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"Is Andrew here?" you ask, bluntly, not wanting, nor needing to speak with her for any longer.

"Pope's not here," she answers, tone just as flat and bothered.

"Then where?" you ask, causing the old lady to sigh.

"He's staying with me now, no visitors," she states.

"And what he didn't tell me?" you question, witnessing her pout a lip, shrugging a shoulder.

"You know how Pope is. That's how all my boys are. Leaving Mommy to pick up their shit," she says, mockingly.

"That's bullshit, Smurf," you say, head shaking, astounded at her hollow words.

Watching as she leans down, grabbing something off the side, lifting its heavy weight. Shoving a duffle bag through the open door, tossing it at your feet.

"What's this?" you ask, feeling the weight of it on your feet.

"Your things. I'm selling the house, so don't try that old key again, it'll ruin the new locks," she answered, smirk pulling at the sharp corners of her lips.

"You can't sell his house," you argue, only making her smirk grow.

"Yes, I can. Who do you think co-signed on it?" she asks, to which you don't answer, left stunned at the doorstep of a house you no longer belong in.

"Then let me talk to Andrew," you demand, feeding the smirk on her face.

"No," she says, slightly leaning before slamming the door in your face.

Cheeks flushed, heart racing, mind and body perplexed on what to do with what's rushing within it. Staring at the front door, anger bubbling up in your throat, wanting nothing more than to curse her out, not only for ripping Andrew out of your arms, but for proving to your deepest insecurity that she could.

Proving every plan for the future whispered, gazing into Andrew's soft hazel eyes, every ounce of hope in escaping this town, escaping her, had been all for nothing. Always having her in the back of your mind, reminding you that your everything was temporary.

Nothing but a whine of defeat squeezes from your vocal cords, tears burning in your eyes, cursing in the little breath your lungs have. Picking up the duffle bag, nothing to remind you of Andrew would be in it.

Walking back to your car, glancing at Andrew's car, needing it to be the last thing to remember of him, not his mother. Throwing the bag into your passenger seat, reversing in the driveway, planning how you'd break back in, taking all of your things. Having taken notes of all the times Andrew would break into gas stations or small shops with you in tow, sometimes being stupid enough at times to fuck right next to the register.

Not letting more than a few days pass before going back, plans stunted before they could even come to fruition, spotting Craig in or out of the house. Only stopping once you saw the moving truck and the "FOR SALE" sign.

The only memory of Andrew you had left was the cash he'd stashed at your place, not having the stomach to dig it up yet, instead spiraling over days. Calling Andrew's phone until the service had been cut off, leaving you to run over Smurf's final words, still not believing them.

Thinking of other reasons for Andrew's disappearance, from him being hidden in Mexico to getting sick at the thought that he was dead. Until one day, staring down at two red lines, finding a bit of hope that Andrew, even a piece of him, would finally be out of Smurf's reach.

Standing waiting at the front door, having knocked, hearing a faint shuffling over the sound of a TV. Smiling as the door opens, seeing your daughter, her eyes closed shut, head resting upon the shoulder of the babysitter, who hands you her small backpack.

"How'd she do?" you ask, causing the little girl's eyes to open, immediately hearing her start to cry.

Hands reaching out for you, gladly taking her from the babysitter's arms, holding her at your hip. Resting your head atop hers, while digging into your pocket with the hand holding the backpack, finally fishing out a small wad of cash, handing the weekly payment to your babysitter.

"Thank you, I'll see you Monday," you say, receiving the same gratitude. Turning, walking down the yard of the house, exiting the small metal fence. Walking down the sidewalk, illuminated by the starting sunset, parking a little farther than usual, though not minding, knowing the ocean air will only knock her out more.

"Did you have fun today?" you ask, putting on one strap of the backpack, freeing a hand to caress up and down her back.

Hearing a small "Yeah" come from her, making you smile.

"Good, I bet you're ready for bed," you say, feeling as she nods against your cheek.

Arriving at the car, opening the backseat door, bending down and in, hand holding the back of her head. Setting your daughter in her seat, eyes refusing to open even as you dig under her for the other piece to the seat belt. Bucking her in, planting a kiss to her cheek, hearing her groan, pushing you away with her little hand.

Laughing, standing back up, softly closing the door. Walking around the car, checking the street both ways before going to the driver's door. Getting in, starting the car as quietly as you could, looking back through the rearview mirror. Breathing a sigh at her closed eyes, head unmoved from being squished against her car seat.

Every passing day, she looked more like him, keeping the memory of Andrew's face fresh in your mind even without pictures. Or the ones that showed his face, always looking away when you snap a picture, hating it being taken. Going as far as to hide a small camera within your nightstand, sneaking rare pictures of Andrew sleeping soundly next to you. Cherishing the memories of those pictures even more over the years, wishing you still had the box they were kept in.

Now all you have is her face to remember him by, bittersweetly loving the older she gets, the more you see him in her hazel eyes and reddish brown hair, messy from the long day of playing and napping. Finally putting the key into the ignition, starting the car.

Maneuvering out of the spot, driving down the road, missing the suburbs of Oceanside, the streets parked with cars holding surfboards, the smell of salt in the air, being only a few blocks from the coast. Even if this new town was a carbon copy, it wasn't the same.

Moving with Andrew's stash, far from that beautiful town, settling near a coastal town, one that hopefully Smurf would overlook if she'd ever gotten a whiff of another grandchild being born. Though having to keep the same car for a year, saving up for the one you have now, driving to the house, you had enough to buy near the water. Just like her father, needing the sound of crashing waves to fall asleep.

Slowing down once seeing the driveway of home, pulling into the small parking spot next to the stairs leading up to the porch, turning off the car. Forgetting the rearview mirror, turning to look at your daughter who's still passed out in the back seat.

Smiling at the sight, grabbing your bag from the passenger seat, popping open the driver's door. Gravel crunching underneath your feet, sliding the bag onto your shoulder, walking around the car, only to stop dead in your tracks. Staring down at the man sitting on the bottom of your long porch stairs.

Lungs unable to find air, eyes flickering over the man, watching as he stands up, the same tears building within his eyes. Seeing Andrew's lip starting to quiver, forcing your shoulder to deflate. Noticing through blurred vision as Andrew steps cautiously forward, not knowing how much unconditional love and care you still have for him. Rushing off your feet, closing the gap between you without another thought, arms wrapping around the soft man you never stopped loving.

"Where were you? Where were you?" you repeatedly cry into his shoulder, voice becoming strained with every word, leaving them to be nothing more than incoherent whines.

Tears soaking into both your shirts, shoulders shaking as your bodies fight to regulate against the years of abandonment. Threading your fingers through his short hair, getting an inhale through your nose before it clogs, crying harder as he smelled just the same, mind whirling with how everything and nothing changed.

"You left me," you whine, sounding nothing more than a squeezed breath.

Slightly pulling away, needing to see the face your mind fails to recreate every night in your dream. Cupping Andrew's freckled cheeks, thumbs wiping away the tears that come rolling at them. Gazing into the same eyes of your daughter, forcing a sob from your lips.

"She wouldn't tell me," he states, through wet lips, holding you tighter, fingers gripping your work clothes. "Smurf wouldn't tell me where you were," he clarifies, swallowing a sob.

"Where were you?" You ask, fighting to make words clear with your weak voice. Hands dropping from his face, resting at the sides of Andrew's neck, feeling his throat bob. "You disappeared on me when you promised-" the words cut off, no longer having the strength.

"I wouldn't leave you," he attempts to address, but you cut the man off.

"You did! You left me! I tried to find you, to call you! I went to your house, Smurf was there, she said you were staying with her and was selling your house." You argue, letting the words hang in the air, seeing as his face turns with realization. "I didn't fucking believe her, but I couldn't find you," you finish, taking a big breath.

Silence stung between you, witnessing his eyes flicker over your face, gears turning in his skull. "Me and Baz hit a bank that day, he drove off before I could finish. I ran, but the cops got me," he says, causing your heart to sink, eyes closing at the new information, punching yourself mentally for not thinking prison was a possibility. "I got out early yesterday," he says, bringing your lips to quiver, eyes giving what tears they could muster.

Leaning into Andrew again, resting your forehead onto his shoulder, feeling his arms squeeze around you. Whispering apologies into his shoulder, removing your hands from his neck, moving around the man in another tight hug.

"I couldn't find you at your old place, and Smurf wouldn't tell me where you lived," he explains, voice sounding nothing more than a whimper. "I had to get it out of Baz," he mumbles, making you smile, imagining how that went down.

Breaking the embrace once again, using only one hand to cup his cheek, looking into his teary eyes. "I'm just glad you found us," you say, causing Andrew to smile, then his brows to furrow, thinking on your word choice. "There's someone you should meet," you say, hand dropping from his cheek, walking out of his reach toward the car.

Opening the backseat, seeing your daughter just as passed out as you left her. Gently unbuckling the seatbelt on her chest, walking her in the process, watching as she rubs her eyes as you carefully pick her up. Sitting her on your hip, grabbing her backpack with the hand holding the keys, turning to look at Andrew.

Witnessing his throat bob, swallowing down questions, eyes flickering between you and her. Kissing her cheek before closing the car door, walking to Andrew, stopping a few feet away. Introducing your daughter, watching with difficulty as his lip quivers again, eyes never leaving his daughter's face.

"Remember when I said Papa would come home someday?" you ask, close to her ear. Nodding at your words, looking up at you, then back at Andrew. "He's home," you whisper, kissing her cheek, seeing Andrew's face as he heard it too.

Hesitating to move closer, not wanting the rejection of his own flesh and blood. Staring right at her dad, making no moves, her brain processing, connecting the man you've told her about many times to the man in front of her.

"Let's go inside and talk more," you say, walking toward the steps, taking each one slowly. Hearing Andrew follow behind, seeing from the corner of your eye your daughter looking back at her dad.

Getting to the porch, stopping at the front door, putting the house key into the lock. Opening it to your home, quickly turning on the lights, throwing the keys into a deep bowl, trusting Andrew to close the door. Walking shortly through the living room to the kitchen, turning on the light hanging over the small island, opening the fridge, getting a bottle of water, then moving to the cabinet above the bottle warmer you use on sleepless nights.

Hearing Andrew stop two steps into the room, watching you take out a bottle and formula with one hand. Continuing to give her formula into her toddler years, wanting her to get whatever nutrients it has as well as to have her full belly before bed. Sensing the many things that eat away at him in that moment, unable to ask, only able to wait until you find the words.

"I found out I was pregnant two weeks after you were arrested," you start, having to pause at the end, adding the new information to your life story.

"I got out of Oceanside after that, took the money you stashed at my place and ran. " You continue, opening the formula, putting a scoop in the bottle. "I stuck near the coast, wanting her to have some part of you and to see where she comes from, as I wasn't given any picture of you or us," you say, chest tightening, remembering the weight of the duffel bag on your feet.

Picking up the bottle of water, pouring an eye measured amount. Putting the top of the bottle on, turning to Andrew, whose eyes are still on his daughter in your arms. Shaking the bottle with a finger atop the nipple, quickly mixing the contents inside.

"How old is she?" He finally speaks, bringing a smile to your face.

"Two. Her birthday was three months ago," you state, finally handing her the bottle, kissing her cheek as she quickly starts drinking the bottle down.

Seeing her small free hand reach out toward her dad, lightly bouncing her on your hip, smiling, glancing toward Andrew. Walking toward him, leaving just enough space for him to meet her halfway, letting the two look closely at one another.

"Do you want to hold her?" you ask, gaining his eyes.

Nodding at the offer, carefully handing her off into his arms. Stiffly holding her close, both turned, looking at each other. Witnessing her little hand touch the side of his jaw, traveling up his cheek.

"She looks so much like you," you say, causing a sad smile to line his lips.

"She does," he says, shakily, glancing at you with a proud smile, then looking back to her, watching her with adoring eyes.

Reaching out to Andrew's cheek, feeling the warm surface of his face again, melting your heart. Thumb caressing the freckled skin, remembering each one, having kissed them all once.

"Andrew," you call, pulling his eyes away from her. Taking a breath, hoping with an aching heart, he gives the right answer. "Stay with us," you say, watching him nod, not having heard all of it. "No Smurf, no going back to Oceanside, only the three of us here," you state, watching as his smile slightly straightens, mind running with the life decision as your mind had once done three years ago.

"I know it's a lot, but it's the only way we can do this to give her a chance at a normal life, then the one that was given to you," you finish, feeling him lean into your hand.

"I'll stay," he confirms, nodding.

Breathing a sigh, tears burning in your eyes again, heart fluttering, impulsively leaning in, kissing Andrew's lips. Quickly kissing you back, cheeks flushing, eyes closed, mind erasing the pain of the past three years, though only for a moment.

Zipping up the second cold lunchbox, having added your sweet notes to them before they were taken off the counter. Setting them off to the side, moving on to the two drink cups, one coffee, the other juice, making sure both lids were on tight, not needing another car spill.

"You two are going to be late," you say, not having looked at the clock, needing only to rush the two out of the house. Grabbing the handle of your hot mug, taking the moment to sip the contents within it.

Hearing a set of heavy footsteps approaching, peering up from your mug, seeing the two loves of your life. Andrew, holding your daughter, who's getting too old for her dad's aging back. Setting down the mug with a smile, following them both as Andrew comes around the island.

"Sorry, we were picking between jackets," he says, prompting your eyes to your twelve-year-old, who's sitting on the forearm of her dad, looking away playfully guilty.

"I'll give you a pass today since it's your first day of seventh grade, but you need to plan your outfits the night before," you say, reaching out, tickling her side, making her squirm and giggle.

Turning back to Andrew, feeling his hand atop the bump of your belly, causing the baby within you to swim. Placing his hand over hers but turning toward the lunch boxes and drinks, picking them up.

"Your lunches," you announce, handing them out to their free hands, then the drinks.

"Are there chips in mine?" Your daughter asks, looking at her, realizing it had been directed at you.

"I don't know, your Dad packed them," you say, tucking a hair strand behind her ear.

"There is," he answers, getting a small victorious "Yes" from her.

Following the two as they turn, walking toward the front door, taking the opportunity to quickly zip the open part of her backpack that hangs from Andrew's shoulder.

Opening the door, then setting your daughter down, handing her the backpack. Moving around her dad, wrapping her arms around you, cheek pressing against your big bump. Leaning down, kissing the crown of her head, patting it down. Looking at Andrew, allowing him to lean in, getting a kiss on the lips.

Pulling away, petting your daughter's head once more, glancing at her bag, making sure everything was put together. Feeling her kiss her kicking sibling, cupping her cheek, prompting her hazel eyes to look up at you, smiling.

"Alright, have fun today, but don't go crazy, please. I can't leave the house while your brother is in my stomach," you advise her.

"No promises," she says, releasing you, dashing out the open front door.

Stealing another kiss from your husband's lips, as his hand caresses your belly. Breaking away, allowing him to bend down, kissing the hill of your pregnant belly. Fingers threading through his curls, noticing their long length. Loving the graying strands that pepper throughout it, complementing the wrinkles that start to establish themselves near his eyes.

"You need a trim," you mention, closing access to his scalp as he stands back up. "I'll cut it tonight after dinner," you say, getting a smile out of him, adoring your doting.

"Okay," he accepts, leaning in for one more kiss goodbye.

"Come on!" Hearing your daughter shout from the driveway. Laughing, breaking the kiss, playfully shoving the man toward the door. Walking out to the porch, raising a hand to your brow, blocking the morning sun from your eyes.

Watching as Andrew walks down the long staircase, meeting your daughter at the bottom, opening the car door for her. Seeing as she gets a step up, holding onto the car door, waving at you. Waving back, she finally gets in, allowing Andrew to close the door, looking at you, giving you the same wave.

Waving back just the same, seeing as Andrew disappears, walking to his side of the car. Watching as the car turns on, reverses out of the driveway, with both giving you one last wave before heading off to school and work.

Standing there even after losing sight of the car, holding your stomach, palm absorbing the kicks of the anticipated addition to your perfect family, you and Andrew worked hard to keep it together.

Breathing in, finally relaxing, all the worries and insecurities sinking into the void, no longer having a hold on you. Possessing more than everything to wake up to, loving them every second of every day, far from what you had on that front doorstep twelve years ago, having nothing.

Forgot this was supposed to be fluff halfway through writing it... whoops

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is any grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

♥ mx-pastelwriting does not consent to their fanfiction being copied, copied & credited, translated, used in videos and/or audios, screenshotted, used in AI.

"Why me? Why not ask someone else?" you ask, tiredly.

"I did, nobody's biting," Dana defends, looking around. "Plus, you were the first to treat her," she points out, eyes coming back to you.

"Um," you mumble, eyes traveling in the direction of the pedes, blocked by the exam rooms. "Sure, okay," you cave, heart aching.

"You sure?" she asks, brow slightly rising at your casual acceptance.

"Yeah, I can't stand the fact she's in a constant limbo between here and upstairs, she deserves a night in a home," you say, eyes coming back to Dana. "Also, I've babysat my friend's kid before, so babies are nothing new," you say, finally defending your previous casualness.

"Well, alright, I'll have CYF come down and talk to you, in the meantime, you can go over these," She explains, placing the packet of papers down on the desk.

"Thanks, Dana," you say, glancing at the packet.

"Thank you, it's good knowing she'll have a night in a good home," she says, softly smiling, walking away with a gentle pat to your shoulder.

Looking down at the papers as her steps fade away, grabbing the pamphlet sitting atop the pile. Reading the title, "Kinship Caregiver Navigator Program," opening it to look over the basic needs in a home.

Knowing you had a crib, though lowered for your friend's toddler, picking up her son from the babysitter's place when she gets caught up with work. Most late nights sat in the living room watching her son sleep until she knocked, paying you the next day, making it so that your husband didn't mind.

"Shit," you whisper under your breath. Hand flying to your pocket, unlocking it, opening your messages, pressing your husband's name.

Hey thoughts on babysitting tonight?

Sending the message quickly, top teeth biting onto your bottom lip, mind racing, finding a way to get your husband to agree to the fostering. Reading your text a minute after, the typing bubble popping up, twisting your gut, already knowing what he'd say.

Fine. Ask for money this time. I'm sick of payment pizza.

Smiling at his agony, always making him eat the leftover slices days after.

Well it wouldn't be her son tonight.

What are you talking about?

Lips pressing together as you type out what would be an incoherent ramble if this were happening in person. Reading over your text over and over before sending it.

We have a baby Jane Doe who had been abandoned in our bathroom earlier, she's in our pedes with rhinovirus. Pediatrics won't take her because she's too old and CYF can't find a foster home quickly enough. Then Dana came to me asking if I'd kinship the baby, and I said yes. Now a CYF worker is coming down to talk about paperwork.

Watching as the bubble of him typing pops up, only to disappear, receiving no text in return. Knowing your husband is rushing to get his things, then taking the first elevator down. Stuffing your phone back into the pocket of your scrubs, taking a big breath, turning to the computer, continuing your charting.

Finally finishing, you hear heavy footsteps stopping just outside your field of vision. Glancing up to find the man you'd married three years ago, nearly busting his lip on your teeth when kissing you at the altar, the honeymoon being no different.

"Hey, Bren," you greet, a small smile pulling at your lips, even as he gives you a hard stare.

"Dr. Park," a voice calls out, causing both of your heads to snap towards the CYF worker who's taken aback.

"Which one of you is Dr. Park?" she says, looking between the two of you.

"Both of us we're married," you answer, seeing as she perks up.

"Two doctors for a kinship must be my lucky day," she says, pulling a short rolling chair from the desk a few feet over. "Let's start so baby Jane Doe can go with you before midnight," she says, sitting down, placing the clip border on the surface of your small desk.

Completing all the paperwork under two hours, eyes peeling off the sheets of paper that are littered with both you and Brendon's signatures, reading 11:34 PM in the corner of the screen. Glancing back up, meeting your husband's eyes as the CYF worker stands up.

"Okay, you two are good to take her home," she sighs, grabbing the clipboard. "I'll let nurse Dana know," she explains, before walking off.

Taking Brendon in fully since you started, relieved as his much softer state, hair gel losing its usefulness on the sides, signaling the number of surgeries he's scrubbed in for that day. Staring at the floor, his eye bags screaming to be home, to be curled up next to you with a full belly of takeout.

Not having vocalized his disagreement with the decision to the worker, only looking at you before sighing another line. Reaching out to his knee, resting your hand atop it, softly caressing it.

"Do you want to see her?" you ask, hand stopping, gaining his attention, breathing a big sigh as his eyes come to you.

"Yeah," he sighs.

"Okay, let me get my things first," you say, standing up before he does, both of you groaning, stretching your backs before leading the way to the lockers.

Moving around the night shift, stopping in front of the blue lockers, pressing your four-digit code, hearing it clink, allowing you to open it. Taking the things from your shirt pocket, throwing them into your bag before grabbing it and your jacket out, hooking them onto your arm.

"Why'd you say yes?" he says, quietly through his teeth.

"Dana kinda jumped me with it, but I'd been the first doctor to treat her, so it was an easy yes," you explain, shutting the locker.

"So? I put someone's leg back on today, doesn't mean I feel like I should take them home," he argues, deep and hushed.

"Brendon, stop." You say, holding out a flat hand in front of him. "I have experience with babies, and we have the resources for the one night," you point out, causing his shoulders to fall with a sigh, lips closing, eyes dropping to your arm before taking your things, holding them as a silent apology.

Patting his shoulder, pushing your husband to start moving toward Pediatrics. Turning the corner, eyes landing on the windowed room, smile blooming on your lips at the sight of the cartoon painted walls.

Stopping at the door, pushing it open, hearing the light beeping of the few monitors around her crib. Quietly stepping over to her bedside, heart melting at her all bundled up, sleeping face peacefully squishing to the side. Stopping the coo that attempts to escape your lips, looking up to Brendon, seeing his face share the same thought.

Reaching with both arms, sliding your hand under her body, hearing a small, waking coo sound from her. Holding her up in your arms, lightly rocking her, stepping closer to your husband.

"Isn't she adorable?" you whisper, gazing down at her little face, seeing his hand reach out, caressing her cheek with his finger.

"Hey you two!" Dana's voice comes from behind Brendon, passing him. "I got you guys some goodies for you to take home with her," she explains, holding up the half full bag, before digging through the drawers, filling it up further.

"Is she a quiet baby?" Brendon asks, looking to Dana.

"Is that a joke?" Dana says, turning toward him, brow raised, quickly realizing he wasn't by his stone face. "She's a baby, they cry when they need to be fed and changed, but the rhinovirus makes her a bit more fussy," she explains, closing the final drawer.

Lifting the big bag with both hands, going over to Brendon, groaning at the weight when taking it from her hands, biceps flexing. Fighting to hold back a laugh, his stare causes you to swallow it as Dana pats his back.

"She just had a bottle 3 hours ago, so she might need another bottle when you get home. She's also just had a dose of Tylenol, so you three are good to go," she says, smiling, lightly fixing her little beanie.

"Thank you, Dana," you say, hearing your husband follow with a small "Thank you".

"Of course, I'll see you in the morning," she smiles, opening the door. Following her out into the hall, bright lights causing baby Jane Doe to fuss, hands fighting the tight swaddle she's in.

"Shh," you hush, rocking her as you follow Brendon out.

"Wow, baby already," a voice says as you walk by, glancing up, seeing Princess smirking.

"We're fostering baby Jane Doe, princess," you explain, smiling yourself.

"You're better than me. If he were my husband, I would've been on the fourth," she comments, playfully lifting up her brows. Laughing it off, passing by the hub, saying goodnight to Ahmad, gliding through the ambulance doors.

Breathing in the cool night air, keeping baby Jane close to your chest, traveling around the building to the parking lot. Following Brendon closely as he spots the car before you, going down half the length of the parking lot before slowing to a stop at the car. Popping the trunk first, watching Brendon from the side, placing all the bags that hung onto his body, then shutting the lid softly, not to startle the baby in your arms.

Moving with him to the left side of the car, standing some distance behind as he opens the back door with the adjustable car seat, always keeping it on board for when babysitting after work. Leaning in the car to adjust it as your hands are full, quickly hearing him groan, tugging at the plastic of the car seat, leaning out of the car looking defeated.

"It's stuck," he announces, chest rising and falling with deep breaths.

"Let me try," you offer, stepping closer.

"I don't think it'll move," he breathes, shaking his head.

"Brendon, just let me try," you say, carefully lifting the baby from your chest, beginning to hand her to him. Taking her awkwardly, hand resting only on her back, legs dangling, causing her to fuss. "That's not how you hold a baby," you say, one hand holding up her head while the other works to guide his hands.

"Then how? I've never held one," he admits, trying to follow your hands. Eyes flickering to his face, checking if your husband was serious, but his blue orbs don't meet you, focusing on the chaos below.

"Here, like this", you guide, taking your husband's hands one by one, making sure his arm holds most of her body while the other wraps around supporting her head and shoulder. "There, you got it, now move," you say, gently leading his body to the side with a nudge.

Leaning into the car, faintly remembering how to adjust the car seat used mostly by a toddler you see three nights of the week. Finding the button that allows you to push the seat in on itself, hearing a click, you lean back out.

"Okay, let me see her," you sigh, holding out your hands, interrupting the small moment of Brendon's eyes stuck on her adorable face.

Gaze snapping up, finding you smiling at him, both not saying a word as he carefully passes her off to you, shoulders pressing forward as he does, not allowing a gap to form between you. Awkwardly removing the swaddle she's in with some protest from her, dressed in the simple hospital button onesie. Supporting baby Jane's head, leaning into the car again, placing her into the car seat.

Hearing the driver's door open as you buckle the cute baby in, giving a tug to the straps, making sure they're just right. Feeling the air conditioning start as you back out, shutting the door as softly as you could manage. Traveling around the car, Brendon walks around the front, meeting you there, opening the door for you. Hand holding it, standing at the side of it, collecting a kiss from you.

"How was your shift?" he asks, as the kiss breaks, bringing a welcomed sense of deja vu. Kissing his lips once more before answering, smiling against his lips.

"Fine, how was yours? I heard you worked on an amputation today," you say, causing his smile to drop a little, reminding Brendon of his hissing words back at the lockers.

"Yeah," He breathes, memory stinging him. "I'm sorry," he says, quiet enough the wind could blow it away, but still you take it, getting in the car with it.

Closing the door when you're in, looking to the backseat while putting on your seatbelt, not watching as he walks around the car, opening the driver's side. Seeing baby Jane's eyes open, looking around sleepily. Hearing Brendon groan, getting in, looking back as he shuts the door, buckling in, then getting the three of you out of the parking lot and towards home.

Hand resting atop your thigh, palm warm against your clothed skin, sending a flutter up your spine. Flying through green lights, allowing the peaceful silence to wash over both of you, no more beeping monitors, shuffling of feet, or ramblings of patients. Entangling your fingers with his, sighing, no longer breathing in the strong smell of sterilization, only its faint imprint on all of your clothing.

"Are you going to the gym in the morning?" you ask as his hand lifts off your thigh, helping to turn the wheel at a big intersection.

"No, I'm not leaving you home alone with a baby," he answers, quickly putting his hand back onto your thigh, squeezing its surface. Smile blooming on your face, already picturing your morning, snuggled up in each other's arms, a rarity only granted on his days off.

Pulling into your driveway with a final turn, crawling up to a stop, still feeling the new home glow. Buying it together as a wedding present for yourselves, being on your honeymoon when the paperwork went through, putting down signatures the day you came back.

Taking the keys out, unbuckling himself quickly while popping open the door, not wanting to leave you sitting in the off car for long. Looking to the back seat as your husband walks around the front of the car, seeing baby Jane passed out, cheek smushed against the carseat's cushion. Hearing your door open, turning back around, stepping from the car.

"I'll get the baby, you get the bags," you say, as he closes the door, receiving a nod from him, kissing his lips before acting out your roles.

Strolling around the car, losing Brendon at the trunk, cautiously opening the back door. Unbuckling her, moving the straps around her arms, getting furrowed brows from her,

"I know, I'm sorry I keep waking you," you say, rocking her, closing the door.

Approaching the front door just as Brendon shuts the truck, waiting at the side, watching as he hauls all three of your bags. Keys shuffling in his barely free hand, stuffing it into the lock. Opening the door, leaving you to shut the door behind him, nudging it close, tilting her close to your chest, allowing a free hand to detach, locking the door.

Kicking your work shoes off, sighing at the cooling relief of your sweaty socks out in the open, stepping further into the home, seeing Brendon having already hung up your bags on the wall. Hearing the water running from the end of the hall, already taking his after-work shower, leaving you with a fussy baby.

Rocking her into the living room, setting her on the couch, allowing you to adjust the crib's flooring up to an infant setting. Digging out the toys in it, along with a thin blanket and its sheets, throwing them onto the floor, meaning to wash them minutes after changing them with the new sheets, socked under the changing table.

Finishing with the final corner, stretching your back while turning toward the couch, picking up the blanket she was once swaddled in, laying it down next to her on the couch. Lifting to lay her in the center, wrapping her up, before picking her up, placing baby Jane inside the crib.

"There, now you can sleep," you whisper, fixing her little hat.

Grabbing the sheets and toys from the floor, making your way to the laundry room, quickly tossing them into the washing machine. Peeling off your scrubs, throwing them in as well, sighing, walking toward your shared bedroom, the sound of running water becoming louder, approaching the bathroom. Steam slapping you in the face, fighting not to peek at your husband through the steamed shower glass.

Stealing Brendon's clothes from the floor, slipping out before he notices you in your underwear, crouched with his clothes in your arms. Closing the bathroom door, walking back to the laundry room, tossing his before starting the washing cycle.

Turning to the sink, turning on the water before scrubbing your hands up to your elbows, trying not to get sick. Drying off with a hand towel folded on a shelf above the sink. Shuffling over to the dyer, opening the heavy door, plucking random pieces from the mix of both of your clothing you'd been meaning to fold for the past few days. Putting them on, then heading to the kitchen, opening the cabinet underneath the sink, taking the can of disinfectant.

Stepping into the living room, spraying the spot where Baby Jane lay down, placing the can down onto the coffee table, traveling a few more steps to your bag. Fishing out your phone, finally able to crash down on the couch.

Dialing the number to the restaurant that knew both of you too well, thankful they were open until 3 AM, or you'd burn your house down sleepily trying to cook something. Hearing the line ring, just as your husband walks out into the living room, the simple confirmation of a "yes" to your usual order nearly fails to leave your lips at the sight of him. Hair, wet, and loose, a few stains falling in front of his forehead, clothed more comfortably, biceps more prominent with his shirt's short sleeve.

Inhaling the thick scent of his soap and skin care, moisture lathered on his face and chest, conditioning your mind for bed, aching to be lulled into sleep with his close warmth. Scooting closer toward your husband, happily trapped in the scent of him, tossing your phone atop the couch, arms wrapping around his.

"They'll be here in ten minutes," you say, getting an acknowledged hum from him. Releasing his arm as he leans, grabbing the remote to turn on the TV. "Turn the volume down," you say, tapping his forearm, receiving a hard browed look.

"Why?" he asks, letting the TV play at a loud volume.

"Because she's sleeping, Bren," you say, causing his eyes to look a few feet from the couch, hearing her start to wake. Finally turning down the TV, though not without a grumbled sigh from your husband. "Oh, hush," you say, getting up from the couch.

"Where are you going?" He asks, voice light with exhausted irritation.

"I'm going to make her a bottle, so she can pass out," you say, walking the short distance to the kitchen.

Opening the cabinet above the coffee station, having a can of powdered formula for the night, when your friend would be a bit late picking up her son, being the one to give him his last bottle for the night. Dumping the first scoop into the bottle, hearing her cries grow louder.

"Brendon, can you get here?" you ask, over her cries.

"How?" He says, hearing the cluelessness in his voice, causing your eyes to slightly roll.

"Just pick her up, and rock her," you instruct, trying not to sound too harsh, knowing he wasn't any good when your friend's kid was her age, though then you mostly spent the night at her home, Brendon being there only to pick you up.

Finishing fixing the bottle, popping the cap on, continuously shaking it on the way back. Welcomed by the domestic sight of your husband, holding, rocking her cartoonishly side-to-side, causing your lips to thin, squishing a smile.

"Rock her softer," you correct, catching his eyes that flicker up then down, fixing his motion.

Witnessing baby Jane relax, still whining from hunger, satisfying it once leading the bottle into her mouth. Holding the bottle as she drinks, cooing softly, slowing Brendon's rocking to a full stop. Adoring the quiet bundle in your husband's arms, the chime of a doorbell breaks the moment.

"Here, hold it," you prompt, letting go once his hand holds the bottle, allowing you to race over to Brendon's bag. Digging for his wallet, pulling out a cash tip before opening the front door, trading bag for money.

Smiling at the engulfing scent of food, closing the door, tapping it in your home. Prancing back into the living room, Brendon being where you left him. Setting down the plastic bag onto the coffee table, crashing down upon the couch, ripping open the takeout. Laying out your boxes, glancing up at Brendon's lack of movement, too focused on feeding baby Jane.

"Come sit," you say, patting the cushion next to you.

"She's eating," He responds, looking up at you, body still refusing to move.

"Bren, you can move while they eat," you inform, watching as he goes quiet, eyes flickering to the baby before cautiously moving toward the couch.

Utilizing all the hours he spends training his core and legs to steadily crane himself down onto the couch cushion, back stiffening straight, eyes stuck on the sight of her. Hands stopping their work on the food, soaking in the sweet domestic sight of your husband, lips parted, aiding the concentration on her face.

Heart melting at her hand reaching up, touching the bottle and Brendon's hand, her completely relaxed state contrasting his anxiety fixed stature. A small smile lines your lips, knowing both would pass out as soon as their body hit something soft, one from a belly full of milk, the other from habit.

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is any grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

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