularly creaky floorboard two steps to her right. Her gaze lifted, locking onto yours - sharp, assessing and aware like she always knew exactly where you were in a room. 

The... woman - whoever she was or thought she was - beside her was still speaking, oblivious to the sudden shift in atmosphere.

"Hey," you said, a little too quickly, stopping beside the redhead and leaning into her side more heavily than you intended, blinking a few times to stop the world from moving too much - perhaps you should have stopped at two drinks like Sam suggested earlier.

The agent turned to you and offered an easy smile, probably delighted to have two Avengers speaking to her. 

You nodded stiffly, barely acknowledging her before your attention snapped back to the person who actually mattered to you. 

"Didn’t know you were still in debrief mode."

Natasha's lips twitched at the contact, subtle but there, her hand spreading on the small of your back to steady you. 

"We’re not." She replied, her voice calm and even as always.

"Right," you said, glancing between them. "Just... chatting then."

"Yes." Natasha’s eyes narrowed slightly.

There was a beat.

An awkward one, if you could say so yourself.

You did not like it.

"So," you added, forcing something casual into your tone that did not quite land the way you wanted it to. "What’d I miss?"

The unknown woman chuckled nervously. 

"Not much. Just telling Miss Romanoff about my upgrade ideas for her bites."

"Her bites?" You replied, eyebrows raised, ignoring the way Natasha's hand tightened on your back in warning.

"Yeah, you know... widow bites. They're impressive already but Mister Stark wanted my help to upgrade them and Miss Romanoff had some very good suggestions," she continued, praising your girlfriend like you were not standing right the fuck there. "Didn’t expect that kind of knowledge, actually. You know a lot about... well, a lot." The young woman giggled.

Something about the way she said it, like it was new, like she was just discovering something you had known for so long... it grated.

"Yeah," you said again, tighter this time. "She does tend to know a lot about a lot." You let out a snort, giving the young woman a look.

Natasha’s gaze flicked to you again, sharper now. Assessing.

The woman glanced between the two of you, clearly picking up on something. Finally. Tony had not picked the brightest one, it seemed.

"Well," she said, clearing her throat slightly. "I should, uh, let you t-"

"Yep," you cut in quickly. "Perhaps you should."

Natasha shot you a look at that, but the woman just nodded awkwardly and stepped away, muttering something about other projects.

You did not even watch her go, your focus was entirely on Natasha now.

The second she was out of earshot, the silence shifted.

Your redhead turned to you fully, arms crossing as she let go of you.

"Okay," she said, eyebrows raised. "What the hell was that?"

Your jaw clenched as you leaned against the wall for support, making a face of confusion. 

"What was what?"

Natasha exhaled through her nose. 

"That," she repeated, gesturing vaguely in the direction the agent disappeared. "Just now."

You let out a short breath, shaking your head. 

"Nothing, just... talked to your new friend, that's all."

Natasha's expression flattened, her eyes flashing with something that was both arousing and thrilling. God, whatever was in your drink really fucked you up.

"What is your problem?"

"My problem?" You echoed, incredulous. "I don’t have a problem."

Natasha stepped closer, lowering her voice. 

"Really," she said flatly, unimpressed. "Because you just interrupted a conversation for no reason and then acted li-"

"For no reason?" You cut in, the words coming out sharper than you intended. "Seriously?"

Natasha's jaw tightened, irritation flashing across her face.

"Yes. Seriously." She hissed back, keeping her voice low but making sure to send her point across.

You stared at her, incredulous.

"Wow," you muttered, running a hand through your hair. "Okay. Good to know then."

"Good to know what?" Natasha frowned.

"That you’re just... completely fucking oblivious." You grumbled.

"Excuse me?" Her eyebrows raised higher. 

You hesitated. Because saying it out loud felt... actually ridiculous.

And petty.

And yet...

"You guys were flirting." You said finally.

The words hung in the air for a moment, then Natasha let out a sigh, leaned back against the wall, and turned to face you.

"I really wasn't."

You let out a disbelieving huff. 

"Na-"

"I wasn't," Natasha repeated, firmer now, her gaze steady. "And if she thought I was, she's sorely mistaken."

You shrugged, the alcohol not helping you think clearly. 

"Well, you were smiling."

"I smile," she replied, voice cooling as something you could not quite understand shifted in her expression, her shoulders dropping. "Sometimes."

"I don't know, not like that..." You grumbled lamely.

Natasha stared at you for a long moment, then exhaled through her nose as her eyes narrowed.

"Yeah, like what?"

"Like-" You stopped, frustrated, gesturing vaguely because you did not even have the right words for it. "Like you meant it or something."

"And that's a problem?" Natasha huffed out a laugh.

You opened your mouth before closing it again.

Because no. It should not be.

She was allowed to smile. Allowed to talk to people. Allowed to-

"Let’s just forget it..." You muttered, shaking your head.

Natasha reached out, gripping your chin gently and forcing you to look at her.

"Nuh uh," she said immediately, lips twitching. "Don’t do that. You started this, now finish it. Even if you're drunk."

You let out a sharp breath, throwing her a dirty look at her last words. 

"Well, it’s just..." You cut yourself off again, jaw tightening. "It’s nothing, can we drop it?"

"It clearly isn't nothing."

"It is," you insisted, even though your chest felt tight, your thoughts a mess. "I just didn’t expect you to be so... friendly."

Natasha studied you, letting go of your chin to rest her palm on your sternum, thumb brushing the collar of your shirt.

"I'm friendly when I choose to be." She hummed.

"Yeah, I noticed." You chuckled, the words coming out more bitter than you intended this time. You reached for her hand with one of yours, keeping it on you - the touch grounding in a tilting world.

Natasha laced her fingers through yours, squeezing slightly.

"So what? I can't talk to someone now?"

"That’s not what I said."

"It’s what you’re implying."

"I’m not implying anything-"

Natasha sighed, cutting you off. 

"You walked over there and shut down a conversation because you didn’t like it," she replied, voice sharpening. "So tell me, what exactly is the issue here?"

You stared at her.

Because the issue was obvious.

At least, it was to you.

But saying it out loud? That was different.

"That woman was clearly into you." You said instead.

Natasha blinked at you before snorting. 

"Yeah, and?"

"And?" You stopped, frustrated, running a hand through your hair again. "And nothing. It’s just, like, obvious."

Natasha tilted her head, lips twitching. 

"So?"

"So-" You exhaled sharply, feeling stupid. "You didn’t seem to... mind."

Her gaze locked onto yours, amusement flickering there. 

"Yeah? Should I have?"

"I don’t know," you snapped, frowning at her, not understanding the funny aspect of this discussion like she seemed to. "Maybe... Probably."

Natasha leaned in closer, close enough that you could feel the warmth of her breath.

"Why?"

The question landed heavier than it should, the hair at the back of your neck standing up in alarm.

You hesitated.

Because the answer was sitting right there, at the front of your mind, loud and insistent and impossible to ignore.

Because you did not like seeing someone else look at her like that.

Because you did not like the idea of her wanting that from someone else.

Because you-

"Because I-" The words slipped out before you could stop them, your voice cracking. "I just don’t like it, okay?"

Natasha hummed, lips curling into a satisfied smile, thumb brushing your hand.

You swallowed hard.

Your heart was pounding, she could probably feel it.

"I-I don't like seeing you like that. Imagining you with someone else." You grumbled, the words rough, pulled straight out of your chest.

Natasha pursed her lips, eyes on your frowning face.

"You think I’m 'with' someone else?" She asked, amused.

"No," you said quickly. "No, that’s not what I-just-" you shook your head, frustrated with yourself now. "Forget it. You can't understand."

Natsha hummed, looking at you with that familiar mixture of amusement and fondness, as if you were the most entertaining thing she had encountered all evening.

"Then explain it to me," she challenged, stepping closer and lowering her voice. "Because from where I’m standing, it looks a lot like you got jealous over a conversation."

"I didn’t," you stopped yourself again, exhaling sharply. "You're enjoying this too much," you grunted, giving her a look. "Okay, maybe I did. A little."

Natasha smirked, really smirked, the kind that made your stomach flip.

"Good of you to keep up, I've been enjoying it for five minutes," she chuckled, tilting her head to give you a knowing look. "A little?" She repeated.

"Fine. More than a little." You grumbled.

Natasha's smirk softened into something warmer, almost fond. Her eyes flicked downward, kissing you before you could dig yourself into a deeper hole than you were already, lips smiling against yours as she tasted the remeanant of the alcohol there.

You closed your eyes, trying to keep your mouth shut too. Because the truth was right there.

Because you loved her.

It sat at the back of your throat, heavy, burning, ready. Pulsing in time with the organ in your chest.

This would be so easy, too easy, to whisper it against her lips and blame it on the liquid courage coursing through you. To gasp it into her mouth, letting her swallow the words and sealing them with your insistent lips on hers.

You were already here, already halfway there, already saying things you probably should not be saying.

What were three more words?

Your pulse pounded as she stepped away, deep green eyes opening to stare at you.

"Wait..." Your voice faltered, breath catching as everything crashed together at once. "You're, like... very... important," you frowned, confused about where you were going with that, the words coming out of your mouth not necessarily the ones you expected. "I mean, like... I love... that you're interested in me. Only me." You finished, weaker than what you almost said. 

Safer.

Natasha's eyes searched your face, like she was trying to find something you were not saying.

She shifted closer, wrapping her arms around your neck.

"Well, I thought that was pretty clear already, but I'm very much only interested in you, silly." She breathed out against your lips.

The words were steady and certain, making the hair at your nape raise again. But they did not quite settle the storm in your chest, even as your hands settled on her waist, heavy eyelids blinking to look at her.

Natasha kissed you again, softer this time, lingering. 

Her hands came up to cup your face, thumbs slowly brushing over the apples of your cheeks like she was memorizing them.

"Next time," she whispered, smiling softly. "Maybe try using words a little better before jumping to conclusions."

You huffed a small, humorless laugh. 

"Yeah. I’ll work on that, kinda hard after those insane drinks Clint wanted me to try, though..." You grumbled, staring into her green pools that lulled you closer, limbs melting into her.

And somehow you still wanted more.

Greedy and pathetic and hopelessly in love. The realization hit so hard it nearly stole your breath - well, that and her tongue tracing over your lips.

If only she knew the truth, though...

If only you could actually do that.

Said the words, the right ones, the real ones.

But instead, they stayed where they had been for weeks now, caught in your throat.

Unsaid.

⧗

Natasha woke you with a sound that did not belong in her bedroom.

Not a scream - Natasha Romanoff did not scream - but something very close to it. It sounded like a strangled inhale, like she surfaced too fast from underwater and forgot how lungs worked.

Your eyes snapped open instantly.

The room was dark except for the thin blue glow of the digital clock on the nightstand showing 3:13 AM.

Beside you, Natasha was rigid. Not sitting up, not moving, not one arm above her head like you caught her doing before. Just frozen flat on her back, chest heaving in shallow and uncontrolled breaths that were trying very hard not to become panicked.

"Nat?"

You pushed yourself up on one elbow when no response came from her, sleep dissolving immediately from your brain. The sheets were tangled around her legs, a sheen of sweat glinted across the exposed skin of her throat. Her hands were fisted at her sides so tight you could see the tendons straining.

"Natasha." You murmured, a little softer this time as you shifted closer, still careful, because you had learned to be careful with her.

Her eyelids finally fluttered open at the movemnt, eyes cutting toward you, green and glassy in the dark - but they did not really see you yet. They were still trapped somewhere else entirely, something years away from this room. The Red Room. A mission gone wrong. Or some memory she will never tell you about. There were ghosts living behind Natasha’s eyes sometimes. You knew that much.

And tonight they followed her into bed.

Your chest ached immediately - not because she looked broken, Natasha never looked broken, she looked exhausted like she had spent the last several hours fighting ghosts no one else could see.

"Oh, honey." The endearment slipped out before you could stop it and something in her expression cracked.

Not dramatically, because Natasha never broke dramatically either. But you saw it, that tiny flicker of exhaustion beneath the mask she was trying to pull back into place - tonight she was not fast enough. Tonight you caught the crack before the mask could close.

"’m fine..." She murmured automatically, her voice rough.

You almost scoffed at the lie, except there was nothing funny about the way her breathing still stuttered every few seconds.

"Yeah," you murmured instead, giving her a look. "Clearly."

Normally she would smirk at that. Throw something sarcastic back. Deflect. Tonight she just closed her eyes briefly like she was too worn out to actually pretend and let out a low sigh.

You hesitated for only half a second before reaching for her. That hesitation did not exist before. In the beginning, you touched Natasha carefully because you did not know if she wanted it. Now you hesitated because sometimes nightmares left her halfway feral with adrenaline and instinct. Once, months ago, she woke up swinging.

She cried afterward. 

Not visibly, but her hands shook while she checked your jaw for bruising, and she refused to look at you for the rest of the night and following day so you would not be able to see her glassy eyes.

You remembered holding her face and saying, "Nat, hey, it’s okay, it was an accident." You remembered her whispering, horrified, "I could’ve hurt you." As if she had not spent every day since trying to make up for it with hands gentler than ever before.

Tonight, though, the second your fingers brushed her wrist, she grabbed you. Hard.

Never enough to hurt, just enough to reveal how desperately she needed the contact.

Your breath caught.

Natasha turned into you so quickly, almost hopelessly, and pressed into you like she could not get close enough fast enough. One arm wrapped around your waist, the other hooked under your shoulder, and then she was burying her face against your neck with a shuddering exhale.

Natasha never clinged before.

Your heart practically fractured on the spot.

"Okay," you whispered immediately, wrapping both arms around her. "Okay, I’ve got you."

She said nothing, not that you expected her to talk right now, but her grip tightened.

You could feel the aftermath of the nightmare in the tension running through her body. Every muscle pulled taut. Every breath measured too carefully.

You started rubbing slow circles against her back, carefully laying back against the mattress, thumbs pressing gently into her sides. It took a while before she melted even a little.

"You wanna talk about it?" You asked quietly, lips brushing her hairline.

You only received a tiny shake of her head against your throat in answer.

"Okay. That’s okay too."

Another few minutes passed in silence. Outside the compound windows, rain tapped very softly against the glass - a reminder that the world kept on moving in small, ordinary ways while you held one of the deadliest women on the planet together with your bare hands.

The thought would almost be funny if it did not feel so devastatingly tender.

Natasha shifted closer even though you did not think that was physically possible. One of her legs slid between yours, anchoring herself there. Her fingers curled into the back of your sleep shirt like she was afraid you would disappear if she let go.

Your throat tightened unexpectedly, lips pursing. Most people only knew the polished version of Natasha Romanoff. The smirks. The sharp edges. The glares. The dry humor. The controlled, untouchable elegance.

The Avenger.

The spy.

The weapon.

But you knew this version too.

The one who woke up shaking. The one who hoarded affection like she did not know when it would be taken away again. The one who pretended she was not tired right up until she fell asleep on your shoulder. The one who quietly moved closer whenever a room became too crowded. The one who checked that you got home safely even when she was halfway across the world. The one currently curled against your chest as if your heartbeat was the only thing keeping the nightmares away.

The one who pretended she did not need anyone while silently gravitating toward you over and over and over.

You planted a kiss onto her head, nose resting there as your lips stayed pressed on her temple. Immediately, impossibly, she softened further like that single gesture undid another knot inside her.

Your chest hurt so badly with it that you almost said it right then.

The three words rose so fast it scared you.

You stopped yourself so abruptly your breath almost caught audibly.

Natasha did not notice. Or if she did, she did not question it.

She was still tucked against you, eyes closed now, breathing gradually evening out while your heart absolutely lost its mind inside your ribcage.

Because holy shit.

Holy shit. You nearly blurred it out.

Again.

Panic bloomed instantly.

Not because it was not true.

God, that was part of the problem. It was too true. Because loving Natasha was not a choice you made anymore - it had never been your choice. It had become instinct. As natural as breathing, as inevitable as gravity. You loved all of her. The legend. The weapon. The woman.

Especially the woman.

You stared at the ceiling, fingers still moving gently through her hair while your thoughts spiraled violently out of control.

This was not the moment.

Actually, this would be the worst possible moment, if you thought about it.

She just had a nightmare. She was vulnerable and exhausted and clinging to you like you were the only solid thing in the world right now. Saying it now would be... unfair.

The realization landed heavy in your stomach - it would be unfair to put that on her now.

Natasha had spent her whole life with people taking advantage of vulnerability. Twisting soft moments into leverage. Making affection transactional.

You knew that.

You knew her.

The last thing you ever wanted was for her to think your comfort came with strings attached. Like she owed you something because she let herself need you tonight.

Your eyes stung suddenly.

God. And what if she panicked?

Not because she did not care about you - you knew she did by now, even if neither of you said it out loud - but because love was different.

Love was permanence.

Love was trust.

Love was something Natasha approached like a wounded animal approached an open hand: cautiously, suspiciously, waiting for the trap.

You could still hear her voice from months ago, quiet and strangely raw after a mission in God knew where left both of you bleeding in a safehouse bathroom.

"I’m not good at this."

You had looked up from where she was bandaging your ribs, eyebrows pulling together. 

"Stichting me up? Could have told me before I let you put your hands on me, huh."

"No, just... this," she had muttered with a roll of her eyes, making a gesture with her free hand between the two of you. "All of it."

Relationships, she had meant.

Feelings.

You remembered smiling softly. 

"Well, good thing you don’t have to be good at it, then."

Natasha had stared at you for a long moment like that answer genuinely confused her.

Sometimes you thought she was waiting for you to realize she was impossible to love.

The horrifying thing was that loving her was the easiest thing you had ever done.

You looked down at her now, at the red hair spilling across your shoulder. At the tiny crease still lingering between her brows even in sleep. Her plump lips partially parted, puffing air on your shirt.

At the way she unconsciously seeked your warmth even while asleep, fingers twitching against your back every few seconds just to make sure you were still there.

Your entire body ached with affection.

You wanted to say it so badly.

You wanted to whisper it into her hair and hold her until she believed it.

You wanted to tell her she was loved so fiercely and gently and without condition that it even terrified you sometimes.

But fear curled sharp beneath the longing.

Because what if she was not ready?

What if hearing it made her... retreat?

What if it changed this - whatever beautiful fragile thing the two of you had built together for months - into something frightened and uncertain?

Natasha did not do love.

Or at least she thought she did not, or to the very least act like she could not.

You had seen evidence of that belief everywhere: in the way she - most of the time - deflected sincerity with humor, in the way she usually went still when someone cared too openly, in the way she looked almost startled every time you chose her again.

As if she was still waiting for the moment you would not.

You could survive not saying it. You would rather swallow these feelings for another year than risk making her think she owed you an answer tonight, an answer given at three in the morning with tears still trapped behind her eyes would not really be an answer at all. However, you were not sure you could survive watching her pull away from you. Not over something like that. Not over timing. Not over words. So you swallowed the words down hard enough it hurt. And instead tightened your arms around her slightly and pressed another kiss into her red hair. Natasha made a small sound low in her throat. Contentment? Trust?

"You’re okay..." You whispered carefully.

Not I love you.

Even though every inch of you meant it.

"You’re safe. I’ve got you."

Her breathing evened out completely after a few minutes.

Eventually, exhaustion dragged at your own eyes again, but sleep came slowly. You mostly just laid there holding her, listening to the rain and the steady rhythm of her heartbeat against your chest.

You stayed. That was all. Stayed through the nightmares. Stayed through the sharp edges. Stayed through the parts of her she thought were too damaged to be loved.

You buried your face briefly in her hair, eyes burning.

"I’m here." You whispered.

Always, you almost added. But that was dangerously close to the other thing.

So instead you held her tighter and let the words live silently inside your chest a little longer.

⧗

You smiled against her insistent lips, blindly reaching for the handle of the door that was digging into your back, your other arm lazily draped around her shoulders.

Natasha chuckled into the kiss, breaking away just enough to push the door open with her hip.

She stepped inside first, pulling you along by your shirt collar before reconnecting your lips together the second the door of her quarters was closed behind you.

"Someone's eager." You mumbled between kisses, both arms wrapping fully around her neck now, back arching as you felt her warm hands on your hips.

Natasha bit your lower lip gently, hands sliding under the fabric of your shirt to press her burning palms against the shivering and bare skin of your back.

"Almost like it's been weeks or something." She breathed out, giving you a heated, amused look.

You shook your head, fingertips brushing along the loose curls of her braid. You tilted your face enough to look down at her cat who circled your ankles, purring at the contact. Liho meowed loudly at the lack of acknowledgement from both your parts, rubbing against Natasha's legs next.

The redhead ignored her, too busy nipping at your jaw instead, one of her hands tugging on the loop of your pants to bring you closer to her.

"She might be hungry..." You hummed, tilting your face back to give her more room, eyelids fluttering as you let your feet follow her wherever she was taking you.

Natasha grunted against your skin at your words, ignoring Liho entirely.

"She's always hungry," she muttered before pulling you in another heated kiss, hands gripping your hips as she walked backwards toward the door of her bedroom. "Plus, she already ate. Now's my turn." She smirked as she pulled you inside the room instead, closing the door before the black cat could enter.

"You’re so rude," you chuckled, leaning against the door, your hands feeling up her arms that quickly wrapped around you, refusing to let you go too far. "Slamming the door right into her face like that..."

Natasha scoffed, rolling her eyes as she resumed her kisses along your jaw.

"Trust me you're not gonna want an audience," she said, lips hot on the hollow of your throat. "Know what else's rude?" Natasha asked, teeth grazing your skin, her eyes sparkling as goosebumps followed.

"Mhm, what?" You panted, already feeling yourself worked up, thighs pressed together for a semblance of relief, hands finding purchase at her toned shoulders.

Natasha smirked, pressing a slow kiss to your collarbone before biting down lightly, then soothing it with her tongue.

"You," she whispered against your skin, hands sliding lower. "You got no idea what you've been doing to me all day, huh? I couldn't stop thinking about you. During that meeting too," she grunted, nose nudging the collar of your shirt as far as possible. "Imagine that? Me? Distracted?"

"Well, I didn't do anything." You grinned, fingers slipping into her braid, purposely messing it up as you brought her lips back to yours.

Natasha groaned as you ruined her carefully braided hair - she hated when you did that. But she kissed you back anyway, hands fumbling and pushing fabric off your shoulders in a hurry.

"Liar," she accused between breaths. "You wore those clothes on purpose."

"My clothes? What about them?" You breathed out, helping her out of her own top.

Natasha kicked her shirt to the side, pressing flush against you, skin on skin now. 

"That shirt," she said, voice rough as her fingers traced the waistband of your pants. "That clings like that? Your chest looked heavenly. Called my name." Natasha exhaled sharply through her nose before claiming your mouth again with a low whine of frustration as she tried to push your pants as far as she could.

You could not help but let out a shaky moan, kicking your shoes and jeans off to finish the job, fingers curling in her hair.

"I think you're losing your mind if you hear my tits talking to you." You chuckled against her lips, walking her to her bed, mouths still sharing the same oxygen.

Natasha fell onto the bed with you, laughing into your kiss - actually laughing, something rare and light that made your inside flutter so violently your lips parted against hers.

"Oh, your tits definitely talk," she teased back against your mouth before letting her mouth trail lower once you were fully straddling her lap. "They say 'touch me, Natasha' all day. Can hear them through all these walls and layers." 

One of her hands slid up to cup your breasts through the thin fabric of your bra, her other one pressing down your lower back to make you arch it.

"You're such a dork." You grunted, hips rolling on her lap, your hand not in her hair working on her bra, letting it pool between you like a final motion. Natasha let out a small laugh, but the sound turned into a breathy moan she tried to immediately swallow as your hips rolled against her lap again.

Her hands immediately reached behind you to take off the last piece of fabric hiding your silky skin from her gaze, eyes sparkling as the sight of your bare chest finally greeting her.

"Well hello, ladies. Missed you too." Natasha smirked, ignoring both the amused and bewildered look you sent her as she leaned down to press a light kiss on your sternum, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts until your back arched against her on its own this time.

You let out a chuckle, teeth sinking into your lower lip as you gripped her toned arm, your fingers still tangled in her head guiding her face lower. Natasha did not need guiding, she was already moving down - her lips trailing fire over your sternum, nipping gently at the soft skin of your chest before her teeth grazed the swell of your breast. Her hands trailed lower, feeling your soft sides and committing it all back to memories.

"Sorry, I might be delirious," she murmured, voice muffled against your skin as she pressed warm kisses over your chest. "Like I said, s'been weeks." 

"Yeah..." You breathed out, eyelids heavy as you stared down at her. "...acting like you’ve been through withdrawal or something." You teased, though your chuckle died in your throat as her teeth grazed your sensitive skin in clear retaliation, piercing green irises looking up at you.

Natasha smirked against your skin before finally taking one of your nipples into her mouth, tongue swirling around it, slowly at first, teasingly. She could feel the way you tensed beneath her, how your breath hitched and fingers curled tighter in her hair. She hummed approvingly around the peak before sucking gently. Your hips jerked into her lap involuntarily as a reaction to her ministrations. Your teeth sank into your lower lip, breaths turning heavy as you tried to contain yourself even though her actions along with the faint friction happening between your thighs was making you dizzy with want for more.

Natasha immediately noticed the way you moved against her - subtle, involuntary, but so telling. She quickly switched to your other breast, lavishing it with the same attention while one of her hands slid down your stomach and over your hipbone, tugging down the last fabric clinging to your body.

You let her roll you over and watched as she dragged your panties off your legs, her burning fingertips grazing your skin. You shifted on your elbows, giving her a heated look as you stopped her from laying back with a firm foot on her toned stomach.

The redhead frowned, confusion clouding her gaze for a second.

"Nuh uh, you're wearing far too many clothes." You smirked, licking your suddenly dry lips.

Natasha arched a brow, but the smirk on her lips grew as she understood your demand. Without hesitation, she took a step back. Her buttons popped open in record time as she kicked off the remnants of her clothes. She grabbed your extended leg with one hand, squeezing your calf as she drew closer.

"Better now?" She drawled in a hoarse tone that groped at your belly with a small smile on her face, her lips trailing over the inside of your leg, eyes never leaving your face.

You nodded slowly, your gaze never leaving her mouth as you tried your hardest not to melt too visibly under her ministrations. But it was harder said than done when your whole being filled with anticipation, your breath coming in faster before you could take the reins over it.

Natasha took her sweet time - kissing up your inner thigh, slow and deliberate, letting the warmth of her mouth linger on your skin. She kept going until her nose bumped the apex of your thigh before finally reaching her destination, the first contact making every touch she did before small compared to the way her tongue eagerly seeked you out. Her eyelids fluttered for a second, a small sound escaping her parted lips as your grip in her hair resumed before tightening.

"Fuck-" You gasped, thighs already starting to tremble on either side of her head. "I almost forgot..." You stopped yourself, swallowing hard as her eyes snapped back to yours, her lips wrapping around your clit as she shot you a quick wink. "...how good you were at that." You finished in another gasp, letting the back of your head hit the mattress as you tried to keep the sounds in.

Natasha smirked - actually smirked, you could feel it against your folds - before diving back in with renewed focus. She alternated between slow, teasing licks and firm suction, like she had all the time in the world to relearn you - her tongue swirling expertly while one hand gripped your hip to keep you from bucking too much. The other slid up your stomach to pinch a nipple - multitasking like the terrifyingly efficient woman that she was.

"Inside-" You panted, back slightly arching off the bed while the hand not in her hair gripped the one that she rested on your chest for dear life, eyebrows furrowing as you focused on the pleasure she was making you feel. "Need you inside, Nat."

The redhead, your redhead, did not hesitate or drawled it longer than you thought she would - perhaps she did miss you as much as she claimed to - and slipped two fingers into you without warning, curling them just right on the first try like she knew your body better than her own. You rewarded her with a shaky gasp, unforgiving warmth spreading through you like wildfire.

Her tongue kept working your clit in perfect rhythm with her thrusting fingers, adding pressure exactly where it mattered. The wet sounds were loud in the quiet room, mixing with your gasps and Natasha's soft hums of approval against you as she stared at your body that chased the feeling she was giving you. And suddenly it was too much. Too many feelings. Natasha was all around you, everywhere - outside and inside. Her insistent hands, her heavy gaze fixed on you that you could not see but felt all the same, the scent surrounding the two of you. It was too much and you were right there, with the words ready to claw themselves out your chest and throat to finally slip past your parted lips. 

You let go of her hair immediately as a semblance of dangerous clarity reached you, your hand pressing flat against your parted mouth. And what if you stopped yourself from breathing that way? At least the words were going down with you, and you would not blur them out of the blue, in the middle of sex, mind you.

You let out a trembling moan, thighs starting to shake as you bit down the inside of your fingers.

Natasha felt the exact moment you tensed, the way your body coiled like a spring ready to snap. She doubled down with eyebrows furrowed in focus, keeping the pace of her fingers and curling them while her tongue pressed hard against your clit. Your muffled moan only spurred her on, she always loved making you fall apart beneath her. Loved being the reason for that desperate grip on yourself, for those half bitten-off sounds she could practically taste in the air between you two. And then here you were, your thigh jerking up by reflex as your walls spasmed around her fingers, sucking them in. 

She pulled back and took a deep, ragged breath, eyes traveling languidly over the faint sheen of sweat over your curves.

You opened your eyes again, face tilted to the side as you lazily reached for her with your hand, pushing the babyhair off her forehead with a faint, delirious smile on your face.

Natasha leaned into your touch, her damp lips curling as she kissed the palm of your hand. Her fingers, still glistening, brushed over your stomach as she crawled up to hover above you, arms caging either side of your head. She pressed a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth first, then finally claimed it properly - slow and deep and so tender compared to what had just happened moments ago.

It made your toes curl.

"I love-" You stopped yourself just in time, gulping down, teeth grazing your lips as you tried to find something else to say. Something else than what you really wanted. Something that you might actually not regret saying. "I love, love when you do that." You finished in a lower tone, heavy eyes searching her face.

Natasha studied you, those green eyes always seeing too much, like she could read the hesitation in your chest, the words that did not make it out.

But she just kissed you again, slower this time, letting you taste the proof of your arousal clinging to her. Her hand came up to cradle your jaw as her thumb stroked your cheekbone gently, affectionate and warm.

"Yeah, I gathered as much." She grinned smugly against your lips.

You chuckled, pushing her away with one firm hand on her sternum before suddenly flipping both of you over, your body pinning her down on the mattress. You tried not to react too visibly as her hands immediately grabbed your hips by pure reflex.

"You know I don't like when you look too smug." You grunted, playfully rolling your pelvis into her lap, one eyebrow raised pointedly.

Natasha blinked up at you, almost surprised for once, her usually controlled expression flickering with something unreadable as your weight settled over her. A slow smirk curled on her lips, her hands traveling lower until she was cupping your buttcheeks. 

"Well hello," she breathed out, tilting her chin to press a kiss to your jaw. "Missed those too." She smirked, her hands squeezing the flesh, a small chuckle escaping her as the involuntary movement it caused you to make.

"Oh, shut up." You laughed, your hands cupping her face to pull her into a firm kiss.

Because if there was one thing you were good at, it was distracting you from telling too much. And what could be a better distraction than those plump lips, stealing all possible breath from you until you could not speak anymore.

⧗

It was quiet in the compound.

Not the half-expected, tense, waiting kind of quiet that came after a mission or before one, but something softer, lived-in... And an atmosphere that could only prevail in the late hours of the day, one that only night owls could understand.

Most of the lights were off, the common areas were empty. And you were sitting on one of the couches, half-curled into the corner, a blanket draped over your legs more out of habit than actual need. There was a book open in your lap, but you had not turned the page in... well, a while now.

You were not reading. You had not been for the past twenty minutes. Or maybe even longer. Your gaze kept drifting.

To the doorway. To the window. To the hallway.

You did not know exactly when she got back.

You just knew she did.

You heard the faint echo of a quinjet followed by footsteps earlier. The soft click of a door. The almost imperceptible shift in the atmosphere that always seemed to follow her presence - like something settled into place because she was back in your orbit.

You did not go to her. Not immediately. You had an unspoken agreement whenever one of you would return from solo missions, you would not go looking for the one who had just come back. It was up to her to come find the other if felt the need. Otherwise, you had to give the other time and space - enough to take a shower and put herself together while wiping away all the blood that stained the skin - before either of you could face the world again as an acceptable person.

So, you told yourself you would give her time, like always. Let her decompress. Shower, change, whatever she needed.

Totally normal.

Totally reasonable.

And it definitely did not end up with you pacing your own thoughts into the ground for what had to be the past half hour.

You exhaled slowly, dragging your eyes back down to the book you grabbed again.

You froze in the middle of a mess of words you surely must have tried to read before as soft footsteps echoed in the hallway. They were quiet - of course they were - but you recognize them anyway. Measured and controlled in the way that let you know she was letting you hear her approach.

Your heart picked up instantly.

Which was very stupid. It was just her.

Just Natasha.

The footsteps stopped right behind you.

You did not turn around right away, but you did not even know why. Maybe because if you did, this became real - that aching missing feeling whenever she was not near you. The words that had been sitting in your chest for weeks now, building and building and building until it felt like they were going to spill out whether you wanted it to or not.

"Your book’s upside down."

You blinked, looking down with a frown.

It was.

"...I knew that." You mutter, flipping it to the side quickly.

There was a soft sound behind you, something between a breath and the ghost of a laugh. You finally turned. And there she was. Clean now, changed too, her hair still slightly damp, falling loose around her shoulders. She was dressed in comfortable clothes, like she had already shed the mission and stepped back into something more... normal.

Her eyes were on you before they flicked to the empty mugs sprawled on the small table in front of you, eyebrows raising faintly.

"You’ve been sitting here for a while." She noted.

You shrugged, aiming for casualness to buy yourself more time on your emotions. 

"Yeah. It’s a couch. That’s kind of what they’re for."

"Mhm." Natasha did not move closer, did not sit down next to you despite the empty place, she simply stood there, watching you. Like she was trying to figure something out.

You shifted slightly under the weight of it.

"What?"

"You’re weird again." Natasha tilted her head just a fraction. 

Your eyebrows shot up. 

"What!? Me? I’m not weird. What do you mean?"

"Yeah, you are," she replied simply with a scoff, like it was painfully obvious. "You keep almost saying something for weeks now."

Your stomach dropped, colors draining from your face.

Oh.

Oh, God, no.

You let out a short, awkward laugh, shaking your head. 

"I don’t... what are you talking about?"

Natasha did not seem to buy it, not even a little, as she arched an unimpressed eyebrow in your direction.

"I’ve seen you do it," she continued, stepping a little closer now, her voice quieter but more certain. "You can’t lie to me, you know?"

You looked away, suddenly very interested in a nonexistent wrinkle in the blanket. 

"I really don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re imagining things."

"I’m not."

"You might be."

"I’m not." She repeated, a little firmer this time.

You huffed a breath, rubbing the back of your book that laid on your side, upside down. 

"Okay, even if I were, hypothetically, almost saying something... it’s probably not even important."

Natasha stepped closer, close enough now that you could feel the shift in the air between you as she leaned into your space.

"It is, though." She said, lips twitching.

You shook your head, letting out a chuckle. 

"Nat-"

"Come on, just say it." The words landed softly, like a request. But solid with no room to dodge, no room to deflect anymore. 

You swallowed hard, your pulse picking up again.

"This is a bad idea." You muttered, mostly to yourself, looking up at her with almost pleading eyes.

"Why?" She frowned.

Because you might ruin everything.

Because she might not say it back.

Because what you have right now is good and safe and enough-

"Because..." You started, before stopping. You held your breath, expecting... something. But Natasha did not move. She did not push. She just waited. And somehow, that was worse.

"You’re not gonna let this go, are you?" You let out a shaky breath, running a hand through your hair in a nervous movement. 

"No."

Of course not.

You glanced up at her, she was closer than you realized. Her expression was not guarded, not like it usually would be with... anyone else. Anyone else but you. There was something open there, she let you see it, decipher it like it was yours to. She was curious. Maybe even a little cautious. Like she knew this mattered.

Your chest tightened.

God.

This was it then. This was the moment you had been avoiding for weeks.

You were sure you could still back out. Say something else, make a joke, deflect, kiss her until you were both too distracted to remember the discussion at hand. You had done it before. You could do it again.

But you looked at her now.

At the way she was standing there, waiting. At the way she was clearly not letting it go this time. At the way she came to you without any mask on.

The faint dampness still lingering in her hair, the patience in her eyes, the way she had not pushed you once - just waited, as if she trusted you to get there eventually.

And God.

Maybe that was what finally did it, because something in your chest just settled.

You exhaled slowly. Because the truth was the truth. The truth was painful to hold in. The truth was choking you alive. Perhaps it was killing you more to keep it in than scream it at her. Because the truth was the truth and it was inevitable - even though you tried to run away from it. It would always come back to here and now, it would always come back to her.

"I love you." The words left your mouth in an exhale before you could stop them, like they almost did too many times to count before.

You froze immediately as your brain caught up, your heart slamming hard against your ribs, every instinct screaming at you to take it back, to say something else. Anything.

But Natasha just... looked at you.

And for a split second, panic spiked, until a faint breath escaped her.

"Oh."

You blinked, your entire body went tense. The sound was not disappointed, it did not sound uncertain either. If anything, it sounded fond. Almost helpless. 

And you were fucking lost.

"Oh?" You echoed, suddenly very aware of how exposed you were right now despite the blanket covering your clothes. "That’s-well, okay. Cool. Good. Great response. I-I actually really love that for me," you started to ramble, because of course you were - already half-turning away like maybe you could just physically remove yourself from the situation. "I mean, not that you have to say anything back, because you don’t. I just, well, clearly picked a great time to-"

"No, no, I just... was expecting something else," Natasha replied, lips twitching. "I mean, I already knew that."

You stopped before fully turning back now, elbows planted on the back of the couch as you caught up with her words.

"...What?"

Natasha smirked, something softer in her eyes now.

"I know." She repeated, like she knew you needed to hear the words again.

"You know, what? You knew? Since when?"

"A while." She shrugged slightly, pinching her lips together to hold the laugh in.

"A while?" You repeated, incredulous. "Natasha, I’ve been internally losing my fucking mind over this for weeks, actual weeks-"

"Yeah, I noticed." She scoffed, reaching for one of your hands.

"-and you just knew!?"

"Well, yes. I knew you loved me."

You stared at her.

Because that was... That was so unbelievably her.

"Oh my God, you are actually unbelievable." You muttered, dragging your free hand down your face.

There was a faint flicker of amusement at the corner of her mouth as she stepped closer, fingers brushing hair away from your eyes so she could look into them.

"I love you too, by the way," she shrugged, lips twitching into a smirk. "In case you didn’t know."

You stared up at her, breath half caught in your throat. She loved you.

Of course she did.

The evidence had been everywhere.

You had just been too terrified to trust it.

"...You do?" You asked, because apparently your brain had fully stopped functioning as needed to hear things more than one time.

Natasha raised an eyebrow. 

"I just said that, didn’t I?"

"Yeah, I know, I just-" You let out a short, breathless laugh, shaking your head. "You could’ve, I don’t know, mentioned that before I spent months spiraling over it."

She tilted her head slightly, narrowing her eyes. 

"Well, you could’ve said it sooner.”

You stared at her, lips parted.

"...You’re really turning this around on me right now?"

"Mhm hm."

You huffed out another laugh, softer this time, something in your chest finally loosening after weeks of tension as she leaned in enough to press her smile against yours.

Pick up Luke. Drive home, have him take a shower. Chicken for dinner. Fuck, I didn't defrost the chicken. Scratch that, pasta for dinner. No, Luke hates pasta. Takeout, then. The healthy place with the good veggie options. Get the drycleaning. Put in the order for those boots online. Finish charting after Luke’s asleep.

You sighed, finally pulling into the parking lot, lightheaded after a long day at work and an even longer forty-five-minute drive.

Fucking pileup. How was it conceivable for eight cars to crash into each other and bring a light pole down with them? And why did it have to put a hold on your whole day?

Sure, it was just as gratifying as it was exhausting to be called into the ER as a helping hand — and it was even better when all twenty-three victims ended up living to see another day —, but did the fire department really have to keep the busiest intersection in the neighborhood blocked for that long? Well — you didn't really know that much about electric circuits, and you surely weren't educated on the potential harm caused by a fallen light pole, but for fuck's sake. The accident happened this morning. Did it really take a whole business day to free up the avenue?

You leaned back against the seat, closing your eyes once you were parked, taking a nice, deep breath. Relax. You're here. He's not alone, Nat's got him. Nat's good. He's okay.

One of the downsides of being summoned into the ER, all the kids you saw there. Little boys and girls about Luke's age, breathing out of tubes, fighting to survive. It was stressful enough to be a hospitalist — trickier cases, complex diseases, patients you got to know and inevitably got attached to —, but those rare ER days always took the cake. You had one rule since med school, one you’d promised to take to your grave: no children. Absolutely no getting involved when it came to kids. But in the ER, you couldn't really afford the luxury to choose.

That's out there, you reminded yourself. That kid's gonna be fine, he's got his own mom to take care of him now. Go take care of yours.

You opened your eyes, checking the rearview mirror for a second to make sure everything was in place, and Jesus Christ.

“Have I looked like this all day?”

You reached for the worn hair tie that kept that poor excuse for a ponytail together, pulling it off, figuring you'd have a better chance with a quick shake and a good old smoothing out than with whatever that was. God. What a mess. And no one thought to give you a hint. You ran your fingers through your hair, doing your best to make it look at least presentable, frustrated when it only half-worked.

It doesn't matter, you told yourself, trying hard to believe it. Nat had seen you worse. She'd seen you up till 4 AM, high on too much caffeine while you studied for the boards. She'd seen you bawling first thing after getting home on the night you lost your first real patient. She'd seen you passed out on the kitchen floor, holding Luke's bottle in one hand and his faithful blanket in the other, completely unaware of the milk that overflowed from the pan onto the stove.

Plus, what were you doing caring about what you looked like in front of Nat, anyway? It wasn't your place anymore. The divorce had been mutual, which meant you'd both been to blame, which meant you shouldn't be freaking out about how your fucking hair looked right now. Nat wasn't the one you were here to see. You were here for Luke, your son, who you were pretty sure couldn't care less if you showed up with a mohawk as long as you brought along a new pack of Pokémon cards. That's why you’d left the hospital without even changing out of your scrubs. That's why you hadn't bothered to check the mirror before getting in the car. To get to Luke faster, to be his mom, to be there for the kid who needed you.

So, very much aware that there was nothing you could do to help your case anymore, you stepped out of the car and walked up to the big concrete building you'd been in a thousand times before.

Scatorccio Tattoo, the door on the second floor read, room 207, right across the hall from the elevator.

You didn't have to knock, you knew it'd be open. Nat only locked up once the day was done, which, when she wasn't supposed to have Luke, meant everyone would be there until about 7 or 8 — whenever the last client left with new ink on their skin and a smile on their face. Said and done, you walked through the black door with the blue neon sign on it, taking in everything, the smell of antiseptic and sandalwood just as you remembered, even though the space looked infinitely bigger now. You knew Nat had upsized, she'd made an offhand comment about contractors and the endless bureaucracy of taking down a wall a few months back, but you had to hand it to her — the studio looked fantastic. Two new stations aside from the couple already set, padded chairs in the lobby, a new reception desk that came with a new receptionist — a pink-haired girl with a nose ring who offered you a polite smile as she said something over the phone. The AC didn't make the obnoxious rattling sound it used to back when Nat first rented the room, and the only thing you could hear aside from the casual chattering of artists and clients and the distant humming of tattoo guns was the music, low and ambient, some Elliott Smith track you'd heard about a million times before in Nat's car.

Nat's station was still where it used to be — far left, past the water cooler, by the big window that offered the great view of the downtown lights at night. The same place you'd come running to after class, tired out of your mind, excited about the prospect of pepperoni pizza and the sound of her laugh. You're gonna make it big, you used to tell her, staring at the skyline as you lay next to her on the floorboards — back before diapers and binkies and passing out cold on the kitchen floor. Someday, this place is gonna be crawling with people begging you to get those hands on them.

Prophecy fulfilled: for what you'd heard and seen, Nat's studio had become one of the biggest in town. Always getting the best reviews. Always filled with people. So much so that, well, you saw it — the two new stations, two new artists to lend a helping hand to her and Van, the one she'd hired long before the big changes.

“Heeey, there she is,” Van smiled as she saw you, wide and friendly, leaning an elbow on the receptionist's desk with that ease she always seemed to carry around. “Our friendly neighborhood Dr. House.”

You couldn't help but grin, tired but honest, though maybe not as big as it would've been a couple of years ago.

“Van,” you took a step closer, hand in one pocket. “How've you been?”

“If you're asking as my doctor, I'm doing alright,” she leaned forward, placing a hand beside her lips as if she was about to tell a secret. “But if you're asking as my friend, hungover out of my mind. But you gotta do what you gotta do, right?”

You chuckled.

“That's the spirit,” you nodded, amused by the fact that, even with all the years, Van never seemed to lose her essence. “Have you seen my kid anywhere around here?”

“Nat's station,” she pointed at the hall you knew well, the same one that led to the water cooler, far left of the room. “Talking everybody's ears off. Being a menace. Making every client fall in love with him. You know, the usual.”

You smiled, chest warming at her words. That sounded right. Luke had always been a force of nature, a hurricane with dark brown hair and eyes as blue as his mom's, melting every heart that ever crossed his path with a quick sense of humor and a crooked smile. You let out a breath you didn't know you'd been holding, the same kind that always got stuck between your throat and your lungs on ER days. He was here, he was okay, he was with Nat. That was all that mattered.

“Right, thanks. I should go get him,” you made a motion to leave, lingering long enough just to properly wrap up the conversation. “It was nice seeing you, Van. And congrats, by the way, the place looks amazing.”

“Thanks, yeah. Good to see you too,” she nodded, that shit-eating grin softening into something earnest, quieter. “Hey, stop by more often. I'll give you half off if you ever decide to let me ink you up.”

You let out a little laugh.

“I'll think about it.”

“You go ahead and do that.”

And so you walked toward Natalie's station, determined, deliberately doing what you were there to do.

Luke sat on Nat's chair, bouncing his legs, tongue poking out as he drew something on her tablet — a dragon, a tiger, you weren't sure from this angle. He was focused, determined, that same wrinkle between his eyes that used to pop on Natalie's forehead whenever she worked on a client. He occasionally stopped, assessed his work, mouthed the words to the song that played in the background like a seven-year-old had any business knowing the lyrics to Elliott Smith's discography.

Nat sat on the table, right next to the tablet, leaned on her hand as she watched her son with a proud smile on her lips. It was that face she made the first time Luke kicked a soccer ball, the same from when he sighed and rolled his eyes and told you he didn't want to wear a button up to your brother's wedding at the ripe age of four. The that kid's just like me look. Like she knew he was a carbon copy, except male and a bit shorter, but still scary similar in all the ways that mattered.

“Good trace, bud,” she muttered, free hand running through his hair affectionately. “You've already got your own style. That's not for everybody, you know.”

Luke nodded, unfazed, brow still furrowed — like all the praise in the world wouldn't pull his focus from the task at hand.

“I like to do the mouth like this,” he said, sharp, as serious as a lifelong painter explaining his work. “Makes it look like he's breathing fire.”

You let out a chuckle, soft, just loud enough for them to realize you were there. Your presence, as it turned out, was in fact enough to make Luke raise his head from his very important masterpiece.

“Mom!” He smiled widely. “You're back from the hospital!”

“I am,” you walked up to him, muscles finally relaxing after the day you'd had, cupping his cheek in one hand just to make sure he was real. “Hey, baby. Sorry I couldn't pick you up from school.”

“That's okay! Mama said you saved a lot of people from dying today!”

Nat let out a snort, shooting her eyes up in your direction, shaking her head slightly with amusement.

“I didn't say it like that,” she clarified, raspy, melting visibly in the way she always did whenever Luke said something unhinged. “I said you were saving lives. The whole death thing was implied.”

“He's a smart kid. Good at reading between the lines,” you smiled, tame, the only kind you'd offered Nat since the divorce two years ago. Friendly. Safe. In regards to anything Luke-related. “And a talented one too. Let me take a look at that drawing, sweetheart.”

“It's not a drawing,” he corrected, turning the tablet around — and there it was, a dragon. Wobbly. Just as accurate as a seven-year-old could do from memory. Still, Nat was right, it did have personality. “It's a stencil. For a tattoo.”

You chuckled, Natalie's proud grin not going unnoticed.

“Ooh, a stencil? Is that right?”

He nodded eagerly.

“Mama said she's gonna let me print it so I can put it on my arm. Pretend it's real like the ones she has.”

“What can I say,” Nat smirked, as enamored about it as she was smug. “Kid wants to be just like his mama.”

You shook your head, letting out a content yet tired breath. The exhaustion of the day was starting to catch up to you faster than you'd anticipated now that you saw Luke was alive and well, sitting on his mom's chair right in front of your eyes. This was what you'd been waiting for all day — coming to see him, touching his rosy cheek, listening to his baby voice after a long day of taking care of injuries on other people's kids. And now you needed rest, even if you weren't going to get it anytime soon. You needed to get your boy in the car, drive him home, hear all about his day at school over a balanced meal that would probably be too expensive, but not enough to make cooking worth it tonight. You needed his presence. His youthful innocence brightening up the house while you had him for the week. To trip on his scattered toys and hear his loud cartoons and let the liveliness make you forget all the despair and fear you’d been surrounded by all day.

“Well, that sounds like fun, Mr. Tattoo Artist. Go print out your stencil so we can go home, yeah?”

“But mom,” he whined, pouting, shoulders dropping. “I'm not finished yet.”

“That's enough, buddy. You can wrap it up next week when you're with mama again.”

“Please,” Luke brought his hands together, because apparently it was a life or death situation. “I wanted to bring it for show and tell tomorrow.”

You sighed. The pleading look on his face was something you’d already learned not to fall for — even though it still had an unsurprisingly high success rate —, but right now all you saw when you looked at it was that other little boy, the one who almost didn't make it, the one whose mom held onto so tightly as she cried I will do anything you want. Come back to me and you'll have everything you ask for, honey, whatever it is.

Fuck it. You'd been stuck in the ER all day, you'd been trapped in your car for forty-five minutes on the way here. You could spare your son a few more minutes doing what he liked.

“You can grab a seat,” Nat smiled, gesturing at the tattoo chair, looking at you like she could somehow still read your mind after all this time. “There's no rush.”

You nodded, making your way to the chair, knowing it was all for a greater good.

“Thanks.”

Nat got up, slow, walking closer to where you stood while Luke went back to his stencil — now muttering some Nirvana track he apparently knew by heart.

“He's almost done,” she said, holding onto the edge of the chair as you sat on the other end, feet dangling off. “Finishing touches and all. Turns out he's kind of a perfectionist.”

You let out a weak snort.

“Sure. I'll… let him do his thing a little longer,” you looked at Luke, smiling softly, still half-high on the relief to see him happy and healthy after a hard day. “Thanks, by the way. For picking him up today. I would've had my brother do it, but—”

“No. No way,” she shook her head. “He's my kid too, only fair that I go. Plus, it's good to see him outside of my days. Helps me miss him a little less.”

You offered Nat a small smile.

“I know what you mean. Uh, thanks anyway. Sorry it was such short notice.”

“Don't apologize. I saw the pileup thing on the news. Oof.”

“Yeah,” you chuckled absently, looking down, “oof.”

Natalie licked her lips, turning her head away from you, staring at Luke's focused expression for a second. And then she looked at you again.

“You want an espresso?”

You narrowed your eyes, a confused smirk taking over your lips.

“Espresso?”

She let out a breathy laugh.

“We have this fancy machine now. With all the buttons and shit,” she shrugged, so casual, so Natalie it made your heart flutter amidst all the exhaustion. “Makes hot chocolates too. Luke's already had, like, three so far.”

You laughed too, for once not concerned about the amount of sugar your kid had ingested — not today.

“Thanks. But I'm trying to go easy on the caffeine.”

“That's… new,” she chuckled, and you couldn't blame her. You used to drink coffee like it was water — a habit you'd been cutting back on since the divorce. As it turned out, heartbreak and palpitations from five cups a day weren't the best combo if you wanted to get an okay night's sleep. “Alright, then. Let me know if you change your mind.”

“Sure,” you nodded. The jingling of the bell above the front door called your attention, indicating someone had just arrived or left. Your eyes fell on the new tattoo gun by the chair. “Uh, congratulations, by the way. The studio looks… It looks really good, Nat. Fancy espresso machine and everything.”

Natalie smiled, looking away, doing that thing with her face she used to do when you complimented her.

“Yeah. It’s, uh, really taken off.”

“I can see that.”

She paused for a moment.

“And how are you—”

“There, I’m finished!” Luke interrupted whatever Natalie was going to say, turning the tablet around with a proud grin on his face, showing his masterpiece to both of his moms. “Ta-da!”

Nat’s eyes sparkled.

“Whoa, bud,” she said, widening her eyes for flare, stepping closer to him so she could have a better look. “That’s gonna make a sick tat.”

Luke smiled big, taking the praise better than his mama ever did, used to being seen, to being celebrated. It was a point Nat made from birth, showering him with compliments whenever he reached even the smallest accomplishments — there you go, buddy, good burp. Strong as a lion. Great job sleeping through the night. Hey, look at that latch, that's how it's done. You're the best baby in the world.

“Can we print it now?! Please, please, please?”

“Of course, give it here,” Nat grabbed the tablet, tapping the screen a few times until the thermal printer began to buzz.

Luke squealed, getting up from the chair like the excitement was simply too much to bear, bouncing on his heels with the utmost glee. When the stencil finally came out ready, blueish-purple lines on white paper, Nat picked it up and cut around the art with her scissors.

“There you go,” she held the piece of paper by the edges, extra careful not to wrinkle it. “If you wanna wear it to show and tell, ask mommy to help you put it on before school, okay?” When he nodded eagerly, Nat looked up at you with a chuckle on her lips. “It comes off with soap and water.”

“I know,” and you did, you'd been through this before, you'd been her lab rat a billion times when she wanted to test out new styles and designs. “He's gonna be the coolest kid in Ms. Lee's class.”

“Emma's gonna freak when she sees it!” Luke jumped up and down, launching himself into Nat without warning, arms wrapping around her waist like she'd just given him the entire world. “Thank you, mama! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I'm gonna go show aunt Van!”

And he was off into the hallway, disappearing on the way to Van's station like he knew it by heart after all the time he’d spent in the studio. Natalie stood there a few seconds, red cheeks and ears, smiling to herself as if she didn’t know what to do with all the love in her chest. Then, because she was Nat, she shrugged it off. Let out a snort. Looked at you like her heart hadn't just visibly melted right in front of your eyes.

“It's been Emma this, Emma that all the time,” she offered, casual, an attempt to recompose herself. “Joined at the hip just like I was with Van at that age.”

You let out a laugh, deciding to let Nat off the hook for always masking her emotions. It wasn't your place to meddle anymore.

“I don't think that's possible,” you tilted your head. Van and Nat had been inseparable all through the years you'd known them — and from the stories you'd heard, they’d been that way practically out the womb. “But yeah. Emma's been a popular name lately. I think that's a good friendship for him to have.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded.

“She has two moms,” you commented, leaving off the part you'd heard through the grapevine about their divorce, about their time apart, about their reconciliation less than a year ago. It all just hit a little too close to home. “One’s a nurse at the hospital, actually. Sweet woman. It's good for him to be around other families like—”

Like ours, you almost said before cutting yourself off mid-sentence. You didn't live in the same house anymore. You didn't wake up next to Nat, you didn't force her to sit down and eat a peanut butter and banana sandwich in the morning so she wouldn't leave on an empty stomach. You didn't tuck Luke in together at night, a kiss on the forehead each, a five-step monster check just to be sure — you behind the curtains, Nat under the bed.

You weren't a family, not anymore.

So you cleared your throat, swallowing the lump that had suddenly formed there.

“—like that. Uh, two moms.”

Nat looked down, bringing a hand to the nape of her neck like she’d also made the conscious choice to let you off the hook this time.

“Yeah. That’s good.”

Luke’s laugh echoed from the lobby like a light at the end of the tunnel, saving you from the familiar awkward moment you could feel coming before the silence had a chance to stretch.

“Well, it's getting dark soon,” you said, looking at Nat. “I should take him home.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course,” she nodded, bringing her hand down to the waistband of her skirt, playing absently with a belt loop as she drifted her eyes toward the hall. “Let me walk you.”

You both found Luke in the reception area, sitting on Van's knee on one of the new padded chairs, eyes shooting up with excitement as he saw his moms come in his direction.

“Mom! Mama!” He squealed. “Aunt Van said she can give me a dragon tattoo when I'm old enough! A real one! Isn't that cool?”

You laughed.

“We'll talk about it,” you looked at Van, who just smirked like she'd been caught red-handed making promises she shouldn't. “Come on, Lukey. It's time to go. Say goodbye to mama and aunt Van.”

He nodded obediently, wrapping an arm around Van's neck, sinking his head into her shoulder for just a second.

“Bye, aunt Van. Don't forget the Pokémon cards next time so we can trade!”

“Got it. Charizard, I’ll bring it over next week.”

He smiled, hopping off Van's lap with the stencil tucked in his hand like a trophy, making his way to Nat with familiarity. The goodbye. The thing he'd been getting better and better at over the past two years. She crouched down to get on his level, not quite as resilient even though she nearly did enough to hide it well, wrapping those tattooed arms around him with eyes closed so tightly they gave her away.

“Bye, little man. Be good to your mom. And don't forget to take pictures of the stencil before you go to school tomorrow.”

“Okay, mama,” he pressed a kiss to Nat's cheek, caring and gentle, ever the cuddlebug when it came to his moms. “I love you.”

“Love you more.”

“No take backs.”

“No take backs.”

You stood back, watching them silently, not getting in the way of the moment. Their little ritual. The hug, the love you more, the no take backs. Nat's way of letting him know he could do anything in the world and she would still love him no matter what, she would still be his mama at the end of every day.

She let out a breath, giving him one final squeeze before letting go.

“Alright, off you go.”

He ran in your direction, stepping into his role, grabbing your hand like he already knew his way around your and Nat's arrangement at this point. You smiled at him. Looked at Van again, then at Nat.

“Bye, you guys,” you said, standing at the door. “And thanks again, Nat. You saved my butt today.”

She chuckled, always amused to hear you censor your curses around Luke.

“Of course, Y/N, anytime. Hit me up if you need to, yeah?”

You nodded, small, genuine. You knew she meant it — even with the distance, even with the divorce, even with the mutual decision that had been undeniably stronger on her end, she meant it. She knew your routine, knew your work, knew shit happened sometimes. She'd always made it clear she'd be there to pull her weight with Luke for those moments.

“Thanks. You too.”

“Will do.”

In the car, with the takeout bag already safely tucked behind the seatbelt on the passenger seat and finally on your way home, Luke filled you in on the details of his day.

“And after PE we went back to class and Ms. Lee let us sing happy birthday to Jake!” He said, the stencil still in his hand, looking out of the back window. “His mom brought everyone cake but Parker had to have a different kind because she’s allergic to frosting. But that sucks. The frosting was the best part!”

You chuckled, grateful to hear his incessant blabbering, gladly letting the kid fill your ears with the hottest gossip of his second grade class.

“That sounds nice, buddy,” you offered, eyes on the road. “You know, speaking of birthdays… Somebody’s going to be turning eight very soon.”

“Meee!” He giggled. “Just a month left!”

You nodded, a smile taking over your lips as you let yourself take a peek at his eager expression through the rear view mirror for just a moment.

“That’s right,” you overplayed it, emphasizing every word with a few more teeth for the sake of his excitement. “You know how you wanna celebrate yet? Should we do a soccer tournament like last year?”

Luke shook his head.

“Nah. I wanna do something different this year.”

“Different?” You asked, amused. “Got anything on your mind?”

He nodded proudly, as if he'd been waiting for you to ask.

“I wanna go camping.”

You took a turn right, swerving into your street, the house you’d been living in for a little over two years now already noticeable in the distance. It took you a second to register Luke’s words, and, once you did, you pouted in confusion.

“Camping?” You asked. “Where’d you get that idea?”

“Callie said she went with her dad last week. They roasted marshmallows by the fire and stayed in a trailer and everything. Like in the movies!”

You narrowed your eyes, slowing the car down, pulling into the driveway like you always did — only this time, once you came to a full stop and unbuckled the seatbelt, you turned around to look at your son.

You’d been completely blindsided. Your survival abilities in the woods were basically limited to knowing how to work a bottle of bug spray. The things you most cherished in life, after the kid in the backseat, were as simple as a hot meal and a comfy bed. And plumbing. Piped water that fell from a shower head at the mere twist of a knob.

“Camping, Luke?” You double checked, making sure all the hard work of the day hadn’t somehow caused you to start hearing things. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, mom. Camping. It’s gonna be fun!”

“No soccer tournament?” You pushed a bit, realizing he was serious, not having a clue how you were going to make that happen. “Maybe a party with a bouncy house?”

But Luke shook his head with determination, as if his mind had already been made for a long time now.

“Camping.”

You sighed. The smile on his face didn’t fade, and you watched him for a second. Once again, you saw it in your head — that other boy from earlier today, the tube down his throat, the desperate mom with her hands on his face like maybe he’d wake up if she held him long enough. And Luke was there, alive, healthy, full of hope, proudly clutching onto his stencil like the caring little boy he was.

He was a good kid. He deserved to have everything he wanted.

“We can arrange that, then.”

“Yes!” He bounced eagerly in the backseat, movements a bit restrained by the seatbelt. “It’s gonna be so fun!”

You let out a chuckle, not exactly excited, but figuring you’d give it a shot when he was the one asking for it. You could take him to a campground, somewhere safe, rent an RV so you wouldn’t have to figure out how to work a tent. Somewhere you’d have access to food you didn’t have to roast in a fire. Somewhere you wouldn’t have to pee behind a bush in the middle of nowhere.

You could do it.

“I have to remind mama to bring a coat! Callie says it gets really chilly at night.”

Your eyes narrowed at his statement.

“Wait,” you said, confused. “You want mama to take you?”

Thank God, you thought, figuring Nat might have a better shot at the whole nature thing. If Luke wanted her to take him camping, maybe you could do something else when he got back — the bouncy house, the pizza, the guys in the superhero costumes. No bugspray. Something in your powerhouse.

“Well, yeah,” he shrugged, eyes on yours, that undying smile still on his lips, “both of you!”

Both of you.

You and Natalie. His moms. The ones who'd barely been in the same room for more than a few hours at best over the past two years. The ones who'd only talk when it meant working out a schedule or discussing whatever had been said at the latest parent-teacher conference, not looking directly at each other's faces. The ones who sat a very confused five-year-old Luke down and told him he'd have two different houses from then on.

You nearly choked, chest tightening at the thought of breaking that little boy's heart again.

“Well, baby…” You hesitated, trying to find the right words. “I'm not— I'm not sure both mamas can take you…”

Luke's face fell immediately, his smile giving space to a pout, his eyes looking bigger than usual.

“But we always spend my birthday together,” he argued. “Even after you moved.”

You let out an exhale, watching his expression — taking in the frown, the quivering lip, all the tells that showed that wasn't just an occasional tantrum after a long day.

He was right. You did always spend his birthday together. That was the rule. You'd alternate Thanksgiving and Christmas, you'd do separate halves on Mother's day, but Luke's birthday was the one date you and Nat had both agreed to spend completely together, start to finish. There had been two since the divorce so far, and it’d actually been working out well — Nat would knock on your door before Luke woke up, you'd make his favorite breakfast while she worked on setting up the sign and the balloons, he'd come downstairs and you'd all eat together as a family. You'd both give him presents. Set up his party. Avoid being alone together longer than necessary in the most obvious attempts to act like everything was normal. Nat would laugh at something a parent said and it wouldn't reach her eyes, you'd step inside to get more napkins you knew wouldn't be used. Luke would smile all day long. Run around full of life, full of joy, grab your hand for a moment in passing. Nat would help you clean up after everyone left and Luke was fast asleep in his room, purposely turning up the music so the silence wasn't too weird, which never really worked. She'd mutter something safe — he had a lot of fun, the cake was really good, did you see Riley's dad's weird mustache? You'd chuckle lightly. She'd nod. You'd say goodbye with words and awkward smiles.

And then she would leave.

It was a good arrangement. Something Luke looked forward to. Something you could manage if you set your mind to it, if you distanced yourself, if all the other moms were around to distract you from those dark locks and those blue eyes.

But camping? A whole weekend cramped up in an RV, nowhere to hide, bumping into Nat every five minutes?

That might be a little more than you could handle.

“I know,” you tried again. “But it's just one day, Lukey. Camping is… it's complicated, we both have work and—”

“Mom, please!” He whined, chin beginning to tremble in that heartbreaking way it did right before he started crying. “It's— it's gonna be fun! I'm gonna be so good! I'm— I'm gonna eat my veggies and I'll clean my room and I'll do homework without complaining and—”

Luke rambled on, slurred and rushed, talking over himself like he depended on your mercy to save his life.

He popped up into your head again. The kid from the ER, tattooed on your brain at this point. Too weak to even breathe on his own, a near miss, so close you must have thought about leaving the room to call your son over a thousand times.

“Okay,” you gave in with a sigh before the first tear could drop from your son's eye. If that other little boy could basically rise from the dead upon his mother's desperate plea, you could give Luke this. You could suck up whatever unresolved feelings you still had for Nat and swallow them. Your kid deserved it, he deserved everything you could give him and more, and this you could do. For him. “Okay. If mama's on board. If you do everything you said. I'll call her tomorrow and ask, alright?”

“Yes! Thank you, mom! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Luke unbuckled himself clumsily, too eager for his hands to work right, launching himself in your direction like the clingy little boy he'd always been. You couldn't help but melt. Your arms found their way around him, back hurting from how you had to twist it — but it didn't matter. Nothing else did. Not when he held onto you so tightly, squealing into your shoulder, pressing wet kisses to your cheek as a token of his gratitude.

You were doing this for him. For Luke. For your son.

And that's how, a few weeks later, you found yourself in your driveway, loading a suitcase into the trunk of Natalie Scatorccio's car.

Of course Nat said yes. She didn't even think about it when you told her how eager he was.

“If the kid's asking…” You could practically hear the shrug through the phone, the pressed lips and tight chin as clear as day in your mind. “We've gotta do it, right?”

Pushover. A complete sucker for him, just like you were.

It didn't surprise you.

Nat wasn't one to profess love through big gestures. She wasn't the kind of parent who bragged obnoxiously about her kid to the other moms at soccer practice or bought him a monthly paycheck's worth of toys in one trip to the store. Her love was about showing up. Being there for the big things and the small ones with the same level of excitement. Cheering at the very front whether Luke scored a goal in a crowded game or did a cartwheel in the living room. Letting him know through words and gestures that she was there for him — no matter what, no matter where, no matter when. No take backs. Every single day till the rest of her life.

Nat never had a problem loving, she was as loyal as a guard dog, her love was gentle and honest and so whole you'd occasionally just burst into tears when you thought about it over those first few years. Happy tears. Tears that seeped through cracking walls, that came from finally being free from a lifetime of walking on eggshells, from feeling so seen and so known and so cared for you couldn't help but overflow. A love that was so selfless, so genuine, so safe you'd never understand how she couldn't simply accept it back.

That had always been the problem with Nat. She was good at loving. Not so much at letting herself be loved.

You'd met her in your senior year of college, wide-eyed, thinking you knew everything until Tai's girlfriend brought along a platinum-haired friend with a cute smile to a party and you realized you still had a lot to learn.

Nat had silver rings on all ten fingers, tattoos on her arms and legs, a joint behind her ear that didn’t stay in place for too long before finding its way between pale fingertips. Her eyes were blue, grayish when you first saw her outside under the moonlight, darker after a while, in the kitchen, as she poured herself another drink and talked to Van about something you pretended not to listen to. The smile never left her lips — sure, steady, the kind that said I know exactly who I am even though she was clearly an outsider. It didn’t seem to bother her, she welcomed it. Laughed whenever some college kid said something ridiculous like she and Van were in on a secret you and Tai weren’t aware of. She was never rude, never once entitled, just so incredibly herself it undid you a little.

She undid you a lot.

Pulling you in without trying to, taking up space without an apology, existing in that way you’d never seen anybody do before. Introducing herself to you with a crooked smile and a rasp in her voice and those fucking eyes as if she had any right to look like that, to talk like that, to be like that.

“I’m Nat,” she’d said, leaning in for you to hear her over the music, close enough that you could smell her perfume — something earthy and mature and just a little sweet. “Nice to meet you.”

Nat caught you alone a few hours into the party, drinking warm beer as you stared across the makeshift dance floor with a heavy heart. She’d chuckled, friendly, making an offhand comment about having lost Van at some point during the night, a joke on how she’d probably disappeared into one of the bedrooms with Tai. That tracks, you remembered saying, a little too bitter after a few drinks — inhibitions low enough that you didn’t bother hiding your disdain for the happy couple that danced a few feet away from where you stood anymore. Your ex. Her new boyfriend. Picture perfect, happy, not two weeks after she’d left you because she needed to find herself. Apparently all she needed was to search in the arms of a brain dead frat guy with frosted tips and beer breath.

“Alright, I wasn't gonna meddle or anything, but…” Natalie crossed her arms, eyes finding the spot where yours had been set like she had no intention of leaving. “That an ex or something?”

You narrowed your eyes, letting them fall on her face.

“How did you know?”

She chuckled.

“Maybe I'm psychic. Or maybe I just have enough experience with shitty exes to know one when I see it,” that permanent smirk stayed tattooed on her lips as she analyzed the dancing couple across the room. “Though I wouldn't have pegged you as the frosted-tips type.”

You took a sip of your beer, snorting halfway through it, looking at Nat in amused disbelief.

“So you're not psychic," you said. “Try again, I'll give you one more chance.”

She raised a brow, rising to the challenge like she'd been waiting for you to push her. She looked at the couple again, eyes drifting from the guy to the girl, the smirk widening on her lips.

“Her?”

You nodded lightly, tightening your jaw, staring at the side of your ex's face while that guy shamelessly went to town on her neck.

“Yeah,” you muttered, face contorting in disgust. “Her.”

She let out a snort.

“Guess I got two out of three right, then,” Nat shrugged, amused. “Pretty good for a psychic.”

“A psychic would have gotten it right the first time,” you offered back, half-teasing, half-stuck in a puddle of self pity as you kept looking at that man's hands on your ex's waist. “But I'll give you an A for effort.”

Nat laughed, raspy and low, shoulder touching yours briefly as she shifted on her feet.

“Fair,” she took a sip of her drink. “Though maybe I did get it right the first time, but I didn't say it because I didn't want to assume anything.”

You pursed your lips, intrigued, drifting your eyes to Nat's face only to realize hers were already glued to you.

“You did assume, though,” you countered. “That I'd go for someone like that. Like him.”

She chuckled.

“I'm sorry about that,” she licked her lips, a habit you'd later come to realize surfaced whenever she was nervous or excited or curious about something. “You know what they say. Expect the worst while hoping for the best or whatever.”

It was your turn to laugh, tipsy, unsure of the meaning behind her words.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Your smile made hers grow, automatic, breathtaking.

“Maybe I'm just curious about your preferences.”

That brought chills to your spine, making your heart race in your chest as you suddenly realized just how close she stood. Her eyes were even darker now, hair catching the LED lights as they switched colors, a mix of unshakable confidence and drunken ease radiating through her pores. Everything seemed to revolve around her, like the party was just an excuse around the real main attraction — that smile on her face, those ring-clad fingers running through her hair. She was beautiful, even more so from up close, especially with her gaze set on you like you were the only person in the room, quiet and intense like a forest right before a thunderstorm — as if she knew all she could do in that moment was sit back and brace for impact, like the damage was already done.

For some reason, you just knew she was going to be trouble.

“My preferences?”

She nodded, grinning like she noticed the shift in your attention.

“Yeah. What you like. What you don't like. What I need to say to get you alone.”

You chuckled at that, eyes widening slightly at her forwardness. She didn't back down, didn't apologize, didn't pull away — instead, she leaned closer, watching you meticulously as if she had you exactly where she wanted.

“A little bold to say that to a girl who's been complaining about her ex to you,” you teased, testing her, pushing just enough to see how hard she'd pull.

“Like I said, I'm no stranger to shitty exes,” she shrugged, unfazed. “Though I have to say, you're better off. Always smart to cut stupid people off your life.”

You chuckled.

“What makes you think she’s stupid?”

Natalie smiled victoriously, nodding her head.

“Well, she’s over there while you're right here,” she licked her lips again, the smell of her perfume now mixed with the joint she'd smoked earlier, intoxicating. “Which has to be the dumbest thing I've ever seen.”

You laughed.

“You know, that's a good start.”

“A good start?” Nat raised a brow, tilting her chin down, watching your face.

“Yeah,” it was you who leaned closer this time, drawn to her like a magnet, inexplicable and powerful and already forgetting about the girl who danced with the guy across the room like whatever came before Nat suddenly didn't matter anymore. “If you’re serious about wanting to get me alone.”

Needless to say she didn't even have to try from then on.

You finished the night in Nat's bed, clothes scattered across the floor in a tiny two-bedroom downtown, her name on your lips and her hair in your fists and red marks all over your skin you'd be tracing with your fingertips long after she was gone. She wasn't like anyone you'd met before. Her hands mapped out your body, exploring with the eagerness of a treasure-hunter yet the accuracy of someone who'd been there before, like she was somehow remembering your nuances instead of getting to know you. That's how it always felt with Nat — not new, never new. Familiar. Exciting, sure, but not in the way you'd feel around someone you'd just met — it was like running into an old friend you hadn't seen in forever. Like coming across a lover from a different lifetime, like reclaiming what was once yours, overwhelming and exhilarating and intense, addictive, so much so that it took you no time at all to reach out again after that first time.

And just like that, Nat was a part of your life, growing around every aspect of it like tree branches you couldn't help but feed. The passion was electric, the draw was strong, the impact so hard you could practically split your life in two — the one before Nat and the one after her. Lonely nights in your dorm turned into laughter and takeout and lovemaking in her apartment when Van wasn't around. Meaningless flings turned into something real, something stronger, the only sure thing you'd ever known. Deep breaths and unshed tears turned into soft fingers on your hair, a shoulder to lie your head on and sweet lips on your cheek as Nat whispered you don't have to hold it all in — and, for once, you believed it.

The first crack in the glass came around two and a half years after you’d met, a stupid fight that turned into raised voices and slamming doors and you standing confused in the living room as Nat stormed off in the middle of the night. You weren't sure what happened. You'd been going through the motions, tired, dedicating every last hour of your day to med school as she struggled to get her new studio up and running — a rough patch, you thought, something you'd eventually work through, after all, every couple had their adversities. But things escalated. You complained about something unimportant, something that wouldn't have mattered if you hadn't been so exhausted, a forgotten dish on the sink or an unpaid bill she was supposed to take care of, you didn't even remember. But Nat was tired too. So she deflected. Sighed a bit too bitterly, rolled her eyes, turned her back to you while you talked just like you'd seen your father do a million times to your mother, and it all just hit a bit too close to home. You were projecting, it was a stretch, but you weren't thinking straight. And then one thing led to another until Nat walked out with tears rolling down her face, claiming it was best to end things before it was too late, making clarity hit you as soon as she stepped out into the hallway.

You'd seen it before, you'd noticed it in the small things — the way she never seemed to know how to take a compliment, the way she'd shrink into herself after telling a childhood story. Nat had a hard time letting herself be loved. She didn't know how to. She'd been taught to brace for failure, to expect to be walked out on, to let go before she got hurt, and that was what she was doing.

Tensions were still high, you were both stretched thin, she wasn't thinking clearly — so you let her go, at least for the meanwhile, knowing the risk of losing her forever was too high if you didn't give her the space she needed. Nat was impulsive, you'd come to know, and sometimes it was best to just offer her some time to clear her head before trying to reason. You deemed it best to wait, for the sake of your relationship, for the sake of making things better down the road.

What you hoped would be a few days turned into four months apart.

You came home to Nat sitting by your door, exhausted after a late night study session, letting out a breath you'd been holding in for months once you finally caught her eyes — blue, almost green in the hallway light, full of love and guilt and regret as they fell on you.

“I'm sorry,” she muttered, embarrassed, stepping to her feet as soon as she saw you. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.”

“I know,” you answered, because you did. “Come on, let's get inside. We’ll talk about it.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

Nat poured her heart out to you, stumbling over words as if she'd just spent however long she'd been waiting at your door going over what she would say, but never quite finding the right way to do it. She talked fast, like she needed to hold her breath if she wanted to get it all out, and you listened patiently, taking her hand as the tears started rolling down her cheeks, telling her to take her time, that you'd be there for as long as she needed. She told you all about her childhood — the trailer park, the abusive father, the negligent mother. The harsh words she had to hear since she was a little girl, the ones that made her believe she would never amount to anything, that she wasn't worthy of love. You knew she didn't talk to her mother much, and you knew her father had died when she was a teenager, but that was it. You didn't know how he'd walked in on her with a friend, how he'd accused her of things you wouldn't dare repeat — your heart breaking in your chest as she choked on the words whore and slut like she'd carried that cross around her whole life. You didn’t know how he’d become aggressive, how her mother somehow got caught in the middle of it, how Nat didn't even think before grabbing the shotgun her father didn't bother to keep hidden. How he'd taken it from her hands, how he’d threatened to shoot, how he'd tripped over the steps and fallen and, boom, suddenly he was gone right before her eyes.

Your heart ached with revolt, with anger, with disbelief over how anybody could ever do something like that to Natalie. You held her — it was all you could do, keeping her close and stroking her hair and trying to offer the same reassurance she always used to offer you before everything went down.

“I’m right here, I'm not going anywhere,” you repeated again and again, trying to make her believe it. “I'm not going anywhere, Nat, I'm always going to be here.”

After that night, no words were needed. You'd both decided to try again, to pick up where you'd left off, to not keep any more secrets.

Until about a month later, when Nat called you, asking you if you'd be home for dinner because she had something she needed to say. You caught the distress in her tone, the way she'd called instead of texting like she always did, the careful way she'd phrased it. Are you— are you coming home for dinner? I'd— uh, I'd really like you to be. If you can. I, um, I need to talk to you about something. Please, just— let me know, okay? If you can. I really just— fuck, I just really need to talk to you.

You jumped to every conclusion in the book — something had happened with the studio, a client had done something to her, maybe her mother had resurfaced and somehow hurt her all over again, you couldn't know for sure. All you knew was that, whatever it was, it was serious.

Nothing in the world could have prepared you for what came next.

“Pregnant?” You asked, confused, narrowing your eyes as you tried to make sense of the words that came out of a terrified Natalie's lips. “...How?”

She closed her eyes, tears streaming down her face, clutching onto the positive test in her hand like she couldn't believe it was real.

“While we were broken up,” she sobbed, avoiding your eyes, breathless. “I— it was stupid, it was a one time thing, Travis just— he showed up, I was drunk, I was stupid, I shouldn't have…”

Travis.

You'd seen the guy once before — at a party, right before you and Nat became official, staring daggers as she wrapped her arms around your neck while angrily sipping his beer in the corner of the room. The shitty ex Nat had offhandedly mentioned the night the two of you met. The guy who kept showing up when she was vulnerable, when she was heartbroken, when she wasn't thinking clearly enough not to make any stupid decisions.

You couldn't deny it, the thought of Nat in his bed made your blood boil in your veins, your hands closing into fists at your sides just for a moment before you loosened up. Natalie cried copiously, desperate, gasping for air like her whole life had just ended right before her eyes. Like she'd done the stupidest thing in the world and she was about to lose everything that mattered. Like you already had one foot out of the door, and she'd been the one responsible for ruining everything.

So you held back the jealousy, it didn't matter now. She was within her right. You were broken up, she could do what she wanted, it wasn't like you had a say.

Nat was here now, and she needed you. And you’d never deny her.

“Nat,” you let out a breath, placing a hand on her shoulder, the other one finding her chin. “Hey. Look at me. That's okay, we'll figure it out.”

And so Nat sank into your arms, apologizing profusely into your shoulder, breaking down while you held her tightly and assured her everything was going to be fine. That you'd find a way. That you'd stand beside her no matter what.

After Nat calmed down, her initial plan was to terminate. To set an appointment at a clinic and pretend like the whole thing never happened. You said you'd support her through it, you'd be there to hold her hand, you’d do whatever was in your power to make her comfortable — it was her choice after all, and you'd never do anything to undermine that. You'd keep your promise and stick by her for whatever she needed, for whatever she chose.

But days passed and she never made the call. You gave her space for about a week or so before asking, voice careful, hand on her hair as she lay her head on your lap in the living room couch.

“Nat,” you said, soft, gentle. “Are you still sure you want the abortion?”

She sighed, as if she'd been waiting for you to ask.

“I…” She shook her head. “I just— I’ve never really… I never thought about it, you know? I just… I’ve always been irregular, I've— I didn't even think I could, and…” She cleared her throat. “I don't know, Y/N. Maybe if Travis wasn't such a deadbeat it’d all be different.”

Your hand stilled in her hair.

“Is that what this is about? Travis?”

Nat bit her bottom lip, swallowing audibly.

“He obviously wouldn't want any part in it,” she said hesitantly, not meeting your eyes. “And I just— I don't want to put a kid in the world for that. To be unwanted. And it's not like I could do it alone anyway.”

“Nat,” you looked at her, sure, careful. “Hypothetically, if a deadbeat dad is the only reason why you're thinking about terminating, if— if it's something you would've otherwise wanted… you know you wouldn't be alone, right?”

She blinked. Looked up at you. Licked her lips.

“I’d never ask something like that of you.”

“You're not. I'm just saying. It's your choice, I'll be here for whatever you decide.”

Nat looked at you for a few seconds, face unreadable.

“Even if I wanted to keep it? Hypothetically?”

You nodded.

“Hypothetically, yes.”

She stayed quiet for a moment before sitting up abruptly, lips pressed together in a straight line, watching you like a million thoughts went through her head as she looked at your face.

“I…” She let out an exhale. “I can't explain why, but I just… I've been having some thoughts and I just… I think I might wanna keep it. I— I could do things differently and— I know it doesn’t make sense, but—”

“It doesn’t have to make sense,” you grabbed her hand. “As long as it’s what you want.”

“I'm… not sure. I don't know what to do.”

“You've still got a few weeks to figure it out,” you offered, calm. “I just want you to know you won't be alone. Whatever you choose.”

Nat let out an incredulous chuckle, staring at your face as if she struggled believing you were real in that moment.

“You'd seriously raise Travis Martinez's kid? Are you— are you even thinking about what you're telling me right now?”

You nodded.

“It wouldn't be Travis’ kid. It'd be mine. Yours and mine,” you squeezed her hand. “If that's what you decide to do.”

“So if I wanted to terminate…?”

“You know you'd have my full support.”

She shuddered.

“And if I wanted to keep it…?”

“I'd be all in,” you took her other hand, looking at her face, knowing Nat needed the reassurance. “You wouldn't do it alone, Nat. I'd be here.”

She smiled, small, tame.

“You'd be all in? Even if it meant taking care of— of a baby?”

You nodded again, certain, knowing you'd do anything she asked, you'd be there for whatever she needed. You loved Nat. The only thing you were sure of was that you wanted her in your life forever, whatever it took.

“I'd be all in. It'd be my baby. Our baby.”

Natalie's smile grew, and she unexpectedly grabbed your face, cupping your cheeks, pulling you in for a kiss.

“Your baby, huh?”

And that's how the agreement came to be — you were just as much of Luke's mom as Nat was, regardless of who'd birthed him, regardless of whose DNA he shared. You were the one who took care of Natalie all through her pregnancy, who held her hand during appointments, who drove late at night to get her scones from that 24-hour bakery two towns over when she woke up with cravings. You were the one who proposed about three months into the pregnancy, getting down on one knee not only because you loved her and wanted to be with her forever, but because getting married meant the adoption process would be infinitely easier and you'd do anything to get the parenting rights to your baby boy as fast as you could. You were the one who nearly had your fingers crushed while Nat gave birth, clutching your hand tightly in the delivery room, holding onto you like she needed to feel you there in order to go through with it.

You cut the cord, you held him first, you strapped him to the car seat so the three of you could drive home together for the first time. You painted the nursery, you put together that complicated crib Tai and Van got you and Nat as a gift. You bawled your eyes out the first time you saw him, so small, covered in blood and other fluids, knowing in that moment you’d never experienced a love as strong as this one. You were his mom. He was your son. Nothing would ever change that.

Sure, you felt scared sometimes — all the time, actually, but you never once regretted standing by Nat in her decision to keep him. Every parent felt scared. Every parent worried about being present enough, about teaching right from wrong, about working hard enough to put food on the table while still managing to spend quality time with their children. And you never thought you'd go through something like that — at least not unexpectedly, and definitely not until way further down the line. But how you saw it, Luke was always meant to be yours. The breakup, Travis, the four months apart while you lay awake wondering what Nat had been doing — it was all a necessary evil in order to make him get to you, in order to put that cute, smart, funny little boy in your life.

The three of you had about four good years before the beginning of the end.

There were some challenges — the boards, Nat's studio, spending most of your savings on a bigger house so Luke would grow up in a place with enough space for him to run around —, but nothing you couldn't manage. Until right after his fourth birthday. You were pushing thirty, right in the thick of residency, stretching yourself thin between eighty-hour weeks and a four-year-old and stepping up when Nat went to the studio because she needed to work too. Whatever little time you had to yourself was spent either studying or sleeping or taking care of the house, you were always tired, always running on empty no matter how hard you tried to be everywhere at once. There was always an edge you couldn't hold, a loose end you couldn't quite pull — with Nat getting the worst of it nearly every single time.

You were too busy to spend time alone with her, too tired to have sex, too stressed to think about things that weren't work or house or Luke-related. Little by little, you started to see her less. You started to talk about your obligations instead of everything. You did the one thing you promised you'd never do — you shrank, disappearing before Nat's eyes, not being the anchor you knew she needed. You didn't rise to the occasion, figuring you'd use whatever energy you had left to be the mom Luke deserved, forgetting your wife also needed someone on her corner.

Nat held out well at first. She gave you space, knowing you needed it. She worked extra hard to let you do your thing, to let you chase your dream, the one you were so close to finally getting. One more year, baby, you used to tell her, figuring it’d all go back to normal once you were done with your residency, but she was already starting to slip. You just hadn't caught it yet.

She was the one who brought up the word divorce for the first time, right before Luke turned five, after what was supposed to be an anniversary celebration turned into a screaming match when you didn't make it home by the time you promised you would. You'd stayed behind. Gone into the on-call room at the end of your shift just to wake the other resident so she'd pick up where you'd left off. So exhausted you somehow wound up passed out in one of the beds, phone dead, missing the first night in months you'd spend with your wife alone — Luke away in Van's house, table set with dinner Nat had left the studio early to make. The house spotless because she knew how much you appreciated coming home to everything clean. New lingerie underneath her clothes, a blue pair bought just for you, matching her eyes because you always told her how good she looked in that color.

You showed up at 2 AM, apologizing before you even finished closing the door, but the damage was done. Nat sat in the living room with a new dress on and a disappointed look on her face. You could tell she was trying to stay calm, to stay patient, but it didn't last. Soon, a complaint about your being late turned into you're never around anymore and you think I'm not here because I don't want to? and it's like you're not even fucking trying at this point. You were still tired, still not thinking straight, repeating the mistakes you'd once promised yourself you'd never make again. Speaking before even filtering what you were going to say. I just want some fucking support, you'd said, knowing how unfair it was when Nat had been such a good sport. And she didn't back down. She raised her voice in a way she never had, not even that first time, talking so fast you could barely make sense of any of the words spat out of her mouth.

You slept on the couch that night.

The divorce talk came the next morning, when you and Nat stood awkwardly in the kitchen, silent over the coffee you'd woken up extra early to make as a peace offering.

“I'm sorry I yelled,” she finally said after a long silence, quiet, low. “I shouldn't— I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have gotten so mad.”

“I fucked up, Nat. I should be the one apologizing.”

“No, Y/N, I just…” She took a deep breath. “There's no excuse. I shouldn't yell like that, I didn't even recognize myself, I was acting just like—” Natalie paused. She didn't have to say it, but you saw it in the way she lowered her head, in the way her eyes darkened. Like my father. “It's not right.”

“We're both tired. We're both under pressure,” you shook your head, still foolishly seeing a light at the end of the tunnel that you didn't know had begun to fade. “I know you didn't mean it.”

She swallowed.

“I did mean it,” she muttered, visibly embarrassed, staring at the table. “When I said it. I wanted to hurt you just like you hurt me. It shouldn't be like this. I shouldn't… feel like this.”

You grabbed her hand and she let you, which you naively took as a good sign.

“You're human, Nat. You’re allowed to feel things. It's okay.”

Nat stayed quiet for a long moment, her coffee still untouched, the bags under her eyes deep after what you could only assume had been a sleepless night.

“This can't happen again,” she finally said. “Especially with Luke around, I can't— I can't let him see me like that.”

You nodded.

“It won't, baby. We'd never let it. Just…” You took a deep breath, thumb running gently over the back of her hand. “Don't be so hard on yourself.”

You should have known better. Nat was quick to forgive you, to forgive Van, to forgive everyone she loved. But she was never good at sparing herself the same grace.

“I don't ever want him to see something like that. To see me speak to you like that,” she swallowed again. Paused for a moment. Her hand stiffened under yours. “Even if we have to— I don’t know, spend some time apart or something.”

You hardened immediately. That was not the direction you expected the conversation to take.

“Time apart?” You asked, incredulous, suddenly feeling like the ground had been pulled from underneath you. “You mean like…?”

“I'm not talking about a divorce,” the word landed like a punch in your ears. “Not yet. Just… if it doesn't get better.”

“Not yet?” You repeated, blindsided, the talk escalating to places you'd never even thought of just a minute earlier. “You mean there's a chance?”

Nat sighed, licking her lips, nervously chewing on the bottom one.

“I can't let him see me like that, Y/N. I can’t.”

You let out a nervous laugh, humorless, head growing dizzy with panic.

“What about me, Nat? Don't you— I mean—” You let out an exhale, choking on your words, desperate.

“I love you,” she murmured, more resigned than you wished she would have sounded. “That's why I'm saying this.”

Things never went back to normal after that.

You felt Nat slip away exponentially, careful, quiet. Like she'd started policing herself after that horrible fucking night. Like she believed she deserved to get punished — if not by your hands, by her own.

You tried for a while — you really did, doing whatever you could to get home earlier, holding her longer, making an effort to be present even on the nights when you just wanted to lie down and forget about the day you'd had. Initiating sex even though it didn't last as long as it used to, even though it didn't make you feel as connected to your wife as you once had. Telling her you loved her every chance you got, even when she didn't sound like she meant it when she said it back.

The problem was you knew she did. She just wasn't letting herself feel it, not when she thought she'd ruin it all if she simply stopped being careful.

You signed the divorce papers a few months before Luke turned six. You couldn't do it anymore, not when Nat was always miles away, fading right before your eyes. It was unsustainable. With your son getting older, smarter every day that went by, you worried he'd start to notice. And Nat was the one who took the initiative anyway, so there wasn't much you could've done to help it.

“I just…” You'd said, sitting across from her at the kitchen table, eyes hollow, set on the floor. “I want Luke. I mean, I— I want him to have us both. To share. I know I didn't birth him, but—”

“Y/N, you're his mom. Of course we’ll share. I'd never take him away from you.”

And now here Nat was, keeping her promise, smiling politely as you stepped into the passenger seat of her car. She'd made a point out of planning the whole trip, knowing how busy you were, telling you I've got it, leave it to me, I know a good place. As long as I don't have to sleep in a tent, you'd joked, so the fact that she was being so amazing about it wouldn't hurt as much.

“MOM!” Luke launched himself at your back, not intimidated by the headrest between his chest and the back of your head. “I missed you!”

Your heart broke a little like it did every time he said something like that.

“I missed you too, buddy,” you said, arms moving back to hold him back in the way you could. “You excited for this weekend?”

“SO EXCITED!” He squealed, bouncing back onto his seat. “I'm gonna sleep in a tent! We're gonna play explorer and I'll make a fire as big as a house and I'm gonna take pictures of all the bugs we find so I can show Emma—”

He rambled on, excited, stumbling over words like he was too hyper to finish his sentences. You simply chuckled, letting him get it all out, knowing the gentle rocking of the car would have him passed out in just a few minutes.

Said and done, he was out cold before Nat even swerved into the highway. She let out a chuckle, soft, looking at him through the rear view mirror for just a second before focusing back on the road.

“Every single time,” she muttered fondly.

You let the silence stretch for a second, staring out your window so you wouldn't have to think about how close Nat sat, how beautiful she looked while driving, how sweet she'd been to offer to pick you up at your house.

“So,” you talked, knowing you'd go crazy if you were alone with your thoughts for too long, “what's that Luke said about sleeping in a tent…?”

She chuckled.

“He saw me packing it this morning. Kept talking about how cool it's gonna be.”

“I thought we'd settled on no tents.”

Nat laughed, easy, calm, making you wonder how she managed to handle everything so well.

“Don't worry. You're gonna like it.”

“Nat,” you said, daring to look at her, serious. “Don’t tell me you didn't rent an RV.”

That fucking smile didn't leave her lips.

“Let's just say I took some creative liberties,” she teased. “It's Luke's birthday after all. He gets what he wants, right?”

“You didn't.”

She let out a snort, clearly amused.

“Just… hang on. You'll see it when we get there.”

“Natalie.”

“I’m serious,” she insisted again. “Don’t knock it yet. Not until you see it.”

“There better be an RV waiting when we get there.”

“…You’ll see, Y/N.”

You shook your head, resigned, not knowing what to expect when she acted this secretive. Of course, the prospect of sleeping in a tent was not appealing, but the cold or the hard floors or the lack of a real roof weren’t what fazed you. It was the fact that you hadn’t brought one. You didn’t think you had to. If what Luke said was right, if you were all going to sleep in a tent, you’d have to share. The idea of being in a cramped up RV with Nat for two days was already more than you thought you could handle, but if you had to share a fucking tent — no walls, not a drop of privacy, nowhere to hide — you actually might not survive the weekend at all.

“Hey,” she broke the silence again after a few minutes, “you mind turning on some music?”

You held back a relieved sigh, because yes, some music would actually be perfect to fill the loud silence that had settled itself in the car at this point — the one that always came when you spent too long with Nat.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Just— here,” Nat stuck her hand in her back pocket, pulling out her phone and handing it to you. “Passcode is Luke’s birthday. Pick whatever you wanna listen to.”

You would've known the passcode even if she hadn't told you, but you didn't mention it. It was the same from when you were still together, the same she'd used for nearly eight years now, the same you'd type every time she handed you the phone and let you take care of the music while she drove.

You also didn't say anything about the photo on her home screen — Luke, around four or five, blue gloves on as he sat on Nat's chair at the studio and pretended to give her a tattoo with a washable marker. You'd taken it. It was one of the rare occasions during that hellish year when the three of you had been together and you'd both been fully present — an innocent trip to the park that had ended in Nat having to swing by work on the way home, and one thing led to another. Luke kept wandering around, the shop still pretty much limited to a small reception area and two stations for Nat and Van, and he was in awe. Kept asking to do what mama did, to sit on mama's chair, for mama to let him give her a tattoo. Nat said yes, because that's what she did. And you took the picture when neither of them was looking.

You remembered foolishly thinking we're gonna make it through this when you went to bed that night, but it was all just a distant memory now. A picture on a phone. You weren't even sure Nat remembered the context behind it.

You scrolled through her music app, trying to find a safe playlist — no love or breakup songs, no songs you used to listen to on the floor of her shop back when the whole place consisted basically of a chair and a prayer, no songs you'd both sing along to in the car with the windows down in another lifetime. You ended up settling for an old 2000s collection with lyrics marketable enough for you to be able to breathe through.

When you were about to place Nat's phone on the center console, it buzzed with a notification. Your eyes drifted involuntarily to the top of the screen — a name, a woman's name, someone named Lucy who apparently really wanted to know how she was doing.

You swallowed it, locking the screen, not mentioning what you'd seen. For all you knew, it could be anybody — a friend whose name had somehow never come up, a client, a fucking real estate agent who still had her number saved or some other doctor following up on a consult or whatever, whoever, it didn't necessarily mean it was romantic. And even if it was, you'd agreed to the divorce. You'd been apart for two years. Nat was young, she was gorgeous, she had needs. She had a right to try and be happy. It wasn't your place to meddle anymore.

You cleared your throat, staring out the window. It was probably nothing anyway.

Thankfully, the drive to whatever place Nat was taking you and Luke wasn't much longer than an hour, and eventually she pulled by a dark wooden gate that led to a large dirt road surrounded by neatly trimmed grass. You couldn't see much further ahead, but it looked nice — well-kept, the sight of trees in the distance, the faint sound of running water coming from somewhere down behind the central pathway.

“We're here,” Nat said, a little smile on her face, eyes drifting to Luke still asleep in the rear view mirror again. “He's gonna lose his shit when he wakes up.”

You looked around, unable to get much of a sense of the place while Nat stepped out of the car to handle the gate.

“What is this place?” You asked, curious, still concerned about the rooming situation.

Nat simply chuckled as she hopped back in.

“Be patient. You'll see.”

Luke shifted slightly in his sleep, and Natalie tapped her fingers on the wheel eagerly, periodically glancing at him with that little dimple popping on her cheek like she might be more excited than the kid about the weekend ahead.

For his sake, of course. Always for his sake. She was nothing but a mother looking forward to giving her son a birthday to remember, it had nothing to do with you, it was all for Luke.

You took a deep breath, pretending not to notice the way she licked her lips or how the morning light snuck through the car window and caught her dark hair.

It's for the sake of my daughter, you told yourself, parking your car by the familiar house with the spotless green lawn and the swaying tire swing.

Well, familiar didn't quite cover it — not when you took the fact that you’d never really been inside of it into consideration. Still, there you were like clockwork, every other Saturday morning, staring at the same bed of trimmed grass and the same tire hanging from that tree before somehow managing to find the guts to step out of your car.

For the sake of my daughter, you repeated, taking a deep breath as the bottom of your shoes finally met the sidewalk.

You could say what you wanted about Jackie, but she'd found a very nice place for herself. A good, uneventful, family-oriented neighborhood that matched her house just perfectly: white sidings, spotless navy blue shutters, a lawn that belonged on a gardening magazine if that was even a thing. Not a dandelion in sight, which meant she still had the habit of bending over the grass with a hand trowel three nights a week, probably wearing those stupid expensive gloves you'd made fun of her for buying. Flower boxes burst with perfect geraniums, red, precise, on both sides of the welcome mat — the new welcome mat, thank you very much. It was the type of house that screamed I have my shit together so loudly you would have mistaken it for a soulless backdrop if it weren't for the bits and pieces of life, evident to a trained eye.

In all of them, Emma. The tire swing, rope slightly frayed, swinging from the majestic oak on the front yard. Her bike on the driveway, lying on its side in that way you knew Jackie had told her a thousand times not to leave. The welcome mat, as new as it was, uncentered. Creased. As if she'd flown into the house without a care in the world like the six-year-old hurricane she was.

The closer you got to the porch, the louder you heard breathless laughter and childish squeals, making it clear that Jackie and Emma were not inside. You circled the house in slow steps, having done this dance a thousand times before, already knowing where you'd find them.

Jackie stood by the goalpost she'd had installed in the backyard, arms toned and tanned and spread open, leaving you to wonder just when she managed to find the time to keep so fit in between taking care of a kid and picking up double shifts at the hospital. The sunlight hit her hair in a way that was nothing but unfair, loose strands falling from the bun she'd wrapped it in like she was the star of a fucking shampoo commercial. She laughed, carefree and radiant and beautiful, eyes on your daughter like that little girl held every good thing in the world in the palm of her hand.

“Alright, Em, let's try that again,” she said in that motherly, soft tone, the only kind Emma had ever heard coming from her lips. “Aim for the top corner. Use the inside of your foot. You can do it, baby.”

Emma looked up with determination and stubbornness, the tip of her tongue poking out, big hazel eyes focused in a way that was all Jackie. It still baffled you, the fact that she was the spitting image of her other mother, no trace at all of the donor you'd picked out of a website all those years ago. She had the same warm smile, the same pointy nose, the same doll eyes taking up half of her face. They were so similar it felt like a curse on some evenings, when all you wanted was to get home and not be reminded of the ghost of your ex-wife still hanging around, only for her mini-me to sneak up on you and ask what’s for dinner. Needless to say the girl hardly ever heard a no from you. You just couldn’t bring yourself to disappoint her, no matter the request, not when it meant killing that smile and taking the joy out of those eyes.

She kicked the ball with every fiber of her being, which, for a kid her age, meant she did an okay job. Still, you saw Jackie consciously take a step aside, pretending to fumble the defense in a way that flew right over Emma’s head.

“Oh— wow!” She exclaimed theatrically as the ball hit the net, playing it up in a way only a mother would. “Way to go, bear!”

“I DID IT!” Emma immediately let the excitement take over as she flew across the backyard like a jet, launching herself into Jackie’s arms. “I SCORED!”

An involuntary smile met your lips at the sight, and you figured it was finally time to make yourself seen. Taking a few steps forward, you clapped giddily, putting on a show.

It’s for the sake of my daughter.

“Okay, whoa, bear,” you widened your eyes, “you killed that shot! I didn’t even see the ball with how fast you kicked it!”

Emma turned around at the sound of your voice, beaming when she saw you, honey blonde locks sticking to her flushed face as she ran in your direction.

“MOM! Did you see that?!” She yelled proudly, excited, grabbing a hold of your wrist as you bent down to get on her level. “Mama couldn’t even get the ball! I did a goal!”

You chuckled, absolutely endeared by the blonde bundle of energy before you.

“I saw that, honey! Good job!”

She brought her hand up to your shoulder, tugging on the sleeve of your t-shirt.

“Mama said I could get lessons,” her voice came out softer, in that classic ‘I want something’ tone you’d come to spot from a mile away. “…If you’re okay with it.”

“Lessons, huh?” You raised a playful brow, using a hand to brush the hair away from her face and tuck it behind her ear. “We’ll see about that.”

“Please, please, pleeease?” Emma pouted, looking back at Jackie as a last resort. “Tell her, mama! Tell her I’m getting really good!”

Jackie snorted, hands on her hips as she caught her breath under the scorching sun, eyes narrowed to withstand the light.

“Go get your stuff, bear. Your mother and I will talk about it.”

Emma nodded, knowing she had to be good if she wanted to get her way. The little genius negotiator.

“Okay,” she exclaimed, already speeding toward the back entrance, “…but promise you’ll think about it with your hearts!”

You let out an incredulous chuckle as she disappeared inside the house, the words ringing in your ears like you’d been suckerpunched. Think about it with your hearts. Just like you and Jackie had told her about two years earlier, trying to explain the concept of divorce to a four-year-old — mommy and mama still love each other, sweetheart. And we love you. We’re just going to live in different houses now, because we won’t be married anymore. Everything’s okay, we just thought about it with our hearts.

Jackie seemed to read your mind, because she cut through the silence with a snort.

“She’s been saying that a lot lately,” she muttered. “When she doesn’t wanna eat her veggies, when she wants to stay up past her bedtime… please, mama, think about it with your heart.”

You shook your head with a laugh.

“Little manipulator.”

“I like to think she’s just gonna make a very good lawyer someday.”

“She’d run circles around a judge,” you smiled weakly, staring at the back door like Emma would somehow materialize there. “Win all the cases.”

“Or maybe she’s just got you wrapped around her finger,” Jackie huffed, hands still on her hips, eyes on the same spot as yours.

You chuckled.

“That’s more likely.”

Neither of you said anything for a moment, like it had usually happened when you interacted without your daughter around for the past two years. A bit of small talk here and there, some comment about a funny thing she’d said, then silence. Pauses. Hesitation, both of you afraid to shatter the bubble of friendly co-parenting you’d managed to establish so well.

Especially now. Especially with the next weekend right around the corner, hovering by like the elephant you refused to acknowledge.

You cleared your throat, ever the hater of awkward silences.

“So… soccer coaching, huh?”

That was not what you wanted to talk about, but you’d keep the real topic to yourself.

“Yup,” Jackie nodded. “She’s been talking about it nonstop. Apparently Heather joined the league at the rec center and now she must get on the team too.”

“Oh, of course,” you joked. “If Heather’s doing it…”

She huffed a laugh, still avoiding your eyes.

“I think it’d be good for her. Breaking a sweat, learning to be part of a team. If you’re willing to take her on your weeks, that is.”

Your weeks. Another reminder of the system you’d both worked together setting up.

You crossed your arms, looking at Jackie out of the corner of your eye.

“I mean…” you shrugged. “We’re already the lesbian moms, do you really wanna be the soccer moms too?”

Jackie chuckled.

“You saw how excited about it she is.”

There really was no arguing with her logic — so, tilting your head down, you nodded, defeated.

“Soccer it is.”

Another quick but excruciating moment of silence passed as you turned your gaze back toward the door. Thankfully, Emma came to your rescue, backpack bouncing against her back as she ran down the porch steps with her faithful Nintendo Switch tucked in her hands.

“Emma,” Jackie called out, looking down at the videogame. “Remember what we talked about.”

“No running with the Switch,” the little girl repeated the words monotonously, as if she’d heard them a thousand times before. “Sorry.”

She took a step closer, face morphing into a smile as you pulled the backpack off her shoulders and let it hang from one of yours.

“Did you talk about the soccer lessons? Did you? Did you?”

You placed a hand on her shoulder, putting the stern mom mask on.

“If you behave,” you warned, “and if you promise to not complain about doing homework after practice… then mama and I agree you can take them.”

Emma’s grin tripled in size, eyes crinkling up around the corners just like Jackie’s would every time she smiled.

“YES! THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!” She squealed in excitement, hopping up and down, looking at you and Jackie with unbridled joy. “I’ll behave! I’ll do my homework! I promise!”

She grabbed your hand, squeezing it tightly.

“Can you take me tomorrow, mom? Please, please, please?”

You chuckled.

“Tomorrow is Sunday, baby. The rec center’s not open.”

“Aw, man,” she frowned in classic six-year-old fashion — jumping with delight one second, dropping her shoulders the next. “When can we go?”

“I’ll take you next week,” Jackie chimed in. “After we get back from the beach.”

And there it was.

The subject you’d both been dancing around ever since Emma came up with the goddamn idea a few weeks earlier. You’d only ever handled it over texts, sending each other booking details and cost logistics, but you hadn’t been brave enough to bring it up in person yet.

You knew you’d eventually have to with the date coming up, but the words Jackie said still made your heart pick up in your chest.

Emma’s seventh birthday was the following Friday, and, as her gift, she’d asked for none other than a weekend at the beach. A bit of a stretch, but it was a normal request for a kid her age, right? Sure, you’d have to call in sick at work, and you’d have to put some money into it, but that was the whole point of everything, anyway. Providing for your child. Making sure her birthday wishes were met. Doing anything in your power to make her childhood memorable.

Except there was a catch:

She wanted both of her moms to be there.

It was non-negotiable, you’d come to find out after offering every alternative you could think of. How about a new skateboard? A puppy? One trip just with mom and another just with mama?

None of it worked. Emma insisted on one trip — “a family trip to the beach, mom, like the one when I was little!” It made your heart sink, hearing those words, the confirmation that your daughter missed the days when she had a proper family. When she had one home instead of two. When going on vacation with both of her mothers didn’t seem like such an absurd request.

So you said yes, as long as Jackie was on board, because it wasn’t Emma’s fault that the two of you couldn’t work it out in the past. And she agreed.

And now here you were, six days away from being under the same roof as Jackie for a whole weekend after two years apart.

Emma smiled again at the mention of the beach trip, as if all of a sudden she didn’t even care she’d have to wait over a week to join the local soccer league.

“Alright!”

Jackie cleared her throat, looking at you.

“Um, speaking of which… I’ve already gotten someone to cover my Friday shift, so… all set.”

You nodded.

“Good. I’ll just cash in one of my sick days,” there was a small pause before you continued. “The booking’s at two, by the way. I, uh, I thought I’d pick you up around eleven, how’s that?”

Because of course Emma insisted that you all carpooled together.

“Yeah, eleven. That works,” Jackie took a deep breath, palm rubbing awkwardly at the spot above her knee.

Sensing the awkward silence that threatened to come back, you looked down at your daughter.

“Alright, bear. We should get going now, grandma’s coming over for lunch,” you squeezed her shoulder gently. “Go say goodbye to mama.”

Jackie leaned over to capture Emma in a hug, smiling brightly as the little girl pressed a wet kiss to her cheek.

“Bye, mama,” Emma said. “Love you to the moon and back.”

“I love you too, bear,” Jackie tightened her grip just a bit around the girl, and you had to pretend to check your watch as an excuse to look away. You understood it. You were in that same spot every other week, saying goodbye to your girl, knowing you’d go the next few days without seeing her. It never stopped hurting. “Be good to your mom, okay?”

“Okay,” Emma pulled away, already used to the dynamic. “Don’t forget to pack snacks for the trip!”

And, next thing you knew, she was already sprinting toward the car — Switch in hand and everything. The back door slammed.

Jackie let out a weak chuckle.

“That girl is something else.”

“Really is,” you watched Emma buckle herself in expertly, repeating the process of every Saturday morning. “So, uh, I should probably get going, I’m supposed to pick up my mom and… you know how traffic gets.”

“Sure, sure,” Jackie nodded a bit too quickly. “I’ll… see you Friday?”

You felt your stomach drop once again with that feeling you couldn’t describe.

“Yeah. See you then.”

You walked away from Jackie hesitantly, that fucking pang hitting your chest as you looked at the side of Emma’s face, tilted down, already staring at her game like the entire thing had become second nature at this point. It would come in waves — a quiet shore that gave space to random, unexpected tsunamis, quick but all-consuming, and all of a sudden you’d find yourself right on that Wednesday morning a couple of years ago, signing the papers that would make the situation real. Walking toward a car that was only yours with an empty passenger seat, moving away from a house that was only hers. Preparing for the start of another one of your weeks, as she’d pointed out. It still hurt, if you thought too hard about it, seeing what it all had turned into.

It wasn’t that you weren’t over it — you and Jackie had been divorced for two years, for crying out loud, on account of a mutual decision. It was for the best. You had a successful career and an okay social life and Emma, the living proof that, as far south as things had gone, it had all been worth it at the end of the day. You were happy. You just got a little lonely sometimes.

“So,” you put on a smiley face as you buckled your seatbelt, the performance your daughter deserved, looking at her face through the rear view mirror, “how was your week with mama, honey?”

“Good,” Emma answered absently, staring at a bird that flew by while the Mario Kart theme song played on repeat in the background. “She made tacos two times. One just for us and one when Callie came over.”

“Ooh, how fun!” Your grin was half genuine this time, knowing how much Emma liked to play with her friend Callie. You figured it was good. From what you’d heard, Callie’s parents had just been through a divorce too. “Callie came over?”

“Mm-hm,” she nodded. “We played Minecraft and she teached me how to build a portal! She’s really good at it, too.”

You snorted, consciously opting not to correct her grammar. You probably only had a few more months of the little slips anyway — so right now you figured you’d hold onto them.

“And her dad is so cool. He makes really funny jokes. Even mama thinks so.”

Emma’s words, spoken so carefreely — bless her heart —, rose up your awareness like a police dog who’d just made a bust.

“Her dad?”

Emma nodded again, blissfully unaware of how tightly you gripped the steering wheel as you drove away from Jackie’s house.

“Yup. He always talks to mama when she picks me up from school. She laughs all the time because he’s so funny.”

You gritted your teeth.

Callie’s dad. You knew the guy — he owned that furniture store by the supermarket, the one with his picture on the sign as if the tight shirt he wore to accentuate his biceps had anything to do with helping someone pick out a new couch. He’d been the one to drop Callie off at your house for playdates a couple times, always with a polite grin and a friendly salute, always making some offhand comment about the weather. He was one of the few dads in Emma's class who showed up for things like parent-teacher conferences and birthday parties, which would have been a green flag if it weren't for the stuff you'd heard through the grapevine regarding his divorce.

Apparently, Mr. Sadecki Furniture had a habit of going through moms like he went through ties. The PTA events were merely foreplay, a buffet for him to choose from as his unassuming wife buried herself in business trips.

And now Jackie was on his radar.

Not that it mattered, of course. She was single. She could do whatever she wanted. You were just… looking out for your kid. Making sure she wasn't exposed to some random guy that liked to flirt with her mom. It was normal parent behavior, nothing more than that.

“Oh,” you cleared your throat, “what do they… talk about, that's so funny?”

Emma just shrugged.

“I don't know. I just know it makes mama laugh.”

Okay, maybe it shouldn't have bothered you as much as it did.

For all you knew, Jackie might as well have just been friendly to the guy, a quality she’d always mastered so well, ever the social butterfly from the day you two met. Sure. She was in the first grade moms’ group chats too, she was around for meetings and barbecues and dance recitals, she was just as involved in Emma's activities as you were — which meant she'd most definitely heard about Jeff Sadecki's reputation. But even so. She'd never been one to cause a scene. Maybe she even liked the attention, regardless of whether it'd actually go anywhere one day. Perhaps she just enjoyed knowing that she was still desirable — that someone wanted her. Even if that someone was Divorced Dad Ken.

God knows you couldn't blame her for it.

You knew a thing or two about how it felt to seek solace in someone else's attention — it was mainly why you were even divorced in the first place, right?

From the beginning, Jackie and you carried a passion so strong you never thought it would fade. It started on the very first day: that goddamn ancient elevator downtown, an innocent trip to some niche bookstore in an old building that resulted in nearly an hour trapped between the second and the third floor. You weren't exactly a fan of elevators, so the whole situation should have sent you right into panic mode — except you couldn't stop glancing at the cute honey blonde with the big eyes and the pink scrubs stuck in there with you. Barely a minute went by before she chuckled, looking in your direction, not nearly as scared as you figured she would have been.

“Don’t worry,” she said, casual, smiling with the confident effortlessness of someone who probably worked every room she'd ever been in. “It usually bounces right back after a couple of minutes.”

And so you got to talking. You learned she was in nursing school, interning at some clinic across the street, and this old building was usually where she went off to kill some time during her lunch break. You introduced yourself. Talked about your own life — grad school, your area of research, the bookstore you were coming back from. A couple of minutes turned into almost an hour before a firefighter jammed the aluminum doors open with an apologetic smile, and only then you realized how much time had passed.

Next thing you knew, you and Jackie were in the parking lot, making out in the backseat of your car.

From then on, it never really stopped — until it did. You were the annoying couple everybody looked up to. The one always talking about each other at parties and sucking face in the corner of the room. The one your friends came to for advice on their love lives. The one who got married in a beautiful springtime ceremony in a vineyard and made all the guests cry with heartfelt vows. Emma's moms. Made for each other, as you foolishly used to think.

The beginning of the end was insidious, dragged out, sneaking up on you until it was too late to do something effective about it.

Somewhere after Emma turned two, in between managing a toddler and working shifts in the busiest hospital in town, Jackie started to shrink. Not for Emma, never for Emma. For you. Passionate touches that slowly morphed into no more than a hand on your arm as she fell asleep. Elaborate monologues on her day at work that turned into tired smiles over the dinner table. Goodbye kisses that became no more than routine pecks, quick and cold, like you were holding just the shell of the woman who used to be there.

But you saw it in her eyes — it was there whenever she came home to a warm dinner or when Emma grabbed your face with chubby hands and called you mommy. She loved you. She was proud of the life you'd built together. You weren't the problem, it was something else, something you didn't really know how to help with.

You tried talking about it. Bringing up the subject lightly, asking if anything was wrong instead of pointing out that you hadn't had sex in over a month. Offering to listen, a shoulder to cry on, to pull your weight with Emma and the house if she thought it was all getting too heavy to deal with.

It'll get better, she reassured you. I'm just tired, I guess. We'll adapt.

That was the first thing you tried — adapting. Long talks about where things were going wrong. Dropping Emma off at Jackie's mother's house so you could have the weekend to yourselves. Doing something different or new or exciting, trying to get the old spark back.

And it would work for a while. Short periods of time when, for a week or two, you'd tell yourself you were imagining things and everything was fine. It was just a hardship. We're over it this time. We're going to be okay.

Then the feeling would come back like an old wound you couldn't seem to shake. Jackie would grow distant again, you'd get irritable, you'd pick a fight over something you knew you weren't even mad about. Your bed would turn cold. The whole mood would be off for a couple of days until, once again, you sat down and talked about it like adults. Some conversations were productive, but some just made you feel like you were hitting a wall.

You wished you could say you stayed patient through it, but, unfortunately, that wasn't the case.

Each “not now” turned into a personal offense, every heavy sigh turned into an insult. Rationally, you knew she loved you. She wouldn't stay if she didn't, she wouldn't pack your lunch on her days off or let you pick the movie you'd watch nine out of ten times. Still, there was something missing — abstract enough that you didn't quite get it, but real enough that it made you feel like an afterthought, as much as you tried to convince yourself otherwise.

Until you almost did the one thing you swore you'd never do.

She was younger than you by a few years, probably twenty-four or twenty-five, a grad student who always sat in the back at your lectures. You'd never given her much thought — she was just there, like all the other students, taking notes as you rambled on for a couple of hours and then walking away when you were done.

But, one day, she stayed.

She smiled casually, the same unshakable confidence you'd seen in your own wife the day you met, except this girl had a sharpness to her you hadn't really known before. She was bold — bold enough to lean closer with the first two buttons of her blouse popped open, bold enough to laugh a little too much at some offhand joke you made, one that wasn't even funny. Bold enough to touch your arm as she complimented your lecture, blatantly ignoring the thick golden wedding band that lay heavily around your finger.

“I'm Mari, by the way,” the girl said, hand burning your arm through the fabric of your blazer. “The lecture was very interesting today, Professor. I'd love to hear more about your thesis sometime.”

It couldn't hurt, you told yourself. She's a student, I'm her professor. Students ask me about my thesis all the time.

Somehow — and you still didn't know how you let that happen — you ended up sitting across from her at a campus coffee shop, discussing your thesis like someone who talks about their hobbies.

You told yourself it was innocent. You were surrounded by students, for fuck's sake, you weren't going to do anything. It was an academic meetup, nothing but an opportunity to tell a grad student about your research and maybe help her out with her own. It was basically what your whole job was about, anyway.

Still, you knew your heart was racing in your chest. You knew you'd noticed Mari's lips and her cleavage and the perfume she wore. You smiled when she complimented you, you didn't say anything when she talked about how refreshing it was to learn from someone as young, as smart, as good looking as you.

It wasn't that you wanted to cheat on Jackie. It wasn't that you wanted to go back in time and not go into that stupid elevator. You just wanted to… be someone else for a little while. Feel desired, feel seen, wear somebody else's shoes and skin and be back home at 5 without that guilty feeling eating at you from the inside out. Step into some sort of new reality where you had a different name and address, where you weren’t the woman in the lukewarm marriage, see what it was like, and go back to your girls at the end of the day.

You didn't kiss Mari. You didn't lean into her touch when she reached for her cup and accidentally brushed your hand over the table. Hell, you didn't even say any words that could be read as anything other than perfectly professional.

Still, when you got home to the sight of Jackie, your wife, laughing on the lawn as your daughter chased a ball around with uncoordinated legs, your heart sank.

It was the first night since the elevator that you felt like it might be over.

You did everything right — the peck on Jackie’s lips as you walked by, offering to cook even though you'd just gotten home from work, putting Emma to bed with her usual bedtime book and a warm smile. And then, as Jackie lay next to you in bed for the night, you asked her if the two of you could talk.

You lay it all out, hoping it would at least rid you of the guilt that still hit you like a bullet whenever you thought about Mari's smile. The post-lecture talk, the arm touching, the compliments. The coffee. The flush on your cheeks and the drum in your chest. Not the things that you did, but the ones that, for a second, you wanted to do.

She didn’t say a word as you talked.

Once you were done, she stayed silent for a moment, to the point where you let out a nervous chuckle and begged her to say something. Anything. To throw something at you if she needed to, to slap you in the face if she thought it might help even things out.

But she didn't do any of that. Instead, she took a deep breath.

“I… hear what you're saying,” she muttered, careful, eyes staring somewhere beyond you. “And— and we can work on it.”

I don't deserve her, you immediately thought. You were there, telling your wife of six years that you'd spent the afternoon imagining being someone else right across from a younger girl who'd been blatantly flirting with you, all while she thought you were off working, and she still tried to listen to what you said. She still tried to understand where you came from. She still reassured you, being way nicer than you deserved her to be, telling you you'd both find a way out of this.

But even Jackie's steely patience ran out eventually.

After the Mari incident, nothing ever went back to the way it used to be. You could practically see it hovering over your marital bed, over slow Sunday mornings in the kitchen, over the front door every time you left for work. Jackie started snapping more frequently. Being upset over things she wouldn't care about before — a forgotten sock on the floor, a dent on the bumper, a meeting with your department that ran a bit too long. And you overcompensated, because that's what you did — I've got it, love. I'll do it. It’s okay, I don't mind. Always motivated by guilt. Always with a sense of obligation.

You signed the divorce papers eight months after the coffee shop. Jackie grew up in a house with parents who should have known when to call it quits. She’d always been vocal about not wanting the same to happen to her daughter.

So, for the sake of Emma, it was the right thing to do. You both agreed on it.

And now you freaked out over an interaction she had with some hot, womanizer dad — even though you had absolutely no right.

“Mom! Moooom!” Emma's voice cut through your thoughts, pulling you back into the present. “Are you listening?!”

You blinked.

“Yes. Yes, bear. Sorry. Mommy was just… distracted with traffic.”

“I asked if you're excited about the beach!”

With that eager face staring back at yours through the rearview mirror, the hazel eyes and the wide grin, you didn't have the heart to crack the fantasy.

“Yeah, Em,” you lied, the fake smile making your cheeks burn. “I'm really excited.”

And Friday arrived more quickly than you willed it to, every moment that led up to it hitting like you were on the death row.

Emma, on the other hand, was hyper — too excited to do anything but squeal and fidget in the backseat as you parked by the same spotless white house with the blue shutters.

Jackie was already standing by the porch, two suitcases on the steps — her own and the extra one she'd packed for Emma with the things she kept at her house —, holding a little box wrapped in shiny pink wrapping paper. Emma didn't even have to wait for you to say anything — the sight of the present was enough for her to unbuckle herself at the speed of light and jolt in Jackie's direction, excitedly calling for mama like six days without each other had been six days too long.

You didn't move with the same rush. Instead, as your daughter ran uninhibitedly, you tried to act the most casual you could while stepping out on the curb and moving to help Jackie load the car.

“Happy birthday, bear!” Jackie yelled out with a smile, loving, arms spread as she bent down and waited for Emma's warm embrace. “Who's excited about a weekend at the beach?!”

Emma didn't care about gracefulness as she launched herself into Jackie's arms, making her laugh breathlessly, body nearly tipping over.

“MEEEEE!”

You hung back, letting them have their moment, watching as Emma absolutely beamed when Jackie handed her the present. The little girl tore through the wrapping paper impatiently, ripping it apart in more pieces than necessary, jumping with joy as she finally looked at what was underneath.

“It's… it’s a…” She spoke hurriedly, not even aware of what she saw, but happy nonetheless.

Jackie chuckled.

“It's a camera, babygirl,” she said. “So you can take pictures at the beach and remember this weekend forever.”

“I'M GONNA TAKE SO MANY PICTURES!” Emma hopped up and down like a bunny, smiling genuinely even though you were pretty sure the only cameras she'd ever been exposed to came attached to a phone. She turned toward where you stood a few feet away, waving the box in the air, running in your direction. “MOM! CHECK THIS OUT! MAMA GOT ME A CAMERA!”

You couldn't help but laugh warmly at the sight.

“Wow, Em,” you took the box as she gave it to you, looking carefully at it — a disposable camera. It made your heart ache. As complicated as this weekend would be, as unexcited as you figured Jackie probably was about it, she still made sure it started out special for your kid. She still made sure it stayed special, no matter what happened, with a gift that would allow her to remember it for years to come. “That's really nice. We're gonna take a lot of cool pictures, aren't we?”

“So many! I'm gonna take a picture of everything!”

You smiled, patting her back.

“Alright, birthday girl. Can't wait to see them. Now go get back in the car while mama and I load up the trunk, yeah?”

“Okay!”

Emma ran back toward the car as Jackie made her way to you. You walked a bit faster, meeting her halfway, reaching for one of the bags she carried.

“Thanks,” she muttered, gracefully accepting your help.

Civility, that’s what it was. That's what you'd been practicing for two years, for Emma's sake.

“Sure,” you answered in the same tone.

You both moved toward the car, the familiar silence finding you more quickly than anticipated. As per usual, you broke it:

“So… a camera, huh?” You chuckled casually. “I thought the whole point of the trip was that it was already a present.”

Jackie smiled.

“I couldn't help myself. She deserves it.”

“You're spoiling her,” your tone wasn't harsh, it wasn't critical. It was a mere observation — something light and harmless, an attempt to keep the mood friendly.

“You're one to talk,” Jackie matched you. “I bet you also got her something.”

You let out a snort, red-handed.

“…A snorkeling set,” you confessed, popping the trunk open. “And a pair of grownup sunglasses she just had to have.”

Jackie laughed as she loaded her suitcase inside.

“So that's what the aviators on her head are about,” she shook her head. “You're turning her into a mini-you with the fashion choices, you know.”

“Hey, she picked them out herself. Guess she just gets the impeccable fashion sense from me.”

It was a relief, the small talk, the playful teasing, the ease. It made you think that this week might not be so awkward after all.

Until no more than a few seconds later, when Jackie circled the car and stared at the passenger seat like it had punched her, hesitating as if she didn't quite know where she fit anymore. It was the same seat she used to take before, back when the silence and the distance and the two separate cars weren't an issue. The seat where she sat as you kept a hand on her thigh and she played absently with the hairs on the back of your neck. Where she'd swear she was just resting her eyes as you drove during late night road trips. Where she'd pick out the songs you'd both spend the next hour singing at the top of your lungs as a smaller, chubbier Emma giggled nonstop on the backseat.

The hesitation lasted a second as she looked back at your daughter, like that little girl held all the answers she'd ever needed.

“Bear,” Jackie called, soft. “You want mama to ride in the back with you?”

But Emma just laughed like she'd said something absurd.

“That's silly. You're a grownup, mama. Grownups ride in the front.”

So Jackie got in the car, sitting right where she used to, except this time she kept her hands to herself.

You swallowed a sigh. This was going to be a long weekend.

The last hour of the drive dragged out like a bad movie. The first couple ones were fine, mostly filled by Emma's blabbering about everything she wanted to do when she got to the beach, interrupted only by little pauses she took to snap blurry photos of the highway with her new camera. But towards the end of it, as the sky got bluer and the air got saltier, she started getting tired. And with kids her age, all it took was a few minutes to transition from slightly quieter to full-on passed out in the backseat, head hanging heavily, leaving you and Jackie to navigate through the only three topics you deemed safe in this situation: the weather, the traffic and, as usual, the little girl snoring quietly behind the both of you, still clutching the present in her tiny hands.

By the time you crossed the bridge to the shore, you'd already exhausted every one of them.

You'd made the trip when Emma was two, right before things started going wrong, the same exact drive you were taking this time. You didn't mention it, and neither did Jackie. You wondered if she was thinking about it too.

Thankfully, you managed to survive the silence until you arrived at the cabin.

Jackie grabbed Emma's backpack of important things — which mostly consisted of her Nintendo, a half-eaten bag of gummy bears and, now, her camera — as you carried your daughter in your arms, not bothering to wake her up until you were all settled.

Once you finally got a good look of the rental, your heart felt like it was going to explode.

It was gorgeous. A white stucco box that looked like it'd been sculpted into place, standing firmly around a tall, wide cobalt blue door that matched the cinder blocks around the windows. Inside, the floors were cool terracotta tiles, the living room warm and spacious, smelling like fresh lemons from the bowl on the coffee table. The best part was the view — sliding glass doors that stared right at the ocean, sheer curtains breathing in the salt breeze, not a pin out of place compared to when you stayed there last.

When you walked down the hallway, suddenly you didn't know if you would to be able to survive the weekend.

Two bedrooms, just as you remembered, a king and a twin. The king where you'd woken up to Jackie's sleepy voice and the promise of salt water and sunscreen. Where you'd laid in bed and watched her get ready in the full length mirror, taking in every new tan line like you wanted to remember them long after they faded. Where you'd been tangled in the bedsheets together after Emma had gone to sleep, making love, oblivious to the fact that in the span of a year it would all be over.

And the twin. Two beds, one on each corner, one for Emma, one for that damn stuffed shark she used to carry around everywhere. Jackie's voice rang in your head, transported into the present, still alive somewhere in your brain even with the years that passed — next time we come here, maybe we'll have another one to keep Em company.

You wish you'd known how wrong she'd turn out to be.

This time, Jackie was the one to break the silence.

“So,” she sighed softly, and it was almost as if no time had passed when you took in the view of her, right there in that cabin, after all this time. “I don't mind taking the twin.”

You shook your head.

“No, no. Take the king. I'll bunk with Em.”

Sure, it was all in the name of being civil and polite — but, if you were being honest, you didn't think you could stand to lie in that king bed alone after last time.

Jackie looked at you without meeting your eyes.

“You sure?”

You nodded.

“Yeah. We'll have mother-daughter slumber parties or something.”

She chuckled weakly.

“Ten bucks says she passes out before eight. You know how she gets after a beach day, last time she was basically—”

Jackie caught herself all of a sudden, the hesitant look on her face making it clear she realized she'd been the one to bring up the elephant in the room first. You swallowed, pushing through with a choreographed snort.

“Yeah. Let's hope she sticks to the chasing seagulls bit. Left her out like a light every single time.”

You could see the way her shoulders dropped a bit, a huffed laugh leaving her lips, an effort to make it light just like you'd been trying.

“Exactly,” she muttered. “I'll, uh… I'll go grab the rest of the bags from the car, then.”

“Let me help you with that.”

“No, no. That's fine.” Jackie gestured toward Emma, still sound asleep in your arms, head tucked in the crook of your neck. “You've got her.”

You didn't argue. God knows you could use the few seconds alone, and you had a feeling Jackie needed them too.

By the time Emma was fully awake and changed into her bathing suit — after screams of very shrill “OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD”  that went on for a whole minute after you woke her up —, the bags were already unpacked. You and Jackie each disappeared into your own rooms for a few minutes, meeting back at the living room so you could make your way down to the beach together.

She waited for you by the half-open sliding glass doors, making you stop in your tracks as soon as you reached the doorway, clutching Emma’s hand into your own with a little more force than necessary.

She was a vision.

Her hair swayed in the salty breeze, loose and luscious, the backless white dress she wore revealing the straps of a black bikini underneath. A pair of Ray-Bans rested atop her head, the same she’d worn last time, those golden-framed hexagonal ones that made her look like a movie star. The tote bag that hung from her shoulder, overflowing with extra towels and snacks and water bottles, was the only evidence that she was a mom on vacation and not some model ready for a shoot.

It was all so painfully familiar you thought you might faint.

“Mom,” Emma shook your hand, impatient, unaware of the turmoil inside your chest. “Let’s go already!”

Hopefully oblivious to what it did to you, Jackie turned around, smiling as she saw your daughter ready to go, with the strap of her new camera dangling from her wrist.

“Someone's eager,” she chuckled. “You guys ready to go?”

No.

“Yes,” you said, clearing your throat, putting on a smile. “Let's do this.”

The beach was a two-minute walk down a wooden path out of the backyard, throughout all of which Emma's camera must have clicked about a dozen times. She complained once or twice, still unable to fully comprehend the fact that she'd only get to see the pictures once they'd been developed, but, when you reached the sand, the frustration vanished like it'd never even been there in the first place.

She dropped your hand as soon as her toes touched the sand, kicking off her sandals like they were nothing but obstacles, and sprinted toward the water at the speed of light.

“Not too far!” You and Jackie yelled at the same time, the mother's reflex kicking in, causing you to look at each other for a brief second and share awkward smiles.

Emma just answered a quick “OKAY!”, already too invested in snapping photos of seashells at the shore and a sandcastle abandoned by some other kid.

You chuckled.

“She’s gonna run out of film before we even go back to the cabin.”

“Oh, I anticipated this,” Jackie offered back, walking beside you until you settled on a good spot. “Packed a whole bunch of extra rolls just in case.”

“Smart,” you lay down a towel on the sand, taking off your sandals much more demurely than Emma just had.

Jackie matched you, stretching out her own towel, pulling the sunglasses down to her face. You both sat there for a moment, watching Emma run with the purest form of joy, contagious little giggles so loud you could hear them over the crashing of the waves. You leaned back on your palms, taking in the sun on your face, willing yourself to relax for the first time since you’d woken up. It was nice, all things considered. The weather was right, the breeze was pleasant, the beach wasn’t too crowded that it got uncomfortable but it wasn’t too barren, either. And you couldn’t remember how long it’d been since you’d seen the ocean.

Unable to keep it in, you leaned further back, tilting your head up with your eyes closed and a soft sigh.

Jackie let out a little breath beside you.

“I’ve gotta hand it to Emma,” she muttered, “this is nice. Can’t remember the last time I took a vacation.”

You couldn’t help but turn your head and glance at her side profile. Jackie was talking about her life. Not in detail, barely scratching the surface, but it was the first time in way too long since you’d heard her talk about anything that didn’t involve the three safe topics you’d exhausted in the car.

It felt… weirdly good. And you wanted more of it after two years of not quite knowing how she’d been. What she’d been up to. Who she’d been with—

No.

You weren’t about to go there. For now, you thought you’d keep it safe, dodging the script just a bit but still managing to follow her cues. A loophole in the contract, a glimpse into the last two years of her life — all while still working for the sake of civility.

Something simple.

“Yeah. I know the feeling,” you huffed, eyes back on Emma. “How’s work been, by the way?”

Jackie paused for a quick moment as if she’d been just as caught off guard by the shift as you — but that didn’t keep her from answering your question.

“Busy,” she chuckled, fingertips playing absently with the edge of her towel, “but rewarding. The same old nurse dilemma.”

You smiled.

“How about you?” Jackie asked, much to your surprise. “Any recent breakthroughs in contemporary women’s lit?”

Your heart skipped a beat. She remembered.

Well, of course she did. More often than not, she’d come home to you sitting at the kitchen table, grading papers and complaining about some student’s penmanship, or she’d go to bed to you rambling on about the latest book rec you’d gotten from some older professor in your department. Still, it was nice to know the memory hadn’t vanished.

“No, no” you shook your head with an amused snort. “None that I’ve heard of.”

You had been working on a very interesting project with some of your grad students, but you figured you’d keep that to yourself.

Before you had to think of anything else to say that wouldn't threaten the peace, Emma came running in your and Jackie's direction, honey blonde hair wild in the breeze.

“The water is so cold!” She giggled, dropping the camera next to you on the towel. “But I still wanna go for a swim!”

You chuckled, knowing that was your daughter's own little way of letting her moms know she wanted company to get in the water. Though you were not looking forward to walking around with goosebumps on your skin and pale blue lips, you’d already started working the idea in your brain, after all, the birthday girl couldn't be denied on her special day.

Jackie, however, beat you to it. She stepped up immediately, letting out a little grunt from the effort, hands moving up to her hips like she'd been summoned for a mission.

“Come on, bear,” she said, determined. “Let's see how cold it is.”

The next few seconds made you wish you'd volunteered to dive into the cold water first.

Jackie took her sunglasses off first, casually throwing them on the towel, and, if it had stopped there, maybe you would have been fine. But, next thing you knew, her hands met the hem of her dress, pulling it above her head like it didn't make your breath hitch. Like it hadn't been years since she'd taken off a dress in front of you. Like she didn't look exactly the same, still fit and gorgeous, still carrying the same birth marks you'd spent hours tracing with your fingertips in another lifetime. The only new thing was the swimsuit — a black two-piece, simple but well-fitting, hugging her curves in all the right places.

You were thankful for the waves that broke as she stretched out her back, otherwise she might have heard the gasp you unwillingly let out.

“Race you to the water!” Jackie yelled, beaming as Emma took off like a bullet, letting the little girl win.

And there you were, aware of your every move, trying and failing to act natural as you pulled out a book from your tote bag.

This was Emma's trip, you reminded yourself. You were doing this for your kid. Any and every right you had to look at Jackie's bare skin had been given away the moment you chose to sign the divorce papers on that cloudy Wednesday morning.

You tried to focus on the book, on whatever theory it carried, on the words the author wrote that were now nothing more than meaningless letters jammed together on a piece of paper. It was pointless to try and fix your attention on anything other than her, Jackie, looking better than ever in that bikini, holding your baby in her arms like a picture of the life you once had, of the life you might have still had if you hadn't let it slip through your fingers.

They laughed and squealed in the distance, splashing around in the water — which really must have been cold, considering they returned to the sand after just a few minutes.

Swallowing whatever words you wanted to say, you reached for a towel in the tote Jackie had packed, wrapping it around Emma's trembling body. Even with blue lips and plain white fingertips, the little girl giggled like that was the best day of her life, moving in your direction with a traitorous grin.

“Mom!” She spread her arms, not giving a care in the world when the towel fell off her shoulders. “Hug!”

The tension left your back at that sight — your daughter’s smile widening as she launched herself into your arms knowing exactly what she was doing.

“Emma!” You let yourself laugh, squirming but not pulling away. “You're freezing!”

“Gotcha!” She beamed as if she’d just pulled the world’s greatest prank, looking back at Jackie, who was already drying off with a towel of her own. “Did you see that, mama? I totally got her!”

Jackie laughed, wet hair clinging to her neck, lips just as blue and fingertips just as white as her mini-me’s.

“Well done, bear. She totally fell for it,” she raised a hand in Emma’s direction.

Emma moved away from you and gave Jackie a loud high-five.

“Told ya!”

You couldn’t help but laugh too, completely unoffended about being the butt of the joke. The giggle on your child’s lips made it all worth it, the sole reason why you’d agreed to this trip in the first place — it was all for her.

The next hour or so matched the tone of the day so far, with you and Jackie alternating between offering Emma snacks and reapplying her sunscreen, and taking whatever time you had in between to soak up the sun and exchange a few harmless words. At some point, already fed and dry, Emma grabbed onto the sleeve of your shirt, tugging on it gently.

“Mom,” she spoke, soft, in that same tone she used whenever she wanted something, “will you build sandcastles with me?”

You smiled.

“Why, of course, bear. I’ve never heard a better idea.”

Emma took a while, but she eventually kind of got the hang of it, using her bucket and shovel to build sandcastles that wouldn’t immediately crumble. Every time, you cheered her through it — and, every time, she looked back at a sunbathing Jackie for her approval.

“Look, mama! Mom taught me how to make a fortress!”

“Wow, Em!” Jackie always encouraged her, always gave her the attention she seeked, always offered an attentive eye and a warm smile. “Great job!”

You must have built a dozen sandcastles, patiently helping pick out seashell decorations and stick flags, talking Emma through every single step and then some. It was fun, you had to hand it to the little girl, despite everything, and you caught yourself actually having a good time instead of simply pretending to.

Somewhere in between grabbing more water and building a moat for the newest castle, Jackie shuffled in her towel, reaching for the camera Emma had left lying there.

“Hey, architects,” she called out, pointing it in your and Emma’s direction, “say cheese!”

You felt your heart sink.

The setup, Jackie placing that goddamn gift in front of her eye as she took a picture of you and your daughter like it was something worth documenting, felt an awful lot like a family. Almost as if nothing had changed. Almost.

This is for Emma, you had to repeat in your brain, smiling for the camera as you put a sandy arm around the girl and posed behind one of the castles. Jackie’s playing it up so Emma can have the weekend she wanted. It’s all for her, we just want her to have a good time.

The three of you left the beach as the sun started to set, late afternoon morphing into evening while Jackie got Emma bathed and changed and you took charge of ordering dinner.

You all ate at the kitchen table, you and Jackie quiet in a way that, for once, wasn’t uncomfortable — listening calmly as Emma narrated the highlights of her day like you both hadn’t been right there to see it. Dinner flew by, and you kept telling yourself not to overthink the fact that it was the first time in way too long you shared a meal with both of them, after all, it was all for the sake of your child.

By the time Emma was yawning into her pizza — the special birthday menu she’d picked out herself —, Jackie stood up to clear the plates.

“I’ll put her to bed,” you offered, and Jackie gracefully accepted it.

With her pajamas on and her teeth brushed, the little girl was practically a zombie as she stumbled to the twin room, leaning against your hip with the clinginess of someone who’d be out in a matter of minutes. You tucked her in, sitting on the edge of the bed as she settled against you, reaching for the book on the nightstand — Guess How Much I Love You, dog-eared and soft from years of use —, but deciding against it once you realized her eyes were already closing.

You held her a minute, rocking gently, staring at that precious face like you’d do whatever she wanted if it meant you’d preserve that innocence. Because you would.

When you thought she’d finally fallen asleep, already starting to move so you could get in the other bed, she proved you wrong, clutching onto your shirt with her eyes still shut.

“Mom?”

“Here, babygirl.”

“Best birthday ever,” she mumbled, barely a whisper, soft with exhaustion from the day she’d had.

You smiled. Suddenly, nothing else mattered — Jackie’s hair in the sun, the black bathing suit, the king bedroom she’d already disappeared into for the night. Nothing was more important than the sleepy smile on your daughter’s face.

“Yeah?”

Emma shifted, almost gone, moving her head in a faint nod.

“Mm-hm. Wanna do it again next year.”

You chuckled.

“We can arrange that, love.”

“Mm,” she muttered, body going heavier, grip loosening. “Family beach trip.”

And, as if she hadn’t just broken your heart into a thousand different pieces, Emma relaxed fully against you, finally out. You sat there for a long moment, absently playing with her hair, the words repeating in your brain — a specific one standing out among the rest.

Family.

Once you were sure she wouldn’t wake up if you moved, you shifted out of bed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before you walked back out to the hall in hopes to grab a glass of water.

Unexpectedly to you, Jackie sat on the living room couch, a cup of tea cradled in her hands as she stared at nothing in particular. You wondered if she couldn’t sleep. If she’d thought you’d finally turned in for the night, and that’s why she left her bedroom. If she was secretly hoping you’d come out of yours.

You wouldn’t dare ask.

“She’s out like a light,” you said instead, swallowing the words stuck in your throat.

Jackie smiled weakly.

“I figured. She had a busy day,” she looked back at you, face clean, hair damp from the shower she’d just had. “Guess that slumber party’s gonna have to wait.”

You let out a soft chuckle.

“Yeah. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Maybe.”

A long moment passed. Jackie took a sip of her tea, letting the silence stretch until she finally stepped up from the couch with a little breath.

“I’m gonna head to bed,” she muttered. Not uncomfortable, not exactly comfortable either. Maybe just tired. “There’s tea in the kettle.”

“Thanks,” you stood there as you tried not to think of the million times she’d made you tea after a long day before. “I’ll have some.”

She smiled again, walking past you in the hallway, carrying the breeze of whatever new shampoo she wore. You liked it.

Once she reached her bedroom door, hand on the handle, she stopped.

“Good night,” she said, brief, eyes not quite meeting yours.

“Good night.”

And then she disappeared behind the door.

The next morning came with the sound of waves crashing against the shore and the smell of coffee.

Emma still slept soundly, spread horizontally across the tiny bed, wild hair covering half her face. You let her get a bit more rest, walking out of the bedroom and into the bathroom with the agility of someone who didn’t want to be seen yet. Once you’d gotten ready for the day, then you stepped out into the kitchen, where Jackie already stood in shorts and a bikini top, flipping pancakes on the stove.

“Hey,” you said as soon as she turned to look at you, “you… got a headstart on the day.”

She slung a dish towel over her shoulder.

“Morning. Figured we’d keep the birthday celebrations going,” she said, nodding toward the coffee pot on the sink. “Coffee’s fresh.”

“Thanks,” you poured a cup and leaned against the counter, watching her flip pancakes and stack them onto a plate. “Emma’s gonna lose her shit when she wakes up.”

Jackie laughed.

“That’s the plan.”

You didn’t know what it was, but the air seemed lighter. Maybe it was the fact that you’d both survived day one, maybe it was the growing familiarity with the space around you, you weren’t sure. But there was definitely a shift.

You welcomed it.

“Can I help with anything?”

Jackie looked around the kitchen.

“Yeah, you can set the table. If you don’t mind.”

“Sure, I’m on it.”

You started setting plates down as Jackie finished up, bringing the plate with the stack of pancakes to the table. You thought back to all the mornings that had looked exactly like this, Jackie making breakfast as you looked for the maple syrup, except back then you would’ve stopped mid-task to wrap your arms around her waist from behind and whisper sweet nothings into her ear, all while pressing gentle kisses to the crook of her neck.

This time, you settled for the maple syrup.

“Looks really good,” you offered, easy, looking for anything to say that wasn’t I miss you in order to keep the mood light.

Jackie smiled as you took a sip from your cup.

“Thanks. How’s the coffee?”

“It tastes like I didn’t have to make it for myself,” you dared to joke, “which means it’s the best I’ve had in a while.”

She laughed.

“Still making the world’s most bitter coffee, I see.”

You didn’t hold back the grin, giving into the memory, savoring the fact that she remembered.

“Hey, it’s not bitter. It’s just strong.”

“Whatever. Potato, tachycardic potahto.”

It was your turn to laugh.

“Still sharp with the medical jokes, I see.”

The pitter-patter of little feet on the terracotta tiles interrupted the moment in the best way, and Emma emerged from the hallway in creased pajamas and honey blonde hair pointing out in all directions.

“Good morning, bear!” Jackie welcomed her with a motherly smile, leaning down to press a kiss to her temple as you sat at the table. “How’s my favorite seven-year-old doing?”

She giggled, sleepy.

“Wanna go to the beach.”

“Right after breakfast, sweetheart,” Jackie leaned in closer, conspiratorial, like she was about to reveal a big secret. “Check out what we’re having.”

Emma’s puffy eyes went wide as she saw the stack of pancakes on the table.

“Pancakes?”

Jackie nodded, grinning widely.

“Pancakes.”

Emma let out an excited noise, still too sleepy to be a squeal, but almost there. She sprinted clumsily toward the table, not bothering to pick out her own chair, just settling for yours as she unceremoniously lifted her arms in hopes you’d let her share.

“Hey, Em,” you scooped her up, grunting slightly because she kept on growing, helping her settle down on your knee while she still fit. “You sleep okay?”

She nodded.

“I had a dream I built a sandcastle so big I could live in it!” She reached for the stack of pancakes, waking up a little more by the second, which you quickly stepped in to help with.

“Maybe one day we’ll get there if we keep practicing.”

Jackie joined the two of you at the table and you settled into a nice rhythm, effortlessly easier than the day before.

“How are the pancakes, bear?” She asked just as Emma reached for seconds, which was already an answer in itself.

“Best pancakes ever!” Your daughter turned around on your lap, looking up at your face. “Right, mom?”

You chuckled, brushing some hair away from her forehead, meeting Jackie’s face for a second before looking back at the little girl.

“Right, baby.”

After breakfast, Jackie got Emma ready for the day while you did the dishes, and, as promised, the three of you headed down to the beach. The walk was easier this time. You fell into step without having to try as hard, allowing yourself to laugh more carefreely as Emma ran ahead with the faithful camera strapped to her wrist.

Before you knew it, she’d already found some other kid her age from a family nearby, and the two of them dug holes and laughed in the distance like they’d known each other for years. The sun was higher than yesterday, giving you a real opportunity to catch some color, which you’d waste no time taking advantage of — so you peeled off your shirt and shorts, stretching on the towel, pretending not to notice as Jackie seemed to have the same idea.

You didn’t know if she was taking a peek at your body out of the corner of her eye or if that was just your peripheral vision playing tricks on your mind. Whatever it was, you didn’t mention it.

Just as you were about to reach for the book you’d been pretending to read, Jackie broke the silence.

“Oh, my God,” she said with a snort, turning her head in the opposite direction. “Tell me that’s not the cutest thing you’ve ever seen.”

You followed her eyes, letting your own land on Emma, who jumped up and down in celebration with her new friend after a wave filled the hole they’d dug with water, making a little pool.

It made you smile.

“Oh, to be seven at the beach with some kid you just met,” you joked. “Those friendships always felt so serious, didn’t they?”

“Ride or die,” Jackie chuckled. “And then you’d go home and never think of them again.”

Emma’s friend eagerly talked about something you couldn’t quite hear, making her nod with the determination and seriousness of a mini diplomat.

You chuckled at that and propped yourself up on your elbows, glancing briefly at the kid’s family.

“You think they’re from around here?” You asked, making conversation.

“Oh, no. Dad’s board shorts are way too neon for someone who’s not a tourist,” you’d forgotten just how observant Jackie was, a quality you used to tease her about back when you still had the right to. “Mom’s been looking over here an awful lot, though.”

“Really?” You raised a brow, eyes automatically moving in the mother’s direction — and, surely enough, she quickly turned her head away, caught red-handed. “What, think she’s never seen a kid with two moms before?”

Jackie shrugged.

“Could be,” she muttered offhandedly, leaning her head back as the sun hit her face just right. “Or maybe she’s just wondering where you got that swimsuit.”

Oh, so she did notice.

Your cheeks grew hot in a way that had nothing to do with the UV rays they’d been under — and you might as well have been naked, with how exposed you felt.

“She is not.”

If you weren’t still a bit dazed by the fact that Jackie had actually made a comment about your beachwear, you would’ve been sure you’d seen a little grin pop up on the corner of her mouth.

“I’m just saying. She’s looked over her magazine, like, ten times over the past two minutes. Maybe it’s time to rethink the whole… neon-shorts husband situation.”

You weren’t sure whether Jackie was making fun of you or not, or when exactly she’d deemed it appropriate to hint that some other woman might have been checking you out. Either way, you looked at her, silently hoping your aviators would be enough to hide the startled look on your face.

“You’re seeing things.”

And then she fucking chuckled.

“Maybe,” she said, unserious. “But she’s kinda cute.”

You lay back on your towel, deciding your best shot was to simply stare at the cloudless sky.

“I don’t know. I wasn't looking.”

“Didn’t say you were,” Jackie huffed a laugh, tapping her fingers against her thigh. “Though I wouldn’t blame you. You’re not blind.”

You let out a scoff, deflecting.

“Please. Like I’ve even had the time to think about that.”

You weren't lying.

Since the divorce, you hadn't exactly stayed celibate, but you hadn’t been on the prowl for new experiences either. After a handful of vodka tonic-fueled bad decisions on lonely weeks when Jackie had Emma, you'd realized that every encounter, every touch that didn't quite fit as well and every whisper of your name in the dark in a different voice was just a failed attempt to replace the one thing you'd never get back.

So you decided you were better off alone.

Jackie hummed, fingers stilling on her thigh for just a second before resuming their tapping, leaving you to wonder what was going through her mind.

“Well,” she shrugged, casual. “Not sure you could've looked past the ugly hat, anyway.”

You laughed, only now noticing the wide, gaudy beach hat sitting on top of the woman's head.

Before you could say anything else, Emma came running in your direction with her friend following just as determinedly, both of them holding a mix-and-match of each other's buckets and beach spades under tight grips because, apparently, it was that serious.

“Mom!” She yelled, chest heaving with effort when she stopped before you. “Can you show me and Dylan how to build a moat for our castles like we did yesterday? I was trying but I can't get it right!”

You chuckled, proud at being summoned for your sandcastle building abilities again.

“Sure, sweetheart. Let's go,” you got up from the towel, offering the other kid a friendly smile. “Hi, Dylan.”

“Hi,” he grinned, waving shyly, looking between you and Jackie. “My friend Carter has two dads.”

Jackie huffed a little laugh at the boy's casual comment.

“That's great, sweetie.”

And you stepped right into place, showing off your skills while Emma beamed with pride, elbowing her friend as the smile stayed planted on her lips.

“Told you she could do it.”

The kids took turns gathering mounds of sand and getting water from the ocean, now eagerly set on the idea of building a fortress three times as big as the one you and your daughter made the day before. With sandy knees and her tongue poking out in full concentration, Emma looked up at Jackie, waving her over like a soldier calling out her squad.

“Mama,” she said, in full seriousness, “we're gonna need more hands.”

Jackie stepped to her feet like it had never been a question.

“Where do you want me, boss?”

Emma pointed at the spot next to you.

“There. Mom can show you how she makes the castles not break.”

You felt your knees wobble a bit, hoping not to let it show as you repeated the mantra in your head.

It's for the sake of my daughter.

Jackie knelt down beside you, unceremoniously letting the sand meet her skin, picking up a bucket that lay among the pile of beach toys next to the growing fortress.

“So, basically you have to make sure you mix dry and wet sand in the bucket so it doesn't—” You started, but she dismissed you with a wave.

“Please. I know how to build a sandcastle,” she scooped up some sand. “Easy peasy.”

Then, as soon as she flipped her bucket onto the base and pulled it up, the whole thing crumbled into place.

Emma burst into laughter, causing Dylan to follow her lead a bit more tamely.

“Easy peasy, you said?” You couldn't help but tease, an involuntary smirk rising to your lips.

Jackie huffed, somewhere between annoyed and amused.

“Fine. Maybe I'm a little rusty.”

“That's okay, mama. I couldn't do it the first time, either,” Emma offered. “Let mom show you, it's gonna get easier.”

Jackie eased at your daughter’s words, face morphing into a warm expression as she apparently had the same thought as you. This sweet girl. We're doing something right.

So, maybe for the sake of teaching Emma a lesson about humility, or maybe just because she didn't want to look like a fool again, Jackie handed you the bucket.

“Okay. Show me.”

You grinned smugly, grabbing the bucket like the hundredth peace offering you'd shared this weekend.

“As I was saying,” you started, alternating between adding sand and dripping water into it, the perfect formula for a steady castle, “you have to mix dry and wet sand so the castle doesn't crumble when you lift the bucket.”

You smoothed out the sand with the back of the spade, flipping the bucket onto the base with practiced ease. When you lifted it, a perfect sandcastle stood.

“There,” you said, “you just have to follow the steps.”

Jackie snorted, taking the bucket back to herself.

“Okay, professor,” she jabbed, no heat to it, eyes rolling with something that almost resembled affection. Almost. “I think I've got it.”

And you fell into a steady rhythm again, with Jackie getting some of the towers right and some not quite, huffing impatiently whenever she didn't immediately ace the task at hand.

You let out a chuckle.

“You're worse than the kids,” you teased, voice barely above a whisper while Emma and Dylan focused too hard on capturing the perfect shots of the setup with the camera to pay attention to the grownup talk. “At least Emma didn't pout when she accidentally tipped over her castle yesterday.”

“I'm not pouting.”

“You absolutely are,” you snorted. “Every single time you fumble a try.”

“I'm not fumbling anything.”

As if it were planned, the castle Jackie worked on crumbled right before your eyes. You laughed. And she definitely pouted.

“See what I mean?”

Her frustrated expression morphed into a smirk, small, maybe at the absurdity of the situation. Maybe at the Universe's perfect timing.

“Zip it.”

“I'm just saying,” you kept going, the ease of the moment nearly making you forget why things had ever gone wrong in the first place. “I thought nurses were supposed to have steady hands.”

“My hands have nothing to do with it,” she defended herself halfheartedly. “The problem's clearly in the bucket. It's… defective or something.”

You laughed harder, and she seemed to match you despite herself.

“Sure is.”

Emma walked closer to the both of you, placing the camera in front of her face theatrically, like she'd just thought of the perfect shot.

“Mom! Mama! Say cheese!”

The laughter died on your lips, slowly, as you processed the little girl's request. She must have seen you and Jackie laughing together, for the first time in God knows how long not tense, thinking that was something worth documenting. You weren't about to take the moment away from her — and, with how Jackie placed her hands or her knees and leaned toward the lens, neither was she.

So you smiled. A sandcastle's worth of distance from your ex-wife, holding a sandy spade in one hand.

“Okay, almost there…” Emma mumbled to herself like a little director. “Wait— mom! Put an arm around mama!”

You tensed. Your daughter stood there, eager, waiting for you to follow her instructions with an unshakable smile on her face as if she hadn't just poked a bear with a short stick.

It's for Emma.

With the mantra still in mind, you leaned closer to Jackie, trying not to think too hard about it as your arm circled her shoulders with a familiarity you didn't know still lived somewhere inside you. Right before Emma clicked the button, somewhere in between the breath you'd been holding and the contrast of Jackie's warm skin against the cold strap of her damp bikini top, a sandy hand met your waist.

She was holding you back.

Not too firmly, not too tightly. As far as you knew, all for the sake of the performance. For the sake of the kid you shared.

You almost forgot to smile.

“Got it!” Emma cut through the loud buzzing in your head, through the sound of your heartbeat ringing your ears, beaming just like Jackie had when she'd snapped a photo of you and your daughter the day before. “So pretty!”

Then, same as it had been happening all weekend long, things fell into place again as you tried not to die a little inside every time Jackie looked at you. The worst had passed, you thought. It couldn't hurt any more than that.

Famous last words.

“Dylan,” the woman with the ugly hat said, a polite smile on her face as she approached you and Jackie after you were already done building sandcastles and the kids played around the fortress. “It's time to go, honey. Say goodbye to your friend.”

He got up with a sigh, obedient but not hiding the discontent, reluctantly moving to grab his toys from the pile.

“Bye, Emma,” Dylan muttered. “Bye, Emma's moms.”

You all said goodbye to the boy, Emma clearly upset about seeing her friend go, but toughing it out. Before walking away, the mom looked at you, still smiling.

“Congratulations, by the way,” she said, civil, sweet. “Beautiful family you have there.”

You froze.

“Thanks,” Jackie stepped in, matching the woman's expression, cradling a now clingy Emma in her arms. “You too.”

After you went back to the cabin, the night followed pretty much the same as the one before, except now the mood seemed lighter. Words flowed more easily. You moved to put Emma to bed while Jackie cleaned up after dinner, just like the night before, but this time your shoulders didn't feel quite as tense.

Emma fell asleep about halfway through the book you read, but that didn't stop you from silently mumbling the words as you turned the pages — more to yourself than to the passed out girl lying against your chest.

Jackie appeared in the hallway, crossing her arms while she leaned against the doorframe, a small smile on her face.

“Guess How Much I Love You?” She whispered, staring at the worn cover of the book in your hands. “You still read her that?”

You let out a soft chuckle, looking up.

“Almost every night.”

“Well. She's already asleep.”

From the knowing look on Jackie's face, it was clear she knew exactly what your answer to that was going to be.

“Gotta read it till the end every time,” you humored her, the proof of your assumption on her widening grin. “Remember?”

She nodded, warm.

“Yeah. I remember.”

How could she not?

Guess How Much I Love You was Emma's book from the start, the one you'd bought just a few days after the pregnancy test Jackie took in the bathroom came back positive, even before she had the real results from the one she'd taken at the doctor's office. It was the book you read to her belly, lying your head on her thigh so the baby could hear you better, melting as her hands sank into your hair with love and familiarity. It was the book you read on repeat for twenty days and twenty nights, bent over an incubator in the NICU, holding back tears as you looked down at Emma — small and frail and still not strong enough to breathe on her own. Every time, you read it all the way till the end. Even though she couldn't understand you. Even though you weren't even sure she could hear you. You just wanted your baby to know that she wasn't alone.

“You wanna do it?” You offered, holding out the book in Jackie's direction.

There were only a few pages left. Jackie walked toward the bed, taking the book without hesitation, leaning down to get on Emma's level.

“I love you across the river and over the hills,” She started, reading the words you could recite by heart at this point.

It was calm. Quiet. Warm, so warm it hurt you down to the bones.

You let yourself feel it, gently playing with Emma's hair as Jackie flipped through the pages just like she used to.

“I love you right up to the moon,” she finally muttered, closing the book carefully enough not to make a sound, “and back.”

The next few moments didn't require words. You both simply stayed quiet, watching Emma for a while before leaving one kiss each at the top of her head and exiting the room in slow steps.

Once the door was closed and Emma was officially dead to the world until the next day, Jackie looked back at you.

“Hey,” she said, smiling cautiously. “I may or may not have found a bottle of Pinot in the pantry while I cooked earlier. What do you say we make this a real vacation?”

You stopped for a second, unsure if you'd heard her right.

Wine. After a moment like that. Listening to the waves crashing in the distance. With your fucking ex-wife.

It was dangerous, a recipe for disaster, and you were painfully aware of it.

Still, you'd be an idiot to deny an opportunity like that.

“Like I'd ever say no to free Pinot,” you smiled too, deciding you'd blame whatever happened on the circumstances. “Lead the way.”

Jackie poured the wine outside, both of you sitting on the linen couch on the balcony, the view of the ocean in the dark not remotely as mesmerizing as the woman beside you. She leaned back with a sigh, and you weren't sure if that was an attempt to shake off the nerves or to simply try and wind down after a tiring day.

“Seven years old,” she broke the silence, taking a sip from the red liquid in her glass. “Can you believe it?”

You smiled, eyes on the waves as you drank too.

“Feels like yesterday. She was so little I could pick her up in one hand.”

“Strong little bear,” Jackie chuckled, shaking her head nostalgically. “Breathing so hard she was basically growling after they let us bring her home.”

“I don't think I'd ever been that scared in my life. When she was born, I mean,” you took another sip. “Still haven't felt anything like it since.”

“Me neither. At work, I see all those kids that come in and just…” She sighed, choking on something too heavy to mention. “Always makes me think of how lucky we were. Of how lucky we are.”

You nodded.

“Yeah. We really are,” you paused, waiting for another wave to hit the shore before talking again. “She's having the time of her life, you know. Told me last night that it was the best birthday ever.”

Jackie huffed a laugh, endeared.

“Yeah. When I was getting her ready earlier she told me she wants to do the same thing again next year. And every year after that.”

It was your turn to laugh, just as smitten as her.

“You too? Damn. She's already planting the seed.”

“Well. She's nothing if not persistent.”

“Wonder where she gets that from,” you teased, hiding behind another sip of wine, already moving to top both of your glasses off.

Jackie chuckled, welcoming it.

“From both of us, thank you very much. I'm not taking the blame for that on my own.”

“Fair.”

She drank her wine.

“I'm in if you are. Next year, I mean.”

You smiled.

“You sure?”

Jackie nodded determinedly.

“She hasn't cried once while we've been here. I've barely even seen a frown. If that's our reward, I'm willing to come back every year until she's eighteen.”

You laughed.

“I doubt she's gonna want that when the time comes, but…” You shrugged. “Fuck it. I'm in.”

Jackie laughed too, easy, letting the silence settle between you for a moment as wine flowed a bit too quickly.

“I almost called and cancelled, like, a hundred times before this,” she confessed, the words out in the salty breeze. “Had an excuse lined up and everything.”

You let your eyes fall on her face.

“You did?”

“Mm-hm. But I'd give up every time when I saw how excited she was. And I guess some part of me kept waiting for you to chicken out first.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. You’ve never really… thrived in uncomfortable situations.” Jackie looked at you, too. “You're good at a lot of things, but surviving awkward silences has never been one of them.”

You smiled weakly, not offended. Seen.

“If it serves as any consolation, I did think of bailing, too. So many times.”

Jackie raised a brow.

“And what stopped you?”

“Emma,” you shrugged like it was obvious, already seeking comfort in another sip. “What else?”

She smirked, conspiratorial, understanding.

“Exactly. I think we're doing a really good job, though.”

“What, like in general?”

Jackie chuckled.

“Yeah, in general. But I meant here. This weekend. It's been… nice. Nicer than I thought it would be.”

You nodded, already starting to feel a bit lightheaded.

“We did always make a good team. You know, despite… whatever. It's part of the reason why Emma turned out so great.”

“Only part of it?”

“Mm-hm,” you smirked. “The rest she gets from me.”

Jackie laughed, soft, warm — the same type of laugh that used to fill your kitchen on Sunday mornings.

“Of course she does. Especially the humility. That's all you.”

Wine came and went, the sound of the waves enveloping you both in something that almost felt like a dream.

“Earlier,” Jackie cut through the quiet again, starting to speak a bit slower, “at the beach. When, uh, you mentioned you didn't have time for… looking or whatever. Were you being serious?”

You let out a chuckle.

“Aren't you curious.”

She rolled her eyes, but she didn't really seem annoyed.

“Don't flatter yourself. I'm just… curious about your life. It's not like you've been exactly vocal about it.”

You shrugged.

“It… is what it is, I guess. I have Emma. I have my work. Haven't really been on the prowl for anything else.”

Jackie paused like your statement surprised her, letting the long sip of wine she took speak for itself.

It was your turn to pry.

“How about you? Anybody… special in your life lately?” You almost held yourself back, but you just had to keep talking — you and your big mouth. “Maybe a certain dad that's been hovering around?”

She frowned as if she had no idea what you talked about.

“A dad? Where'd you get that idea?”

You chuckled, looking away, realizing you might've said too much.

“Oh, nowhere. Just— Emma said something the other day that kinda…” You shrugged. Jackie kept looking at you like she waited for an answer. You caved under the pressure. “Apparently Jeff Sadecki is so funny even mama laughs at his jokes.”

Jackie's face contorted like you'd personally offended her.

“Jeff Sade— Wait, Callie's dad?” She laughed, shaking her head firmly. “That's not— Jesus. No. Fuck, no.”

“I'm not… accusing you of anything,” you said, wanting to slap yourself in the face for letting the moment of ease slip through your fingers. “I'm just repeating what Emma—”

“Emma's seven,” Jackie interrupted, exasperated, still laughing like the whole thing was ridiculous. “I didn't… God. I was polite to him during pickup a couple of times. I barely even know the guy.”

You nodded.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. It's not like I thought you'd ever— um, stoop that low, anyway.”

“Stoop that low?” She teased, raising a brow, obviously seeing right through your desperation.

God. Fuck. You really needed to learn when to shut the fuck up.

“I didn't mean it like that, it's just…” you fumbled your words, already too tipsy and nervous to make anything make sense in your head. “He's beneath you, that's all.”

“Beneath me,” she chuckled. “And you get to decide who's on my level?”

“That's not what I meant, Jackie, I never— he's just— he's got a reputation, which I'm sure you've heard of, and—” You pressed your eyelids together, letting out a heavy breath. “Fuck it. It's none of my business anyway.”

“You're right, it's not,” she shook her head. “But nothing happened. And nothing will, in case you're wondering. I hadn't even thought about it until you said it.”

You opened your eyes, letting them meet her face again, feeling the heat that creeped up your neck.

“...Oh.”

“Yeah,” she chuckled, amused, “oh. Though now that I know how much it'd bother you, maybe I should go ahead and do it. Get back at you for that time you fucked a 22 year old while I stayed home taking care of your daughter.”

Whatever color you had on your face, you were sure it went away the second the words left Jackie's lips.

There it was. The subject you'd been dancing around for two years, the darkest time of your life, the worst thing you almost did. Coming out over the sound of the waves and the smell of salt mixed with wine.

“I never— fucked anyone,” you said, low, firm. “And she wasn't twenty-two.”

“Sorry. Wanted to fuck a twenty-something year old. My bad. I'll be sure to get it right next time.”

Her expression was unreadable. You wondered if she'd been holding a grudge all this time, if she blamed the divorce solely on you, if she thought you'd actually go as far as to fuck a student behind her back if you'd stayed together. It must have shown on your face — the utter desperation, the guilt you'd spent two years trying to bury coming right out of the surface, threatening to pull you in again —, because, against everything you thought you knew…

Jackie fucking laughed.

“Gee. Chill. I'm just fucking with you.”

“You're— what?”

She chuckled, taking another sip of her wine.

“I'm over it, genius. I just couldn't pass up the look on your face when I made the stupid joke.”

“You— fucking—” You let out a breath, one you hadn't even realized you'd been holding until this moment. “You're over it?”

“It's been two years. You didn't do anything. The marriage was dying long before that, anyway,” she shrugged. “What, you thought I was still mad?”

You couldn't help but laugh.

You'd been carrying the guilt in your chest for two fucking years, and there Jackie was, telling you you could have dropped it any time. That she was also to blame. That the Mari incident was simply a symptom of a marriage that was already terminal.

“I… I didn't know, I just…” You huffed, letting yourself take a long sip of wine in order to fully relax. “You really had me there for a minute.”

She grinned.

“Gotcha.”

“Fucking asshole,” you muttered, smiling, without any heat to it.

Jackie drank her wine. Look at the waves. Let her eyes fall on your face again.

“Would you really have cared, though?” She asked, earnest. “If I'd slept with Jeff Sadecki, I mean.”

Knowing you'd dug your own grave in this situation, you decided to go with the safest possible option considering the state you were currently in.

“...Yeah. Because of Emma, you know. Because I care who hangs around my kid,” you shrugged. “And if that means having an opinion on shady guys who flirt with my wife…”

You immediately cut yourself off.

But Jackie wasn't letting you off the hook that easily, of course she wasn't.

“Your wife?” She asked, smirking like she'd caught you red-handed, lowering her glass until it met the coffee table.

You found yourself wishing you'd just stayed quiet for the billionth time that night.

“I meant—”

“I’m not asking what you meant,” she interrupted you, leaning slightly closer. The smile still stubborn on her wine-colored lips. “I'm repeating what you said.”

“It just— slipped, Jackie, I'm sorry—”

“Don't apologize,” she shifted even closer, the distance shrinking by the second. “Say it again. I wanna hear it.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest, hard and fast, and, at this point, you weren't sure whether the moment was simply a very vivid dream or if it was actually happening, just like you'd imagined so many times.

“You… want me to…”

Jackie scooted so close her thigh was touching yours now. She reached for your wine glass, placing it right next to hers without asking for permission, freeing up your hand.

“Say it again. I think we both know you did mean it.”

So, as her hand met your chin delicately, forcing you to look at her even though she absolutely didn't have to, you finally gave her what she wanted.

“My wife,” you repeated, quiet, for her ears only.

“Again,” she leaned in, eyes on yours, so close you now shared the same breath.

“My wife,” you muttered, devoted, honest. Like you'd never really left — because maybe you never did. “You're my wife.”

Jackie shuddered visibly, vulnerable, just as stuck in the moment as you were. Her hand slid from your chin to your jaw, cupping, rediscovering, as she let her lips simply brush yours for a mere second.

“I am,” she whispered, pressing a dizzying kiss to the corner of your mouth. “And you're mine.”

You couldn't hold back anymore.

You lunged into Jackie, kissing her lips like you’d been stuck in the desert for the longest time and she was rainfall, abundant and redeeming and all-consuming, bringing an old meaning back to your life you thought you’d lost all those years ago.

From there, it didn’t take long for things to fall into place as if they’d never left. Every touch was a mended promise, every kiss was a step into the future as if nothing should’ve ever been left in the past.

You guided her to the king bedroom, sure, unapologetic, refusing to waste another second after two whole years of swallowing words and trying to convince yourself that you could ever truly be happy without this, without her, without your wife by your side.

There was still a lot you needed to discuss. Problems that had started for a reason you still couldn’t quite understand. A long way to go — but you’d be damned if you didn’t do everything differently this time. Not just for Emma. For Jackie. For you. For your family.

Hours later, as the sun started to rise through the sheer curtains, Jackie looked at you with a smile on her face — laughing at nothing, sunkissed, beautiful. Yours, as she’d always been. As she always would be.

“We’re so coming back again next year,” she whispered, a promise sealed with a tender kiss to your jaw.

And you did.

2:00 PM

You had been practically drowning in paperwork for weeks. Days filled with the endless streams of words and numbers on a screen, phone calls and minor mental breakdowns. Just when thought you were ready to start on this set of files you had been putting off. You noticed something about the charts. Or lack there off.

With all your extra work, you had completely forgotten about your earlier memos, which had clearly gone unnoticed. It’s not like you fully expected them to be received, the Emergency Department is always busy with something new. And with all your work piling up, you were really not as on to of things as you should have been.

The filing deadline was fast approaching and it was already after lunch. Your only reasonable option now was that you had to make a personal visit downstairs and search for the assigned physician yourself. You had not been lucky enough to meet her face to face yet, but you have heard of the reputation of Doctor Santos. Tricky and abrasive, with a confident personality of the biggest dick in the locker room. Despite the rumors her overall patient satisfaction has all been mostly positive from what you had seen.

When you finally slipped through the doors of the Emergency Department, and made a beelline for the most trusted face in the room.

“Knew I heard those fearsome finance footsteps, to what do we owe the pleasure?” Dana greeted you as she continued to read the tablet in front of her.

“C’mon Dana, if she swam all the way downstream…What we really should be asking is who is the next victim?” Doctor Langdon added.

“Well unfortunately it’s not you.” You flashed him a sickening customer service smile. He gave you a playful middle finger, inconspicuously hidden close to the top of the desk.

“And actually, I’m looking for Doctor Santos.” You turned to Dana and offered her a real smile, knowing she would help you out.

Doctor Langdon didn’t bother to hold in his cheerful laughter.

“This day keeps getting better.” He smiled brightly to Dana before pushing off the desk. “I hope you have a field day with Doctor Santos.”

Your eyebrows crunched in confusion, staying silent and allowing Doctor Langdon to go return to his patients.

“Good Lord,” she sighed as she watched him walk away. “Santos is in with a peds burn in North 2.” Dana answered.

Your eyes floated around the stream of curtains and empty medical beds before returning to her with a puzzled look.

“That one.” She pointed with a laugh.

“Thank you.”

You waited idly by the curtains Dana pointed to, shifting your weight on your feet to ease your idle jitters. Each minute wasted down here had you only visualizing your work upstairs backing up higher and higher your plate. After seven agonizing minutes Doctor Santos had finished talking with the family inside about care instructions for the wound and exited the bay.

“Doctor Santos,” you grabbed her attention. She turned to you with a puzzled look, eyes turning to read your hospital badge. You introduced yourself regardless before you began to explain your visit.

“I’ve sent a few reminders about charts all addressed to you this past week and I don’t want to believe that all five were unseen or accidentally lost, but I know it could be possible-”

She cut you off with a snort. “So you’re the Piranha?” She asked completely disregarding what you had just stated.

“I have a name.”

“Piranha.” She stated like you were hadn’t just shared your actual name with her.

You blinked twice, lips slightly parted in surprise.

“I need your charts submitted by 4PM.” You snipped.

Someone from across the room shouted for Doctor Santos’ help. She began walking in that direction, leaving you to frustratingly follow her steps.

“I’ll be sure to put it at the very top of my to-do list.”

You sighed quietly, not wanting to give too much attitude with your next statement. Your words came out softer, less bite to the words. They came out scripted and bored.

“If I do not receive them today, I will be reaching out to the attendings to see how we can fix this issue going forward.”

Her steps halted.

“Wow…” She said slowly, expression souring. “tough crowd.”

“By 4PM, please, Doctor Santos.” You give her a customer service smile.

“Yes, Miss Piranha, ma’am.” She gave you a salute with a playful smile.

“Thank you.” You quickly shuffled your way out of the Emergency Department, not exactly privy to witnessing some gruesome scene on accident.

4:00 PM

Nothing.

And thirty minutes later… Still no updated forms have been submitted by Doctor Santos.

As if you didn’t have an enough work to finish up, you spared the time to go back down to the Emergency Department. This time your steps were fast and pointed, irritation clearly oozing from you like a gloomy toxic cloud.

“Uh oh.” Dana’s voice echoed as you bypassed the desk completely.

“Watch out.” Another voice echoed.

“Doctor Santos!” You caught up to her.

“Little Miss Piranha.” She greeted, not slowing down her pace. You ignored the name and kept up with her steps.

“It’s past 4PM.”

“Sorry, I’ve been kind of busy.” She floated her hands around the bustling room.

You waited only a moment to steep in your irritation before continuing to speak.

“I understand that you’re kind of busy, and I kind of have deadlines to maintain in order to not compromise patient’s care based on an easily avoidable financial hiccup with an insurance claim. All because their physician was too busy to give them the time.” You sighed dramatically.

“Or maybe somewhere in your eight years of higher education you never learned how to time manage as well as you thought.”

“Wow. Ouch,” She stopped to turn and face you now that she was at her station. “Has anyone told you that you’re kind of a bitch.”

“All the time.” You nodded, peachy expression still in tact.

You were constantly being berated by unhappy patients and families, always working with patient advocacy. You had grown very thick skin.

“And for your information, I do know how to manage my time.” Doctor Santos informed.

“I just wanted an excuse to get you back down here.” She admitted with a small smile. Your irritation spiked, the poised expression on your face cracking with a flash of disdain.

“You wasted more of my time on purpose?”

“Only a waste of time if you choose to see it that way.” She shrugged.

“Is that not what I just said?” Your eyes darted down to your watch. “It’s taken me six minutes to get down here- six minutes back up, that’s almost a quarter of an hour alone on travel time gone.”

“Okay well, your line of thinking is kind of a nightmare.” She pointed out with a look of surprised disbelief.

“Noted. Why are you holding me hostage Doctor Santos? Have you updated the charts?”

“Oh yeah!” She pulled them up on her screen.

“So, submit them?” You gaped.

“First.”

Your eyebrows raised.

“You have to agree to have drinks with me after work.”

Your entire system seemed to malfunction. Thoughts shut off as you read her expression for any evidence of a jest or mockery. She looked like she hesitated for just a moment, but didn’t back down.

“… Unless you don’t drink. I’m sure we could figure something else out.”

You cleared your throat.

“That is very forward of you, Doctor Santos.”

“Trinity; and is that a no?”

“No...” You hummed in thought, trying to regain control of the situation. “but if you submit your charts you can ask me again later. When my brain stops feeling like it’s going to start melting out of from my eyes.”

Trinity clicked the submission button where her mouse had been hovering without another thought.

“Deal.”

7:00 PM

You could even feel your own anger bouncing off the walls of the elevator as it traveled back down to the ground floor. You were out of the doors before they had even fully opened and began your very direct walk to the Emergency Department for the third time today. Ahmad just so happened to be at the doors, immediately clocking the energy and opening the door for you.

“Everybody look out!” Robby chuckled lowly as he watched your speedy steps travel into the Pitt.

“Piranhas in the water!” Doctor Langdon announced.

Boo! It’s the evil billing department again! You didn’t mind the pointed attitude you received, Someone has to do the job. Surgeons did the real cutting, but nothing really cut quite as deep as the final bill.

Only today the stupid nickname irked you even more. By now, you were well into overtime for the umpteenth day in a row and your eyes felt like cotton balls from staring at your screen for so long, blue light glasses be damned. The look on your face could only be described as something resembling homicidal.

You took the direct path you remembered that lead to Doctor Santos’ station, hoping to see her colleague and roommate hovering somewhere nearby.

“Look who it is,” doctor Santos greeted as you approached. “I really hope that unhappy face isn’t for me.”

“No, I’m not here for you, Doctor Santos.” You gave her a small strained smile with what grace you could find.

“Trinity.” She corrected again. You sighed lightly.

“I’m here looking for Doctor Whittaker.”

Her face pulled into a grin. “Fuckleberry?”

Hearing the explicite version of the rumored nickname out loud almost made you laugh.

Like she was a saint performing a miracle, Doctor Whittaker appeared from somewhere behind her. Your unsuspecting victim politely greeted you as he approached.

“Santos, still not up to date on your charts?” He asked while laughing.

“Honey, no.” Santos gave him a very sarcastic pout, sadistic glint in her eyes.

“Doctor Whittaker, I’m here for you.” You turned back to Doctor Whittaker. His face paled, like he was next up on the execution stage.

“Me?” He looked panicked. “I’m all up to date.”

You gave him a sad smile, handing him a thin folder of printed copies of charts.

“Entirely illegible.”

Doctor Santos continued to wear a smug grin, chucking behind her closed lips.

“I can’t file shit if I can’t read shit.” You explained, voice fatigued. “Punctuation is not suggested. It is mandatory.”

Trinity began to laugh.

“Nice job Fuckleberry! How bad is it?”

“Could be a NASA equation for all I know- I’m not the doctor. I need your revised version in my inbox by yesterday.”

“Yes, sorry, sorry! I-I’m on it!”

“On it, in it, over it. I’ll be here late.” You informed him. “I do expect a call when you update everything.”

“Absolutely, yes sir- ma’am- miss.” He coughed and sputtered over the words.

“Thank you.” You sighed in relief, like feeling a large weight fall off your shoulders.

“I’ll see you later, Trinity.” You offered her a softer smile before turning on your heel and heading back upstairs.

Only when you had turned the corner to exit the Emergency Department did Dennis release the tension from his body.

“What the hell was that?” He asked his roommate.

“What was what?” She kept her eyes glued onto her computer.

“That?”

“Wow,” she extended the vowel, “I can see how your notes were so illegible.” She dodged the question.

“She was totally being flirty with you.”

Trinity pretended she didn’t notice.

“Was she?” Trinity was up and out of her seat before he could say anything else about it.

Dennis might have been right, but for all she knows, he’d do something to jinx it. She just needed to finish out her shift and hope that you’ve completed enough of your own work to agree to go out.

Trinity couldn’t help the grin that spread onto her lips as she smiled at the floor. Already feeling the massive ego boost that she’d gain if she somehow managed to bag the most evil bitch in the building.

10:00 PM

The sun had long set and your paperwork seemed under control for the most part. After a sudden firing and an already planned paternity leave of your colleagues had left you and what remained of the department scrambling to keep up. A knock on your office door had you pulling your head away from your digital work calendar.

You had expected to see Doctor Whittaker, but instead Trinity stood at the door. She had her bag slung over her shoulder, clearly on her way out.

“You’re still here.” She pointed out.

“That I am.” You rubbed at your eyes tiredly.

“Huckleberry fixed his charts.” She raised her right hand. “I even double checked it myself before he submitted, 100% legible- scouts honor.”

You breathed a small sigh of relief, posture relaxing.

“Thank you, so much.”

You quickly busied yourself with double checking the submissions from Doctor Whittaker, ensuring that it gets filed out tomorrow after all the effort you went through to get it today.

“Do Piranhas sleep or?”

“I don’t want to still be here.” You groaned. “I’m salaried anyways, the overtime means nothing.”

“I’m sorry.” Her words surprised you.

“Hm?”

“Dana told me how much work you’ve been putting in this quarter.” She explained. “Almost a one woman show up here.”

There were more empty offices than those occupied on your floor.

“Nina’s been a big help.” You shrugged. You couldn’t take all the credit. “And I don’t mean to be a bitch, I swear.” You laughed.

“This job takes a backbone- I can’t bend rules and deadlines for everyone. And tripling the work doesn’t exactly help.” You sighed. “You get it- Doctoring is hard.”

“I do.” She nodded with a chuckle. “If it’s worth anything I find the bitchiness endearing.”

“That’s sweet.” You giggled, the foreign sound was infectious spreading to Trinity.

“I do believe you still owe me an answer to my question. That is if your eyeballs are still in tact.”

Your head finally dropped, shoulders shaking as you fully laughed and began shutting down your computer. Trinity watched you pack up your bag that was tucked under your desk and pull out your set of matching food storage from the mini fridge to the side. She made a mental note of it because she fully expected to take advantage of it during your work days if this date went well.

“If I’m saying yes, you have to find me a better nickname than a fish.”

“I don’t know, I think it’s kinda cute.” she plucked your lunch bag off the table, leaving you to worry about your purse and work bag.

HAPPY PRIDE 🏳️‍🌈 my goal is to post as much gay shit as i cam this month. first pitt fic,,, i have a few drafted trinity fics that might see the light of day if i’m confident enough ♡ bones

Baran had loved this museum since she was roughly fourteen years old and miserable on her middle school trip to D.C. She had gone to a nice enough school that they could afford to do an afternoon stop in Pittsburgh on the way home, and Baran had wandered into the museum half-asleep and walked back out feeling rearranged. There were many things about Pittsburgh that, now 40, she tolerated rather than loved. But this place had stayed in her bones.

Kaveh, unfortunately, was seven. He was usually a fantastic sport, but there were only so many oil paintings a child could stare at before he felt he'd seen them all.

Still, every Saturday Baran asked, “Do you want to come with me today, joonam?”

And every Saturday her sweet boy said yes.

She always let Kaveh lead when they visited the museum because there wan’t a single exhibit she didn’t enjoy and she had learned really quickly that if he felt he had control over what they were seeing, the longer he was able to last. 

Usually, this meant they ended up in the sculpture hall. Kaveh adored the tall, skinny statues there with his entire little heart.

“They look silly,” he would whisper loudly, staring up at the long bronze limbs and dramatic poses with complete delight.

And every single visit, without fail, he would eventually turn to Baran with barely-contained excitement and say, “Māmān, take a picture.”

Then he’d plant himself beside the statues and imitate them as seriously as possible, long face, arms thrown awkwardly into the air, knees bent at impossible angles as Baran gleefully snapped his photo.

Kaveh was bounding back to her side and standing up on his tip-toes to see the fruit of his photo shoot. She was showing him the latest one, his nose wrinkling with pleasure at his own performance, when his head snapped to the side with the speed of a small animal catching a scent.

Baran had about half a second of confusion before he pulled in a breath and used every bit of it:

“DOCTOR Y/N!!!”

Baran jolted so hard she nearly dropped her phone.

“Kaveh—”

Too late.

Across the gallery, you turned around and Baran’s heart sunk through every floor of the museum. It seemed like an awful collision of her two worlds that she very carefully kept separate.

She knew you in fragments that didn’t belong in a place like this, your scrubs and tired eyes after a long shift that always softened when you saw her, you padding through her kitchen at night, stealing water from the fridge like you lived there too, you half-asleep against her shoulder, breath warm.

She also knew how your voice sounded when it went all high-pitched and breathy, whimpering pleas of her name in her ear as your hands scraped down her back, her kissing your neck—

And now there you were. Dark jeans, a soft cream sweater with the sleeves pushed up to your elbows, a tote bag from a college Baran had never heard you mention, rings stacked on your fingers that caught the gallery light. Your hair was different than she'd ever seen it. You looked soft.

She watched your expression move through confusion and arrive at something warm and surprised and delighted.

"Hi, Kaveh," you called across the gallery.

Kaveh was already moving. He crossed the room at a pace that was technically not running because his feet were not fully leaving the floor at the same time, but was in every other sense running. You crouched down to meet him and he wrapped his arms around your neck without preamble, without hesitation, the way children do when they've decided about a person.

"You're here!” he beamed.

"I am here," you laughed, settling back on your heels with your arms resting on your knees, completely unbothered by the contact with the museum floor. "What are you doing here, little dude? Are you an art guy?"

Kaveh pulled back and shrugged. "Sometimes," he said. "Māmān likes it a lot more than me though. But she says it's good for my brain."

"Smart woman, your mama."

Baran had crossed the gallery at a more appropriate pace and arrived to find you already looking up at her, easy and warm, not making anything of it.

"Dr. Al-Hashimi."

"Dr. Y/L/N." She heard how formal it sounded and internally winced. She cleared her throat and softened her tone. "Small world. I'm sorry about the ambush."

"Please don't be," you beamed, standing. "This is the best thing that's happened to me all morning."

You had met Kaveh twice before and Baran had kind of freaked out both times (you knew good and well she didn’t really want you two interacting, didn’t want to blend whatever fuck-buddy situation you had going on with the version of her life she was presenting to her son) but both interactions had been really, really lovely. You’re not sure what you did to earn Kaveh’s adoration, but you were glad you had it as the adorable little boy beamed up at you, staring at you like you hung the stars.

Baran, standing slightly to the side, was also looking at your face. For completely different reasons. She took in the different style of your hair, the jewelry she hadn’t seen because it was kind of a pain to wear rings at work, the tote bag with your college insignia — a school Baran had not known you attended, had never heard you talk about, another piece of the woman she hadn’t had yet.

There were so many pieces.

“Are you here alone?” Baran heard herself ask.

You smiled. “I am, embarrassingly enough. I just like it here.” You paused. “Mom-son date?”

“We come most Saturdays,” Baran said. “When Kaveh is persuadable.”

“It’s an awesome hangout spot,” you nodded warmly, trying to will your heart to stop fluttering. Baran looked so… touchable? Something about her was calmer, more settled, and you wanted to soak it in like a sapling begging for just a drop of water to sustain it, but she was here with her son. And you were just a friend. Barely even that.

“Well, it was lovely to see you both,” you started to turn, “I hope you—”

Kaveh latched onto your arm, eyes going big with sudden sadness. “Wait, are you going?”

You froze, mouth falling open a bit, and your eyes shot to Baran. Sure, you liked her company and loved her son, but you knew this woman had boundaries and you never took that personally. 

“Um, well, Kaveh—”

"Don’t go yet because we are looking at statues and you can join us," Kaveh said excitedly. "Do you want to see?"

You blinked. Your eyes still searching Baran's face. 

It was sweet, Baran realized. She allowed her head to tilt, a warm smile to come across her face.

"Yes," she said warmly. "Join us. We could use the company."

Huh. You shook of your shock and replaced it with an eager nod of your head.

"I'd love to," you replied, a similar smile pulling at your lips. "Show me."

—

You fell into step beside her at an easy distance, and Baran noticed that too — the careful inch of space you maintained, not crowding her nor presuming that the invite meant she, all of the sudden, wanted you on top of her.

You talked to Kaveh mostly, crouching when he pointed at things, asking him questions that took his opinions seriously, which made him stand a little taller each time.

"That one is super sad," Kaveh pointed at a bronze figure with its head bowed.

"Hm," you studied it. "What do you think he's sad about?"

Kaveh thought about this. "Maybe he lost something."

“Lost something?” Baran prompted.

“‘Cause his head is down, Māmān,” Kaveh replied. “He’s lookin’ for it.”

It surprised a laugh out of you — real and unguarded, bubbling up from your chest and floating out into the high-ceilinged room — and Baran's eyes went straight to your face.

She'd heard you laugh before. But not like that. Not with nothing behind it but the simple fact that something delighted you.

She looked away before you could catch her looking.

She was noticing things she had no particular right to notice. The way you paused longest in front of the landscapes. The small private smile when something caught you, unannounced and unperformed. The fact that you knew which paintings were which without looking at the placards.

Initially she had been bracing herself for some level of awkwardness bred from the reminder that you existed in a different compartment of her life, one that didn't belong here under the high windows with her son. But you hadn't made it awkward. You just looked very content not to be alone on a Saturday, and it made her heart twist.

She felt herself begin to unknot.

"You come here often?" she nudged you with her hip as you walked again, and didn’t miss the way your eyes twinkled at the contact.

"Most weekends I'm not working," you tilted your head at the room around you. "There's a painting in the next gallery I've been coming back to for about a year."

"Which one?"

You smiled a little. "I'll show you when we get there."

In the decorative arts wing Kaveh grabbed your hand to drag you toward a suit of armor, and you let him, and Baran watched your face when he pressed his small nose against the visor to peer inside. The expression you wore was so soft, so unself-conscious, that it caught her off guard.

She had long wondered what you were like when you weren't managing anything at all, be it your poise at work or your manners in her apartment or your ecstasy in her bed. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was exactly what you looked like laid bare. 

—

They reached the end of the last gallery with the slow inevitability of a good afternoon running out. Kaveh had gone boneless against Baran's side around the second hour mark, dragging his feet and clinging to her arm, suddenly non-verbal.

You crouched down to him. "It was very good to see you, Kaveh. Thank you for the statue tour."

"You can come next Saturday," Kaveh offered, hand reaching out to fiddle with the neckline of your shirt.

Baran watched your face. She saw you almost smile  and then she watched you catch it and smooth it over.

"That's a very kind invitation," you said carefully, to Kaveh, but you were still looking at her.

The restraint of it was so practiced and so deliberate that it nearly hurt. She had put you here  in this careful, curtailed space  and you had stayed in it without a word of complaint, because she'd asked you to a few months ago. Please don’t ask about my ex-husband, please don’t ask about my son. You had nodded and respected it ever since, because that was the kind of person you were.

She had an empty afternoon ahead of her, but you were full of so many little pieces that had started to crack away from your skin and fall into her palm just over the course of an hour. She wanted more. She wanted every shard until she could build your full mosaic.

"We were going to get lunch," Baran said. "There's a place around the corner Kaveh likes."

She paused, small and deliberate.

"I would like it if you came."

Baran watched the surprise dance across your eyes even though you tried to remain nonchalant. You were a very smart girl and she knew you understood exactly what she was actually saying. This was very different from when you would brush shoulders in the hospital, or when your phone would buzz with a "Are you free tonight?"

"Are you sure?" you asked softly.

"Very sure," she said, then raised her brow with a smirk. “Do I have to say please?”

You looked at her for a beat longer, something soft and open moving through your expression, and then you smiled so large it changed your whole face.

"Okay," you said. "I'd like that."

Kaveh grabbed both your hands at once, one each, and lurched forward without ceremony.

Baran let him pull her out into the light.

—

You continued to smile at her and say hi when you saw her out and about, even as years passed and you both moved up to high school. You changed for the better, and her, of course, for the worse.

Senior year rolls around, and you've surprisingly started seeking Nat out. It started as usual- smiles and waves in passing- but then it escalated to approaching her at lunch or seeking her out on the rare occasion she actually came to class just to chat.

Natalie is convinced you're trying to trick her into getting close to you, just so you can pull the rug out from underneath her and humiliate her. She knows you're friends with Beth, whose boyfriend cheated on her with Natalie over the summer, so maybe you were trying to help her get revenge of some sort. But that wasn't you... and as much as Nat likes to pretend there's something sinister hiding underneath your patchwork crewneck and ruffle socks, she knows deep down there isn't.

Natalie realizes she has a problem the first time she notices your hands- not in a weird way, of course- just… against your water bottle during lunch, sleeves pulled over your knuckles while you laugh at something one of your friends says. Your nails are painted some chipped pastel color, and there’s a tiny silver ring on your finger that catches the cafeteria lights every time you move. Natalie notices only because she’s sitting across the courtyard pretending not to stare.

“You listening?” Kevyn asks. “Hm?”

“You’re burning your fries.” Natalie looks down, and sure enough, the cigarette between her fingers has dropped ash directly onto the paper tray.

“Shit.” Kevyn snorts while she brushes it off. When she looks back up, you’re already glancing over at her with your typical, warm smile- always with the smiling... Not fake polite smiling either- actual smiling, like seeing Natalie genuinely improves your day somehow.

It makes her instantly suspicious.

You wave a little, Natalie rolls her eyes automatically, but after a second, she lifts two fingers off the table in acknowledgment.

Rookie mistake. Because your posture somehow immediately becomes even more perfect and your smile widens, becoming even brighter, bright enough that Natalie has to look away.

“Dude,” Kevyn says slowly. “Are you flirting with her?”

Natalie almost chokes on smoke, “What?”

“With princess over there.” Natalie scoffs hard enough to sound offended. “Absolutely not.”

Kevyn raises an eyebrow. “Then why do you look constipated every time she talks to you?”

She rolls her eyes, as she always does, “Because she’s weird.”

Kevyn chuckled, taking a bite of his food, “She’s literally just nice.”

“Exactly. Weird.” But even after the conversation changes, Natalie keeps catching herself noticing stupid little things about you- the way you tuck your chin when you laugh, the soft sweaters, the fact that you always carry snacks in your backpack and hand them out without making people ask. It’s irritating.

Worse, she starts noticing other people noticing you too.

Some guy from track leans down by your locker one morning, smiling too hard while you talk. You laugh at something he says, all warm and sweet, and Natalie feels something ugly tighten unexpectedly in her stomach. Not jealousy- obviously not jealousy... More like- Annoyance.

Yeah... annoyance. Because the guy’s clearly a douchebag! That has to be it...

By lunch, Natalie’s in such a bad mood that even Taissa tells her to quit glaring at people- a rare moment of solidarity between the two as they smoke against the side of the building.

“I’m not glaring.”

“You look like you want to kill someone.” Natalie flicks ash into the dirt below her. “Maybe I do.”

Taissa follows her line of sight toward your table.

“Oh my God,” she groans, causing Natalie to stiffen immediately. “What?”

“You seriously have a problem with y/n?” Natalie scoffs immediately, “Please.”

Taissa raises an eyebrow. “You’ve been staring at her for like ten minutes.”

“I’m staring because she’s impossible not to look at.” The words slip out before Natalie can stop them. Tai goes quiet for half a second, a smirk growing on her lips, “Wow.”

Natalie squeezes her eyes shut, wincing slightly as she backtracks. “Not like that, Jesus Christ...”

Taissa’s grin starts forming instantly. “Oh my God.”

“She just-” Natalie gestures vaguely toward your table, where you’re animatedly talking with your hands, sweater sleeves hanging over your knuckles. “She stands out.”

“Because she’s cute?” Natalie rolls her eyes hard. “Because she looks like she belongs in a trix yogurt commercial.”

Taissa laughs and Natalie chuckles with her, taking another drag from her cigarette, somewhat irritated with herself for even entertaining this conversation.

“She’s too nice,” she mutters, “Nobody’s actually like that.”

Tai hums knowingly, “Right.”

“And she keeps talking to me for some reason.”

“Maybe she likes you.” Natalie snorts so hard she almost coughs. “Yeah, okay.”

Across the cafeteria, you glance over at that exact moment and smile automatically when you notice her. Natalie looks away first.

“Shut up,” she says flatly before Taissa can even open her mouth.

Natalie hates being touched unexpectedly (most people do!), so when someone grabs lightly at the sleeve of her flannel in the hallway, her first instinct is irritation. Then she turns around and sees you.

“Oh,” you say softly, immediately letting go. “Sorry.”

Natalie stares at you for a second- your hair’s messy from the wind outside, and you’re holding a folded worksheet against your chest.

“You left this in class,” you explain, gesturing it forward for her to take. Of course, you followed her down the hallway for homework, because apparently that’s just who you are...

Natalie takes the paper carefully. “You could’ve just let me fail.”

“You say that every time.” you roll your eyes playfully and Nat would say that's the most attitude she's ever seen you give anyone

“Because it’s true every time.” You smile a little, shifting your weight on your feet. There’s this thing you do when you’re nervous around her-your fingers twist together unconsciously like you’re winding invisible string around them- Natalie’s noticed that recently, along with too many other things.

“You skipped lunch again,” you blurt out suddenly, causing Natalie to blink. “What?”