He used to want to come home to the quiet of his house, to feed the stray cat outside and maybe read a little before bed. He used to like to sleep in on his off days, to spend the time couch rotting with a good book or some mind numbing TV. He used to like ordering takeout and never leaving the house unless he had to.

He saw enough action at work, anyway. no need for more of it.

But you are living life for the very first time and taking advantage of every second of it. Occasionally you'll sleep in until ten, if he's lucky. But you're out the door by eleven. Shopping or visiting museums or driving three hours to a store for some product that finally says it's back in stock.

And Robby—god. He loved to trail behind you the whole time.

He liked to carry your shopping bags and watch you try on clothes just to put them back. He liked to watch you order something new at a restaurant and see your reaction. He liked to watch as you take a hundred photos on your phone and even let you pose him so it turned out exactly like the vision in your head.

He liked hearing your giggle when you turned your phone to show him some silly TikTok he doesn't understand.

He even liked staying out late now, because you're always at a bar or a club. Always on the dance floor with a drink in your hand. Robby liked to watch you dance wildly, liked to watch the lights reflect in your eyes, liked to come home covered in your body glitter and your coconut perfume and your love.

In truth, Robby had been a little nervous thinking about the first time you'd sleep together. Worried he couldn't keep up with you, that you'd want him more often than his age would allow.

Cause, ya know—he's twice your age, and his stamina isn't what it used to be, and you're so alive and so bright and he's so…him. A little grumpy and a whole lot tired.

But what Robby discovered after some time is that his desire for you overshadowed all else.

He looked at your smiling face and all the nerves settled in his head, going from a raging storm to still waters in an instant.

He wanted your first time together to be romantic. Maybe he'd cook you some pasta and the two of you could get wine drunk and stumble up into his bedroom late one evening, and he'd be real sweet and soft. He wanted to make love to you. Wanted you to know just how much you brighten his life, wanted you to know just how cherished you really are.

But what actually happened is far from romantic.

It's not in his bed or even his house. It's in the back of his car, in broad daylight, on a random side street one rainy, Tuesday afternoon.

You'd asked him to stop and try that new coffee place downtown before you went to meet Trinity and Dennis for lunch. The downpour had intensified while you were inside ordering, and by the time you'd ran back to the car you'd both gotten drenched.

An event that would've irritated Robby before you, but how could he be upset about the rain and his wet hair and the droplets on his glasses when you were laughing about it? How could he be upset or irritated when you wore the sweetest smile?

You'd leaned across the center console, took his face in your cold hands, and pressed your mouth to his. you always tasted so sweet, and the combination of your warm tongue against his and the cool, wet slide of the rain on your lips—god. It had him weak in the knees.

Arousal pooled low in his gut instantaneously. He tried to think of other things. Gross things, terrifying things, of anything but you. None of it worked to erase the intensity of his desire.

He was ten minutes away from the diner when he pulled over and admitted what was going on. "Sweetheart, I'm…I'm really sorry, I know you were looking forward to this but I think we might have to cancel."

A crease formed between your brows, and it pained him to see it. "What? Why? What's going on, are you okay?"

Robby's face warmed, and he knew he should probably lie. Make up some fluke of an excuse as to why he'd suddenly had a change of heart and needed to return home at the very last second. But the look in your eyes was full of true concern, and Robby knew he'd never be able to lie. Not to you.

So, he took it on the chin. Swallowed down his embarrassment and said, "Yeah, yeah. But…uhm—when you…when you kissed me, it was really…" he laughed, fingers fidgeting. "It felt really nice. Too nice, actually, and—"

"Oh," you interrupted. "You're hard?"

The words are said so plainly, as if there's nothing wrong with the fact that he'd gotten this worked up over something as small as a kiss. Robby shook his head. "I've tried to get it to go away, but," he scoffed. "It's not—uh, not working, so—"

"Well, let me help you." Your lips turned up at the corners, a knowing smirk forming. you unbuckled your seatbelt and moved closer, leaning over the center console until your mouth is a breath away from his. "Is it okay if I touch you?"

Robby's head turned, glancing out of the rain-clouded windows. There was no one around, and he very much wanted you to touch him, but— "Are you sure? Here?"

Your nod is both certain and enthusiastic. "What better place than here and now?"

He laughed. "Anywhere would be better than here," he said. "My bed, your bed, the damn couch, for christ's sa—"

You palmed at his bulge through the too-thick fabric of his jeans. "Yeah? That's where you wanna fuck me, Mikey? The couch?" Your voice was low and teasing in his ear, sending shivers up his spine.

Robby swallowed, muscles slackening beneath your touch. You squeezed his length in your hand, stroking him with your thumb.

"Or…" you began. "Do you wanna fuck me here?" Your other hand joined the first, aiding so you could unbutton his jeans and slide your hand down the front of them.

He's not wearing boxers—Robby can't stand the extra fabric and the way it bunches—and suddenly your hand was wrapped tight around his aching cock. His head tilted back against the seat, eyes closed as you whispered against the shell of his ear.

"You're even bigger than I thought you'd be. Gonna feel so—so full, when you're inside me." you said, stroking his cock with the perfect amount of pressure. "I think about you fucking me a lot, Mikey. You're just so strong and so big and so fuckin' sexy. You remember when I asked you to send me those pictures when you were in the shower? I've touched myself to them so many times."

It killed him to hear it. To imagine you with your fingers on your clit or buried deep inside you while you're thinking about him. His cock pulsed, throbbing with desire. "This isn't—fuck—this isn't how it's supposed to be. I'm supposed to—to be sweet. Dinner and wine and rose—jesus—rose petals and—"

"I don't want rose petals today," you murmured. You licked at his neck, wet tongue sliding up over his pulse, over the stubble there that he's gone a day too long without shaving. "What I want is to suck your cock. Can I do that, Mikey?"

Robby was nodding before he could think any better of it. He lifts his hips just enough to pull his jeans down, cock springing free and resting against his belly, reaching just below his navel. It's thick and aching for you, resting just on top of the dark hair of his happy trail. "'Course you can, baby."

The smile you gave him in response is nothing short of earth-shattering.

Robby doesn't think anyone has ever seemed this eager for him. No one's been so desperate for it. The realization made him feel dizzy with affection for you and the way you worship him, the way you trust him.

You leaned over the center console, took his cock in one hand, and pressed a wet kiss to his tip. Your mouth is so soft and so sweet and so warm. Your tongue swirled around his length as you eased him into your mouth, tracing each vein over and over as if for memorization.

Robby didn't know where to put his hands. He wanted to touch you, to smooth your hair back away from your face. He wanted to reach over and squeeze the supple flesh of your ass through your leggings. He wanted to reach lower, to press his fingers against your folds through the cotton fabric until you moaned for him.

But he didn't know what was too much, or what wasn't enough, and—

You suddenly swallowed him down, taking all of him in your mouth, nose pressed to the thick hair at the base of his cock and it felt so fucking good that he nearly finishes right then and there.

And Robby, on instinct, grabbed the back of your neck to steady himself. "Oh fuck," he choked out. "Careful, pretty girl. Careful, careful—"

You slowly leaned back, mouth sealed tight around him, sucking hard until his cock pops out from between your lips. You turned your head to look up at him, slapping the underside of his length lewdly against your tongue. Spit bubbled at the corners of your mouth, sliding messily down your chin. "I love sucking your cock," you said.

A smile stretched across his face. Real and true and happy. "Yeah?"

You nodded in response, teary eyes alight with desire. "Mhm."

"Well, it's not fair for you to have all the fun now, is it?" Robby's fingers curled around the back of your neck, pulling you up and off of him. He guided your mouth to his, the kiss wet this time in a whole different way. His free hand found your neck, bracketing your throat completely between his big hands.

You moaned against his tongue and Robby smiled against your lips.

He pulled away only to instruct, "Why don't you go ahead an' get in the back seat for me, baby."

A grin formed on your face—pretty and submissive and alive with hunger. Robby could get real addicted to this, he thought. Real addicted to you.

He let go of your throat, and watched as you hurriedly did as told. Obedient little thing, so perfect.

Robby followed closely behind. He reached tbeneath the passenger seat to push it forward. The space is too small for him; cramped even when he bends on aching knees to the floor of the back seat.

Kneeling between your thighs, Robby hooked his fingers around the waistband of your leggings and pulled them down, over your high top sneakers. His hands come to feel the softness of your exposed skin, roaming up and beneath your shirt, feeling you this close for the very first time.

Robby palmed your breasts over the fabric of your bra, thumbs running over the subtle swells of your peaked nipples. "You're so pretty," he mused, leaning forward to press a wet, open-mouthed kiss just above your navel.

His mouth traveled downward, peppering kisses across your belly until his lips met the fabric of your panties. Robby delighted in the shiver you gave as the warmth of his breath fanned across your cunt. He pressed a kiss right over your clit and grinned to himself as your spine arched.

"Let's take these off, yeah?"

You nodded eagerly, and Robby didn't waste time before pulling your panties away.

"Oh, look at that," Robby muttered. He brought his hand between your legs and slid his fingers gently through your arousal. "So fuckin' wet, isn't she? This all for me, baby?"

"Yes," you breathed out. "Need you, Mikey. So bad."

"I know you do. S'alright, I've got you." Robby took his glasses off and set them on the leather seat beside you, before leaning forward and kissing you right where you needed him most. A shallow breath stuttered out of your chest, but he doesn't give you a moment to gather yourself. His tongue darts out, licking you from your entrance to your clit and then circling.

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. Robby obliged your silent instruction, suckling your clit into his mouth and flicking his tongue over the pulsing nerves.

His heart was beating fast in his chest, his cock aching to be inside you. He had one hand on your breast, and brought the other to your cunt. Robby finds your opening with two gentle fingers and pushed them in.

"Oh god," you cried out. "That's so good. You feel so—fuck."

Robby curled his fingers inside of you, pushing hard against the softest spot."Talk to me, pretty girl," he urged. "Tell me what feels good."

"M-maybe a little…hmm—a little faster?"

He quickened the pace of his fingers and licked at your clit more feverishly, humming when you give a little gasp in response.

"Fuck—yes, yes. Like that. And—your fingers just a little deeper—just—"

Robby listened like a trained dog, heeding your every beck and call. He pressed deeper, thrusting his fingers upwards until—

"Ohmygod, yes—just like that, just like that please. Don't stop, don't stop—"

He doesn't. Robby licked and sucked at your clit until his spit dripped down onto the leather seat below you. He groaned low at the taste of your arousal, ambrosia made just for him. sweet and youthful and delectable.

He didn't deserve it, Robby knew. Your desire, your love, your light. But he'll eat it all up for as long as you continue to give it.

You clenched around his fingers and Robby pulled his mouth away, strings of saliva snapping against his chin. "You about to cum, baby?"

"Yes, yes, please, Mikey I need it—!"

"Nuh-uh," he said with a shake of his head. He pulled back fully, sliding his fingers out of you and rising to his full height. "M'gonna watch the first time you cum for me. Wanna see it on your face. Wanna feel you milk my cock 'til I fill up that sweet little pussy of yours."

A whimper left your mouth, and Robby could do nothing but smile cause he knew. He knew how needy you feel, how frantic that desire made you. He knew because it lived in him, too.

He pressed your legs upwards, setting the soles of your sneakers against the edge of the backseat. He grabbed at the collar of his shirt and pulled it over his head before picking up his glasses and setting them back on his face. "Take it all off," Robby ordered. "Let me see you."

You do as told, quickly adding your hoodie and bra to the growing pile of discarded clothes.

Robby took a minute just to absorb it all; to memorize the way you looked, spread out for him in the backseat of his car, eyes glassy and pupils blown wide. You're the prettiest little thing. Half his age, half his heart.

That four letter L word flitted across his mind, but Robby doesn't give life to it.

Not yet, anyway.

He dragged his hand down the center of your chest instead, but thought you must be able to feel the love in it, manifesting at the very tips of his fingers.

"I want you inside me," you whispered, bringing your hand to his against your chest, holding tight to his knuckles.

Robby nodded and took his cock in his free hand, sliding it through the syrupy wetness between your legs before he lined himself up with your entrance. He pressed his cock in, just the head at first. Enough for him to notch himself there so he can wrap his hand around the back of your neck instead.

He forced you to look at him, eyes locked together as he slowly pushed all the way inside.

You breathed out synchronized sighs of relief the moment he's seated fully inside you, cock pressed right up against your womb.

You're so tight around him, so wet and warm and perfect. Robby began to gently rock his hips, keeping you steady with his heavy hands. One on your chest, the other at the back of your neck. He can feel your heart beating beneath his palm, pulse elevated in the way his likely is.

"God, Mikey—"

You don't need to ask him to quicken his pace, not this time. Robby heard it in your voice. And some old dogs could certainly learn new tricks.

He finds a rhythm that has your eyes threatening to roll back. The perfect tempo, filling you up and fucking you deep. "My girl," he muttered. "My pretty girl. So good to me. Fuck."

Your spine arched off the back of the leather seat, chest pressed more firmly against his hand. "That's so good, so'fucking—mmm."

"Touch yourself for me, baby," Robby said.

You find your clit and circle it with deft, practiced fingers. Robby took note of the direction you move, cataloging the information for later. "It's so—so big—"

"I know, sweet girl. But you can take it, hm? Can't you?"

"Yes, yes—don't stop, please don't stop I'm so close, I'm so—"

The words are broken in your mouth, overtaken by a wanton moan.

"I know you are," he whispered. "Can feel her squeezing me real tight. You gonna cum for me already?"

He'd said it as a taunt, but in truth Robby was no better. He'd been fighting off his own release from the very moment he'd slid his cock inside you.

"Look at me," he ordered, fingers flexed around the back of your neck. And once you do, a satisfied smile formed on his mouth. "Good. Good. Now cum for me, baby. Give it to me."

Your breath halted, the exhale stuck in your chest. And then Robby could feel your cunt pulse around him, and you let out a ragged whimper as your release rocked through you. "Cum with me, please," you cried. "Want you to cum inside, Mikey."

That's what did him in; the sound of your voice, whining out his name. A moniker he only ever allowed you to call him. So fitting, coming from the soft, bright thing you are. "Shit," he hissed, his own orgasm clouding the edges of his vision. "Takin' it all, huh? Yeah, that's it. That's my girl."

He didn't stop, not until he was well and truly spent. Until he'd fucked all of his release into your cunt, until his cock was sensitive and your breathing evened out beneath his palm.

Robby pressed his mouth to yours tenderly and could feel your smile as it formed. He pulled away, stuffed himself back into his jeans and asked, "What's so funny?"

You shook your head. "Nothing, just…I think Trin is calling me."

It's only when you say it that Robby finally heard the buzzing coming from the front seat. He reached towards it, taking your forgotten phone in his hand and examining the screen to find a photo of Trinity with her head in your lap.

Robby remembered the night he'd taken the photo, some third shift party at John's place you'd insisted on crashing. You'd made friends with Trinity in two seconds flat when she'd confessed her part in his Tinder profile to you, much to Robby's dismay.

He passed the device to you. "Wanna answer it?"

You took your phone, clicked the screen once, and pressed it to your ear. "We're late, I'm sorry, I know," you laughed. "We're on our way. Got stuck in traffic. Order me one of those strawberry lemonades."

Robby helped you find your clothes, tugging your panties back over your legs and righting them around your hips. Your leggings were next, and he tried not to think about his cum that slowly spilled out of you to avoid another stop on the way to the diner.

Robby couldn't fight his grin as he found his shirt to pull it back over his head.

"Trin, no. A shot? It's not even noon—well, yeah, now it is, but—!"

You both climbed to the front of his car, and Robby reached over to buckle you in.

"Well…I mean, if it's a mimosa…"

Robby laughed as he turned the key in the ignition. Knew right then and there he'll probably spend half the afternoon taking care of you, but knew good and well that he'd love every moment of it.

He promised himself he'd give you those rose petals later.

But for now, the vibrancy you've painted in his heart is enough.

It sounded simple enough. Now, standing in the middle of his workplace again, you’re questioning every decision that brought you here.

Your last visit hadn’t exactly been subtle.

You’d walked into the emergency department, found Michael in front of half the staff, and loudly informed everyone that he had married you in Las Vegas, gotten you pregnant, and left you alone naked in a hotel room.

Heat creeps up your neck. “Maybe I should’ve just met him at the office.”

Your hand slips into your pocket, already reaching for your phone. You can still text him.

Actually, never mind. I’ll meet you there.

You haven’t even unlocked your screen before a voice carries across the department.

“Well, I’ll be damned, look what the cat dragged in.”

You freeze.

A blonde woman in navy scrubs looks up from the nurses’ station. Her hair is neatly pulled back, a stethoscope draped around her neck, her nurse leader badge clipped to the front of her scrub top. She somehow looks completely at ease in the middle of the chaos.

Her smile widens. “I was wondering when we’d see you again, Mrs. Robinavitch.”

A laugh escapes somewhere between amused and mortified. “Mrs. Robinavitch, huh?”

Dana smiles. “Well, technically.”

You shake your head, laughing despite yourself. “So everyone remembers.”

Dana gives you an amused look. “Honey, you walked into a busy emergency department and announced the guy running the place was your runaway husband. That’s not exactly forgettable.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh. “I was kind of hoping I’d been replaced by somebody else’s workplace scandal.”

Dana laughs. “Nice try.” She steps away from the nurses’ station and offers her hand. “I’m Dana, by the way. We never actually got around to introducing ourselves.”

You shake it. “It’s nice to officially meet you.”

“Likewise.” Only then does her gaze drift to the gentle curve beneath your shirt. Her smile softens. “Well,” she says warmly. “Somebody’s gotten bigger.”

Almost instinctively, your hand settles over your stomach. “They’ve definitely made themselves at home.”

“I’ll bet.” She gives your hand a quick squeeze before slipping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a brief side hug that carefully avoids your stomach. “There.”

She steps back with a satisfied nod. “Now quit standing there looking like you’re planning your escape.”

You laugh. “Was it that obvious?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” She gestures toward the entrance. “I’ve been doing this too long. I can spot that look from across the parking lot.”

You rub the back of your neck, glancing around the department. “In hindsight…” You sigh. “Announcing my entire personal life to an emergency department probably wasn’t my finest moment.”

Dana barks out a laugh. “Probably not.”

“I’ve replayed that day in my head more times than I’d like to admit.”

“Don’t.”

You look up. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.” She leans against the counter, folding her arms. “This is an emergency department.” She motions toward the organized chaos around you. “We meet people on some of the worst days of their lives. Nobody walked away from that thinking less of you.”

A trauma team hurries past. Someone calls for respiratory. An overhead page crackles through the speakers.

“You were having one of those days.”

A small smile tugs at your lips. “You could say that.”

“Honey, nobody expected you to stroll in here smiling after finding out you were married, pregnant, and your husband had disappeared.”

You look down with a quiet laugh. “For what it’s worth…” Your thumb absently traces the strap of your purse. “I really was out of my mind that day.”

Dana snorts. “Oh,” She smiles. “We noticed.”

Despite yourself, you laugh. “I still can’t believe I did that.”

“And yet…” Dana shrugs. “It wouldn’t even crack the top twenty craziest things I’ve seen happen in this department.”

“I find that both comforting and deeply concerning.”

“It should.” She grins. “I’ve been screamed at. I’ve had things thrown at me. I’ve been called names I can’t repeat.” She pauses. “And one guy tried to bite Robby.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Seriously?”

“He missed.”

A genuine laugh escapes your lips. “Well good for him.”

Dana laughs with you. “So trust me, nobody here is judging you.”

You tilt your head. “I feel like that’s only partially true.”

“Okay.” Dana admits with a grin. “We’re definitely still laughing about it.”

You groan, covering your face with one hand. “I knew it.”

“But we’re laughing at Robby.”

You lower your hand. “Michael?”

“Oh, absolutely.” She chuckles to herself. “I’ve worked with that man long enough that I don’t even want to count the years.”

A fond smile settles across her face.

“I’ve seen him keep his cool through traumas, mass casualties, families screaming at him, residents panicking…” She shrugs. “I’ve seen him in situations that would’ve rattled just about anybody.”

Her grin widens. “I have never seen Michael Robinavitch look as completely lost as he did when you walked through those doors.”

A reluctant smile tugs at your lips. “I guess I did that.”

“You really did.” Dana’s smile softens. “He came back from his sabbatical,” Her gaze turns toward the treatment rooms. “We were all just glad to have him home.” Her smile returns. “Then one afternoon his pregnant wife walked into the emergency department and announced he’d accidentally gotten married in Las Vegas.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Michael so speechless.”

You laugh. “That look on his face was exactly why I wanted to smack him.”

Dana smiles knowingly. “See? I knew that look. He wasn’t playing dumb.” She shakes her head, laughing softly. “He was trying to figure out how his life had unraveled in about thirty seconds.”

You smile, shaking your head. “That somehow makes it worse.”

The two of you laugh together, the memory somehow funnier now than it had ever seemed at the time.

The tightness in your chest finally begins to ease. Your eyes drift toward the elevators. 

“I can entertain myself for a few minutes. I’ll just wait over there until Michael comes down. He said he’d meet me here so we could go to my appointment together.”

Dana looks at you like you’d suggested standing outside in the rain. “Oh, absolutely not.”

You blink. “What?”

“You’re waiting with me.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“No, you won’t.”

“I am a fully grown adult.”

“I know.”

A mischievous smile spreads across her face as she hooks her arm through yours. “That’s why I’m kidnapping you.”

Before you can protest, she steers you toward the nurses’ station.

“C’mon.”

You have a feeling you aren’t getting out of this quietly.

The emergency department carries on around you. A resident hurries past with a chart tucked beneath one arm. Two nurses work together to settle an agitated patient outside one of the trauma bays. Someone calls for an ultrasound machine while a monitor chimes somewhere down the hall.

Life in the emergency department doesn’t stop just because someone walks through the front doors. Still enough people notice.

Dana rests her forearms on the counter. “Princess.”

Princess hums without looking up from the chart in front of her. “Hm?”

Dana steps to the side. “Look who stopped by.”

Princess glances up. At first, she just looks confused. Then she actually sees you. Her eyes widen. “No.”

Dana doesn’t say a word. She simply watches, a smile already tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Princess looks from your face to the curve of your stomach and back again. “No,” she says again, already laughing. “You’re kidding.”

You can’t help smiling. “I’m afraid not.”

Princess stares another second, then points at you like she’s just solved a mystery. “You’re Robby’s Vegas wife.”

A laugh escapes before you can stop it.

“Well,” you shrug. “I guess that’s my official title now.”

“Pretty much.”

Dana’s grin only grows.

Princess immediately twists toward the nurse beside her. “Perlah.”

“Hm?”

“Look up.”

Perlah barely lifts her head at first. “If this is another dog—” 

Her eyes find you. The rest of the sentence dies somewhere in the middle. “Oh, shit.”

Princess beams, looking far too pleased with herself.

“I told you Robby wouldn’t be able to hide her forever.”

Perlah mutters something in a different language you couldn’t understand, still looking at you. Then a smile slowly pulls across her face.

“So this is Mrs. Robinavitch.”

You laugh, rubbing the back of your neck. “I think I like ‘Vegas Wife’ better.”

Princess grins. “Lucky for you, so do we.”

Dana gives you an apologetic smile that isn’t apologetic in the slightest. “Once this department gives you a nickname, it tends to stick.” She pats the empty chair. “Now tell us how you’ve been.”

You settle onto the chair, letting your purse rest beside your feet.

Dana gestures toward your stomach. “How far along are you now?”

“Twenty-seven weeks.”

Her eyebrows lift. “Already?”

You nod. “As of yesterday.”

“How’ve you been?”

“I’ve been good.”

Princess gives you a look that clearly says, ‘That’s it?’

“That’s the boring answer.”

You laugh. “It’s the honest one.”

Dana shakes her head. “No, that’s the polite answer.”

Princess points at you. “We all work in healthcare. You can’t get away with that here. Tell the truth.”

You glance between the three of them before letting out a defeated sigh.

“Fine… My back hurts all the time.” You hold up a finger. “My feet swell if I stand too long.” Another finger. “Rolling over in bed has somehow become a three-step process.” A third. “I haven’t slept through the night in weeks because somebody apparently thinks three in the morning is the perfect time to practice gymnastics.”

Dana nods along with each complaint. “Mm-hmm.”

“Heartburn?” Perlah asks.

You point at her. “Constantly.”

Dana winces sympathetically. “Pelvic pain?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Short of breath?”

You sigh. “Going up the stairs is becoming a group project.”

Dana laughs. “Now that’s twenty-seven weeks.” She tilts her head. “So…” A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “How’s Dad Robby doing?”

You blink. “Dad Robby?”

Princess shrugs. “That’s what we’ve been calling him.”

You can’t help but let out a dramatic sigh. “Well, Dad Robby wants to lock me up in a bubble.”

Dana smiles knowingly. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”

“No.” You shake your head. “You don’t understand.”

Princess leans forward. “Oh, this should be good.”

“I dropped a spoon last week.”

Nobody says a word. Three expectant faces stare back at you.

“I bent over to pick it up.”

Dana raises an eyebrow. “And?”

“He told me to stop.” You shake your head. “Then he picked it up himself. Like I couldn’t have done that.”

Princess playfully rolls her eyes. “Sounds about right.”

“I tried carrying a grocery bag.”

“One?” Princess asks.

“One. And he took it away.”

Perlah nods. “Also expected.”

You look between them. “You guys aren’t surprised by any of this?”

Dana smiles. “Not by Dad Robby.” She gestures around the department. “Work Robby? He’ll hand a resident six patients…”

Princess nods. “Then disappear.”

Dana laughs. “Not disappear. Just hover from across the department.”

Perlah nods. “He lets us do our jobs.”

“Until somebody looks confused,” Princess adds. “Then suddenly he’s standing beside you asking what your plan is.”

Dana points toward you. “And somehow you ended up with the opposite version.”

Princess grins. “You’ve apparently lost all independent function.”

“And at home?” Princess grins. “You’ve apparently lost all independent function.”

You laugh. “Pretty much. I told him I could carry the groceries.”

“And?”

“He said, ‘I know you can. Humor me.’”

Dana smiles into her coffee. “Yep. That’s Dad Robby.”

Princess shakes her head with a grin.  “I knew he’d hover. I just didn’t realize he’d be one minor inconvenience away from wrapping you in bubble wrap.”

“Who’s wrapping who in bubble wrap?”

The voice comes from behind the nurses’ station.

You turn as a young resident rounds the corner, a patient chart tucked beneath one arm. She slows when she notices the small crowd gathered around you.

Princess smirks. “Dad Robby apparently decided baby mama here isn’t allowed to do anything by herself anymore.”

The resident looks at you. Then at your stomach. Recognition flashes across her face.

“Holy shit.” She points at you. “You’re the Vegas wife.”

You nod. “That’s me.”

She walks the rest of the way over.

“I’m Santos.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Same.”

Santos sighs. “I’m so annoyed.”

You laugh. “Why?”

“I was off the day you walked in here and chewed Robby’s ass in front of the entire department.”

Princess snorts. “She’s still bitter.”

Santos gestures toward the nurses. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve had to hear these two tell that story?”

Perlah smiles over the rim of her coffee. “At least once a week.”

“Minimum,” Princess agrees.

Santos looks back at you. “Meanwhile, I missed the live performance.”

You laugh. “Sorry I couldn’t schedule it around your shifts.”

“That would’ve been appreciated,” Santos says. “I’ve just had to settle for the reruns.”

Princess laughs. “She’s heard every version of the story.”

Santos nods. “Which means…” She tilts her head. “I only have one question.”

Princess scoffs. “No, you don’t.”

“Fine,” Santos says. “I have several. But this one’s been bothering me the longest.”

You couldn’t help but smirk. “Go ahead.”

Santos looks at you. “Did Elvis actually marry you?”

You open your mouth. Then stop. You think about it for a moment.

“Honestly?” You laugh. “I have no idea.”

Santos blinks.

“You don’t know?”

You shake your head. “I remember making fun of Michael’s name.”

Princess laughs. “That part I believe.”

“I remember wearing this discount wedding dress.” You pause. “I have absolutely no idea where we got it.”

“You bought a wedding dress while blackout drunk?” Santos asks.

“Apparently.”

“Classy,” Santos says.

“There was definitely a dollar-store veil.”

Perlah nods. “Also classy.”

You laugh. “Very.”

You search your memory for another second before giving up with a shrug. “After that… it’s mostly a blur.”

Princess sighs dramatically. “So nobody knows if Elvis was there.”

“Not unless Michael remembers more than I do.”

Dana lets out a quiet laugh. “And we all know how willing he is to discuss Vegas.”

Princess sighs dramatically. “There goes half my questions.”

“Half?” Santos scoffs. “I’ve got at least twelve more.”

“Get in line,” Princess says. “We’ve been trying for months.”

“Trust me,” you say. “If I ever remember anything else, you’ll be the first to know.”

Princess points at you. “I’m holding you to that.”

Dana smiles. “Leave the poor woman alone.”

“I am,” Santos says. “I’m changing topics.” She looks back at you. “Boy or girl?”

You shake your head. “We don’t know.”

Princess blinks. “You don’t?”

“No.”

“You wanted it to be a surprise?”

You smile. “Actually, Michael did.”

That earns a few surprised looks. “Really?” Dana asks.

You nod. “I wanted to find out.”

“What changed your mind?” Perlah asks.

You smile to yourself. “He said there aren’t that many real surprises left in life anymore.”

Princess presses a hand to her chest. “I could never.”

Santos laughs. “Me neither.”

Perlah smiles. “I’d have made it about three days.”

You laugh. “Trust me, I’ve been tempted.”

Dana looks at you over the rim of her coffee. “But you’re waiting.”

You nod. “Now I kind of like the idea. We’ve made it this far.”

Santos grins. “So, have you picked out names?”

You laugh. “We’ve talked about them.”

“Translation,” Princess says, “they haven’t agreed.”

“Pretty much.”

“Who’s pickier?” Santos asks.

You don’t even hesitate. “Michael.”

Dana smiles. “I’m shocked.”

“He has reasons for every name,” you say.

Santos laughs. “Of course he does.”

“Some are practical,” you say. “Some are just…” You gesture vaguely. “Michael reasons.”

Princess tilts her head. “What’s a Michael reason?”

You grin.

“‘Kids are mean. It’ll get shortened into a stupid nickname.’”

Santos snorts.

“That’s fair.”

“‘Nobody’s ever going to spell it right.’” Dana adds.

You point at her. “See? You know him.”

Dana smiles. “We’ve worked with him a long time.”

Perlah chuckles. “How many names has he vetoed?”

You pretend to think. “Enough that I wait to see his face before I get attached.”

Princess laughs. “That’s rough.”

Santos rolls her eyes. “The birth certificate will just say ‘Baby Robinavitch.’”

You laugh. “At this rate? Maybe.”

Princess points a finger at you. “You’ve got twelve weeks.”

“That’s what I keep telling him.”

Dana smiles. “You will. You have plenty of time.”

You look over. “You seem awfully confident.”

Dana shrugs. “I’ve seen a lot of parents who swore they’d never agree.” She smiles. “Somehow they always do.”

Princess points at you. “You’d better. I’m invested now.”

You laugh. “No pressure or anything.”

“None whatsoever,” Princess says with a grin.

The conversation drifts for a moment as the department moves around you. A paramedic wheels an empty stretcher toward the ambulance bay. Somewhere behind you, a phone rings twice before someone answers it. One of the monitors chirps insistently until a nurse reaches over to silence it.

Dana takes another sip of her coffee, her attention briefly following a resident jogging toward one of the trauma rooms.

Then she smiles. “There he is.”

You turn instinctively.

Robby steps out of one of the treatment rooms, pulling off a pair of gloves as he thanks the patient’s family. One of the residents catches him with a question before he can get very far.

He stops. Listens. Answers. Points something out on the chart the resident is holding. The resident nods, scribbles one last note, then hurries away.

Robby starts walking again, stopping at another room just long enough to check on one of his patients before moving on.

You watch him weave around a stretcher being pushed toward radiology. A nurse catches his attention long enough for him to answer a quick question. He points toward one of the trauma rooms, exchanges a few more words, then keeps moving.

Princess smiles to herself. “He’s almost free.”

Dana nods. “Looks like it.”

You shift your weight. “I should probably let him know I’m here.”

“You won’t have to.”

Almost as though he’d heard her, Robby looks up. His eyes sweep over the nurses’ station automatically.

Princess.

Perlah.

Dana.

Then they find you.

He stops.

It lasts barely a second. Just long enough for something in his expression to change.

The lines of concentration ease. The exhaustion is still there. You doubt that will disappear anytime soon. But when he sees you, the corner of his mouth lifts into an easy smile.

“There you are.”

You smile before you even realize you’re doing it. “Here I am.”

He crosses the rest of the distance, slipping the gloves into a nearby trash can as he walks. By the time he reaches you, the pen is already clipped neatly back into his scrub pocket.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

For a moment, neither of you says anything.

He looks you over the way he always does lately, not obviously enough for anyone else to notice, but thoroughly enough that you know exactly what he’s doing.

Checking.

You look comfortable.

You aren’t shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

Your shoulders look relaxed.

You’re smiling.

“You haven’t been waiting long, have you?”

You shake your head. “No.” A smile tugs at your lips. “I’ve been… occupied.”

One eyebrow lifts. “Oh?”

He glances around the nurses’ station.

Dana looks entirely too pleased with herself. Princess is practically vibrating with amusement. Perlah has already gone back to charting, though the corner of her mouth still twitches.

Robby looks back at you. “Should I be concerned?”

You laugh. “Not at all.”

Dana folds her arms. “We’ve just been getting acquainted.”

His eyes return to yours. “They haven’t scared you away yet?”

“No.” You smile. “They’ve actually been really nice.”

Something softens in his expression. “I’m glad.”

The words settle somewhere deeper than you expect. “I almost spared us both.”

He looks at you. “About what?”

“I was about five seconds away from texting you that I’d just meet you at the office.”

“Really?”

You nod. “I thought walking back in here was going to be a lot more awkward than it turned out to be.”

His eyes search yours. “What changed your mind?”

You glance around the nurses’ station. Dana gives you a little wave. Princess wiggles her fingers while Perlah glances up from her chart with a small smile.

You laugh. “I got kidnapped.”

Dana looks offended. “Escorted.”

Princess nods solemnly. “Against her will.”

“Very much against my will,” you agree.

Robby huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “I should’ve known.”

“You should have.”

He looks around the station.

“Thanks.”

The room falls unexpectedly quiet for half a second.

Dana only smiles. “We like her.”

Princess nods. “She’s funny.”

Perlah looks up from her chart. “You’ve got good taste.”

Heat creeps into your cheeks.

Robby lets out a quiet breath you don’t think anyone else notices. If anything, he looks relieved.

He glances toward the treatment rooms. The moment lasts only a heartbeat before work pulls at him again.

“I’ve still got one patient.”

“That’s okay.”

“It shouldn’t be much longer.”

“You don’t have to rush.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“You were.”

“I was thinking about it.”

“I know.”

Dana leans one hip against the counter. “She’s got a chair. We’re not letting her wander off.”

Robby looks at you. “I know.”

His attention lingers for another second before he looks back at Dana. “I just wanted to make sure she was okay.”

Dana’s expression softens. “She is.”

He looks back at you. “You comfortable?”

You glance around the nurses’ station. A few minutes ago, you were looking for the nearest exit.

Now…

Dana sips her coffee beside you. Princess and Perlah have already fallen back into the comfortable rhythm of the nurses’ station, picking up where their day left off.

It feels strangely easy.

You meet his eyes again. “I am now.”

His shoulders loosen, the tension you’d barely noticed finally slipping away. 

“Good.” He starts to turn away, then hesitates. “You need anything?”

You smile. “No.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

You nod toward the treatment rooms. “Go finish your patient.”

For a second, he looks like he wants to argue.

Instead, he nods.

“Okay.” He takes a step backward. “I’ll come get you.”

“I know you will.”

For another moment, neither of you moves.

Then someone calls from farther down the hall.

“Robby?”

His attention shifts instinctively toward the voice before finding you one last time.

“I’ll be back.”

You smile. “I’ll be here.”

He smiles once more before disappearing back into the organized chaos of the emergency department.

You watch him make it only a few steps before another resident intercepts him with a chart. He stops without complaint, already scanning the page as she explains.

Beside you, Dana lets out a quiet breath through her nose.

“What?” you ask.

“Nothing.” The corner of her mouth lifts as she watches him.

Princess glances over. “That was definitely not nothing.”

Dana only shakes her head and turns back to the computer. “I said nothing.”

The conversation fades as naturally as it started.

Dana returns to charting, fingers moving quickly across the keyboard. Princess answers a ringing phone before transferring the call to another extension, scribbling a room number onto a sticky note. Perlah responds to a question from across the counter without ever looking up from her screen.

Around you, the emergency department slips back into its rhythm. Stretchers roll by. Phones ring often enough that they almost become part of the background. Someone calls for respiratory. A monitor chimes somewhere down the hall before falling silent again.

It should feel overwhelming. Instead, after a while, it almost feels choreographed.

Not calm.

There is nothing calm about an emergency department. But everyone seems to know exactly where they belong.

You shift in the chair, stretching one leg out beneath you. The baby rolls lazily under your hand. Your palm settles there without thinking.

“Everything okay?” Dana asks without looking up.

You smile. “Yeah. They’ve been moving all morning.”

Princess looks up from the phone she’d just hung up. “Already keeping you busy?”

“They’re practicing for the Olympics.”

Princess laughs. “You’re in for a long few months.”

You sigh dramatically. “Don’t remind me.”

Another transport team wheels a patient toward imaging. Someone calls for environmental services. Princess disappears into one of the rooms carrying a warm blanket while Dana answers another phone.

Time passes without asking your permission. Eventually, your eyes drift across the department again. You find Robby almost immediately. He’s back at one of the computers now, a resident standing beside him with a chart tucked under her arm.

She talks.

He listens.

When she finishes, he asks a question. She frowns, looks back at the chart, thinks for a second, then answers. He points at something on the screen. Understanding crosses her face almost instantly. She thanks him and hurries away.

Before he’s even turned back to the computer, someone else stops him. Then another. A nurse. A resident. A patient’s family.

He never seems rushed. Never looks over anyone’s shoulder. Never acts like someone else’s question is getting in the way of whatever he was doing before.

Your attention wanders again. Dana and Princess are quietly debating something over a chart. Perlah is explaining discharge instructions to a patient.

The department keeps moving. So does Robby.

When you notice him again, he’s crossed to one of the exam rooms. An older couple stands with him. The woman is speaking. Her husband stares quietly at the floor. Even from across the department, you can tell Robby isn’t trying to hurry them. He simply listens.

After a moment, he says something you can’t hear. The woman smiles first. Then, slowly, so does her husband. They disappear into the room together. The door clicks shut behind them. Without realizing it, you smile too.

You came here expecting to spend the morning waiting for Michael. Instead, you find yourself watching him. Not because you’re trying to. Because every few minutes, your eyes seem to find him on their own.

You shift in your chair, absently rubbing your side before reaching into your purse for your phone. Your OB appointment. The time on the screen makes your eyebrows lift. You hadn’t realized how much of the morning has slipped by. Almost instinctively, you look up.

Almost as if he feels you looking at him, Robby looks up too.

Your eyes meet across the department. His expression changes immediately. He glances at the clock above the nurses’ station, runs a hand briefly over the back of his neck, then starts toward you.

He makes it exactly halfway. A nurse steps out of a room and catches his attention. You watch him stop. Listen. Answer. Ask one question of his own. The nurse nods and hurries off.

Only then does he continue toward you.

“I’m sorry,” he says before he’s even reached you. “I know we’re getting close.”

You shake your head. “It’s okay.”

“No.” An apologetic smile tugs at one corner of his mouth. “I told you I’d only be a few minutes.”

You smile. “It has only been a few minutes.”

He gives you a look that says he doesn’t believe you for a second.

“I’m serious.” His eyes flick toward the hallway he’d just come from before returning to you. “I’ve just got one more thing to wrap up.”

Dana snorts without looking up from her chart. “That’s what you said ten minutes ago.”

Robby sighs. “I know.” He looks back at you. “I promise.” A small smile tugs at his lips. “I’m almost done.”

“Five minutes,” Dana calls after him.

He lifts a hand in acknowledgment and turns. He’d only gone a few steps before someone calls his name.

“Robby.”

He stops.

A woman in navy blue surgical scrubs crosses the department toward him with the easy confidence of someone who spends plenty of time in the emergency department. She looks to be around your age, her dark blonde hair pulled back into a low ponytail, a tablet tucked against her side.

“Melissa,” Robby says.

“You got a second?”

His eyes flick toward the nurses’ station. Toward you. Then to the clock.

“Yeah,” he says with an apologetic smile. “But you’ve got about sixty seconds.”

Melissa laughs. “I’ll take it.”

She nods toward a quieter stretch of hallway just outside the trauma rooms. “Come here.”

He follows her a few steps away.

Melissa turns the tablet toward him, pointing at something on the screen.

He leans in beside her, studying it. She explains something. He nods once. Asks a question. Whatever she answers makes him huff a quiet laugh, the corner of his mouth tugging upward.

He says something back.

Melissa smiles wider. “You’re impossible.”

He gives her an easy grin. “I’ve been told.”

She rolls her eyes, still smiling, and reaches for the tablet. Her fingers brush his forearm as she takes the tablet. The contact lasts only a moment before she’s already stepping back.

“Wow.” Princess sighs dramatically.

You glance over. She’s stopped typing. Her fingers still rest on the keyboard, but her attention is fixed down the hallway.

Perlah looks up from the chart she’s been reviewing. “She’s here already?”

Princess nods. “Right on schedule.”

You follow both of their gazes toward Robby. Melissa is still talking. Robby listens, says something you can’t hear, and she laughs.

“What?” you ask.

Princess nods toward the hallway. “Our orthopedic surgeon.”

“Melissa?”

“The one and only.”

You watch another moment.

Melissa turns the tablet toward him. Robby leans in to look, says something, and another smile spreads across her face.

“Am I missing something?”

Princess laughs. “A little.”

Perlah smiles to herself. “More than a little.”

Princess lowers her voice, though no one around them seems to be paying attention.

“Melissa has been in all over Robby for…” She looks thoughtfully toward the ceiling. “I don’t even know how long.”

“At least a year,” Perlah says.

Princess shakes her head. “Longer.”

“Probably.”

You blink. “Really?”

Princess looks at you like you’ve just asked whether the sky is blue.

“Oh, yeah.”

Perlah nods toward the hallway. “Watch.”

You do.

Melissa says something else. Robby answers. She laughs. Then she reaches over to take the tablet back. Her fingers brush lightly across his forearm. They linger there for just a second before she pulls away.

“She does that a lot?” you ask quietly.

Princess barks out a laugh. “Every chance she gets.”

Perlah takes a sip of her coffee. “I think she’s actually getting worse.”

Princess nods. “The other day she somehow had three ortho consults before noon.”

Perlah raises an eyebrow. “Two of them probably could’ve waited.”

Princess leans a little closer.

“And somehow…” She gestures subtly toward Robby. “they’re always his patients.”

You watch Melissa laugh again. “Have they ever hooked up?”

Princess laughs. “Not that anybody knows of.”

Perlah glances toward the hallway. “Not for lack of trying on Melissa’s part.”

Princess smirks. “Believe me, if they had, we’d know.”

You look back down the hallway.

Melissa is still smiling.

Robby smiles back.

“Then why does he keep… entertaining it?”

Princess shrugs. “Because he likes the attention.”

Perlah nods toward the hallway. “He certainly doesn’t discourage it.”

Your eyes snap back to them. “You really think he’s flirting with her?”

Princess gives you a look. “Girl…”

You look.

Robby says something.

Melissa smiles.

He smiles back.

She laughs again.

Princess gives an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “That’s what he does.”

Perlah nods in agreement. “He’s charming.”

“Very charming,” Princess says. She holds up an open hand. “Five minutes.” Then she points toward Robby. “Give Robby five minutes with almost any woman in this hospital, and she’ll be blushing before he walks away.”

Perlah smiles. “She’s not wrong.”

“So,” Your eyes stay on the hallway. “she’s not the first?”

Princess laughs outright. “Oh, girl.”

Perlah closes the chart in front of her. “Not even close.”

“What does that mean?”

Princess rests her chin in her hand. “Robby dated.”

Perlah nods. “A lot.”

Princess starts counting on her fingers. “Nurses.” Another finger. “Residents.” Another. “Attendings.”

You look at her. “Seriously?”

“Oh, yeah.” Princess smiles. “The running joke around here is Robby’s seven-week itch.”

You frown. “The what?”

“He dates somebody for six or seven weeks.” She holds up one finger. “They break up.” A second finger. “A few weeks later…” A third. “there’s somebody else.”

Perlah shrugs. “It happens enough that people start taking bets.”

Princess laughs. “We’re kidding.” She pauses. “Mostly.”

For a long moment, nobody says anything.

Your eyes drift back toward the hallway.

Melissa laughs again.

Robby smiles.

He says something else.

She reaches over, touching his arm as she answers.

Your stomach tightens.

It doesn’t make any sense.

You and Michael aren’t together.

Not really.

You’re two people who got drunk in Las Vegas, accidentally got married, accidentally made a baby, and somehow ended up living under the same roof.

That isn’t a relationship.

At least…

It isn’t supposed to be.

So why does the idea of him with someone else make your chest feel tight?

Next to you, Princess glances at Perlah. Perlah meets her eyes for the briefest moment. Something unspoken passes between them.

Princess clears her throat. “I mean…” She looks back toward Robby. “It’s not really like that anymore.”

Perlah nods. “I honestly can’t remember the last time he dated anyone.”

“Me neither,” Princess admits.

“He used to.” She shrugs. “But… it’s been a while.”

Perlah closes the chart in front of her. “A long while.”

You force yourself to smile. “It’s fine.”

Both women look at you.

You shrug, hoping it looks more convincing than it feels.

“It’s not like we’re in a relationship.”

Neither of them answers. They only look at each other again before Princess quietly reaches for her coffee.

“We’re just…” You gesture vaguely with one hand. “Two people who happen to be married, living together, and having a baby.”

The words sound ridiculous the second they leave your mouth. “That doesn’t mean either of us can’t date someone else.”

Neither of them looks convinced.

You aren’t sure you are either.

Princess busies herself with her coffee. Perlah opens the chart she’d just closed, though you aren’t entirely convinced she’s reading it. 

You look back toward the hallway.

Melissa is gone.

Robby is already moving again, weaving through the department with the same steady purpose he always does. He pauses at a patient’s room, answers a question from one of the residents, scribbles something onto a chart, then disappears briefly behind a curtain.

You tell yourself not to watch him.

Somehow, your eyes keep finding him anyway.

Melissa is gone.

Their conversation is over. So why can’t you stop thinking about it?

Your hand drifts absentmindedly across the side of your stomach.

Twenty-seven weeks.

Somewhere between a drunken wedding chapel in Las Vegas and twenty-seven weeks pregnant, everything had simply happened.

You moved into his house.

Started buying groceries together.

Shared dinners.

Argued over prenatal vitamins.

Learned each other’s routines.

Every night he knocks softly on your bedroom door.

“Need anything?”

Every morning he leaves you coffee before he goes to work.

Every evening you eat dinner together.

None of it ever felt strange.

Every decision simply made sense.

Until one day you look around and realize you’ve somehow built something that looks remarkably like a marriage.

Except…

Neither of you has ever talked about what your marriage actually is.

You’ve never gone on a date.

Never had the awkward conversation about whether either of you is seeing someone else.

How has that never come up?

The realization settles quietly.

Not because anything has changed.

Nothing has.

Michael is still Michael.

The only thing that’s changed…

Is you.

A few minutes later, Robby glances toward the nurses’ station. His gaze finds yours almost immediately.

He says something to the resident beside him, hands over the chart, and starts walking in your direction.

Princess notices before you do.

“Well,” she says, a grin spreading across her face. “Looks like your visit is finally over.”

By the time you look back, Robby is already closing the distance between you.

“I’m sorry,” he says before he’s even reached the nurses’ station. “That took longer than I thought.”

There was genuine guilt in his voice.

You smiled automatically. “It’s okay.”

“No, it isn’t.” He glanced at the clock on the wall before looking back at you. “I hate making you wait.”

“You didn’t exactly have a slow afternoon.” 

A tired smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “No.”

His eyes swept over you with the same quiet thoroughness they always did. “You doing okay?”

You nodded. “I’m fine.”

“Back bothering you?”

“A little.”

“Worse than this morning?”

“About the same.”

He nodded, filing the information away like he always did. “Have you been drinking your water?”

You looked down at the bottle sitting beside you. “Most of it.”

“Good.”

His gaze lingered on you for another second, as though making sure you were telling the truth.

Then, without thinking, he reached down and picked up your purse from beside the chair, already settling the strap over his own shoulder.

“Ready?”

Your eyes stayed on him for just a moment longer than they normally would have.

He looked exactly the same.

Rumpled navy scrubs. Stethoscope hanging around his neck. Hair slightly messier than it had been twenty minutes ago. 

Nothing about him had changed.

Only the questions you’d started asking.

“What?”

You blinked. “Nothing.”

“You sure?”

You forced another small smile and pushed yourself carefully to your feet. “Yeah.”

He waited until you were steady before falling into step beside you, adjusting his pace without a word to match yours as the two of you started toward the elevators.

Just like he always did.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime.

He glanced over.

“Everything all right?”

You nodded. “I’m okay.”

“You sure? You seem quiet.”

“No, I’m okay just tired.”

He studied your face for another second before seeming satisfied. “Okay.”

The walk to the obstetrics clinic was considerably quieter than the emergency department below.

The overhead pages disappeared. So did the constant ringing phones and hurried footsteps. 

Here, everything moved slower. People smiled as they passed. A nurse wheeled an empty bassinet down the hallway. Someone laughed behind a half-open office door. It felt like an entirely different hospital.

Michael glanced at his watch. “I think we’re actually early.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I was fully expecting somebody to stop me on the way.”

“You were stopped.”

He smiled back. “I still made good time.”

“You say that like you won.”

“I did.”

You laughed quietly.

The receptionist looked up as the two of you approached.

“Hi,” she greeted warmly. “Name?”

You gave it. 

She clicked a few things on her computer before nodding.

“They’re just finishing with another patient. It shouldn’t be more than a couple of minutes.”

“Okay,” you said.

Michael thanked her automatically before following you toward the waiting area.

There were plenty of empty chairs. You sat. He sat beside you. Not because there weren’t other seats. Just beside you.

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. For the first time since leaving the emergency department, he looked like he wasn’t thinking about work.

He looks over. “What?”

You hadn’t realized you’d been watching him again. “Nothing.”

He studies you for a moment. “You’ve been awfully quiet today.”

“Have I?”

“Mm-hmm.”

You smile. “I didn’t think you noticed.”

A small shrug.

“I notice when you’re quiet.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “You notice everything.”

“I try to.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The silence isn’t uncomfortable. It rarely is.

A young couple walked past holding hands. The woman was carrying an ultrasound photo. The man slipped an arm around her shoulders as they disappeared down the hallway.

You watched them go. 

Without meaning to. Michael followed your gaze. Neither of you commented.

A few seconds later, your name was called. Michael stood before you had the chance.

“You ready?”

You looked up at him. “Yeah.”

He smiled. The same quiet, reassuring smile he’d worn before every appointment.

—

The house is quiet when you hear the front door open.

A little after seven.

Keys land in the ceramic bowl by the entryway with their familiar clink. The front door clicks shut, followed a second later by the soft thud of shoes hitting the hardwood floor.

You don’t have to look.

Somewhere along the way, the sound of Robby coming home had become as familiar as the hum of the dishwasher or the coffee maker starting before sunrise.

You stir the pasta slowly, the scent of garlic and tomatoes filling the kitchen.

A moment later, Robby appears in the doorway.

His navy scrubs are wrinkled from a long day, the sleeves pushed carelessly to his forearms. His hair is slightly messier than it had been that morning, faint shadows lingering beneath his eyes.

He looks exhausted.

The kind of tired that settles into someone’s shoulders after twelve hours in the emergency department.

Then he sees you. Something in his expression softens. Not dramatically. Just enough.

A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Hi.”

You smile back. “Hi.”

For a moment, neither of you says anything.

His eyes drift automatically to your stomach. The movement is so familiar now that you barely notice it anymore. It’s simply become part of the way he comes home.

“How’ve you been feeling since the appointment?”

“Fine.”

“No cramping?”

You shake your head. “No.”

“Headache?”

“No.”

“Dizziness?”

A quiet laugh escapes you. “I’m still fine.”

“Just checking.”

“I know.”

He crosses to the sink and washes his hands while you stir the pasta. The kitchen settles into its usual rhythm, the rush of running water, the gentle bubbling of the pot, the soft scrape of the wooden spoon against the bottom.

Neither of you feels the need to fill the silence.

“You sure everything felt okay afterward?”

You glance over your shoulder. “Michael.”

“Hm?”

“You were there.”

“I know.”

“You heard Dr. Patel.”

“I did.”

“You heard her say everything looked perfect.”

“I did.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So why are you asking me again?”

He turns off the faucet, dries his hands on the dish towel hanging from the oven handle, and gives one shoulder a small shrug.

“Habit.”

Your smile grows despite yourself. “I noticed.”

His own smile lingers as he walks past you to the cabinet, reaching automatically for two plates before setting them on the counter.

Neither of you says a word about it. You don’t have to. It’s simply become part of the evening.

He leans against the counter while you finish dinner, watching you in the quiet way he always does.

A few minutes later, the two of you settle at the table.

You set the bowl of pasta between you before taking your seat. Robby reaches for it first, serving you before filling his own plate.

Neither of you comments on it.

You never do.

The first few minutes pass the way they usually do, the quiet clink of forks against ceramic plates filling the space between you.

Normally, this is when one of you starts talking.

Robby tells you about his shift. You tell him about your day. Sometimes you catch him skipping lunch. Sometimes he catches you doing more around the house than you’re supposed to.

Most evenings, one conversation simply rolls into the next until dinner is over and neither of you remembers who started it.

Tonight…

You catch yourself looking across the table at Michael.

He’s eating like he always does.

Tired.

Quiet.

Twirling pasta around his fork while he listens to the evening news murmuring softly from the living room.

Completely unaware that, somewhere between Las Vegas and tonight, the two of you had built a life without ever deciding what to call it.

You wonder if he’s confused too. Or if, somewhere along the way, he’d quietly answered it without ever telling you.

You lower your eyes to your plate. The pasta has gone cold. You can’t remember the last thing either of you said.

Across the table, Robby lifts his eyes to you.

You know that look. He’s noticed. Of course he has. He always notices.

“Everything okay?”

You blink, pulling yourself back into the room. “Hm?”

His expression softens. “You disappeared for a minute.”

Heat creeps into your cheeks. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

You offer him a small smile. “I’m okay.”

He studies you for another second. “You sure?”

You nod. “Just tired.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t sound entirely convinced, but he lets it go.

He reaches for his fork again and takes another bite. 

The silence settles back over the table. You think that’s the end of it. Then you hear him set his fork down.

He turns it absently between his fingers before looking up at you again. “You’re thinking pretty hard.”

You blink. “Am I?”

A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah.”

You glance down at your plate. “I didn’t realize.”

“You usually ask me how work was before dinner’s half over.”

You hadn’t.

“You’ve barely touched your food.”

You look down. He isn’t wrong. Most of the pasta is exactly where you’d put it the first time you served yourself.

“I’m trying not to overthink something.”

His eyes stay on yours.

Calm.

Patient.

“How’s that working out for you?”

A quiet laugh escapes before you can stop it. “Not great.”

The smile he gives you is small. Understanding. He doesn’t ask what you’re thinking about. Doesn’t guess. Doesn’t fill the silence. He simply waits.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he says quietly. “But you can.”

You turn your fork against the edge of your plate, slower than necessary, the faint scrape stretching out in the quiet like it’s trying to fill the space for you.

“Can I ask you something?”

Across from you, Robby looks up. “Always.”

You nod, but your attention stays fixed on your dinner. “It’s… not bad.”

He sets his fork down. “I wasn’t assuming it was.”

“I know.” You pick at a piece of chicken you’ve already cut into bites. “I’ve just been thinking.”

“I noticed.”

A quiet laugh slips out. “Was I that obvious?”

“You’ve been staring at the same piece of broccoli for about five minutes.”

You glance down. “I have.”

“You also sighed three times.”

“I did not.”

“You did.”

A reluctant smile tugs at your lips. “I hate that you notice things.”

“I’ve been told it’s part of my job.”

The smile lingers for another second before fading. 

You let out a slow breath. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask you this all day.”

His expression softens. “Okay.”

“I had it all planned out.”

“I’m sure you did.”

“And now…” You gesture vaguely with your fork. “it’s gone.”

He doesn’t rush you. He simply waits.

You look around the kitchen. The dishwasher hummed quietly. His coffee mug still sat beside the sink. The sweatshirt he’d tossed over the back of the couch after work. Without meaning to, your eyes linger there.

“We’ve been doing this for a while now.”

Robby nods once. 

“Yeah.”

“We got married.”

“We did.”

“There was… everything after Vegas.”

“There was.”

“You asked me to stay.”

“I did.”

“And I did.”

“You did.”

You let out a quiet breath.

“And then we just…” Your hand moves between the two of you. “kept doing this.”

His brow furrows slightly. “Doing what?”

You shrug helplessly.

“This. Dinner. Appointments.” You gestured around the kitchen. “Everything.”

You shake your head. “I’ve never really stopped to think about it.”

“About what?”

You look at him. “Whatever this is.”

Silence settles between you.

“I realized today…” You stop. 

The thought slips away before you can catch it.

“Oh, come on.”

You close your eyes for a second, frustrated. “I swear this made perfect sense before I sat down.”

“I believe you.”

“I don’t think you do.”

“I do.”

He leans forward slightly, forearms resting on the table. “I just don’t know where you’re going yet.”

“I don’t either anymore.” Another sigh escapes you. “I know why I’ve kept doing this.”

The words come quietly.

“I just…” You meet his eyes. “I don’t know why you have.”

His forehead creases. “What do you mean?”

You rub your thumb along the handle of your fork

“I don’t know.” Your voice is barely above a whisper. “That’s kind of the problem.”

You finally look back up.

“I just realized…” You shake your head. “I never asked if you still wanted me to.”

His brow knits together. “What do you mean?”

“You asked me to stay.”

“I did.”

“You wanted to help.”

“I did.”

You nod. “I know that.”

He waits, letting you continue.

“But we never talked about what happened after that. We never talked about how long,” you say quietly.

Robby nods. “No, we didn’t.”

You look back down at your plate. “You asked me to stay because you wanted to help.”

“I did.”

“And then…” You shrug helplessly. “We just kept going.”

He is quiet for a moment before answering.

“I guess we did.” He leans back slightly. “But I don’t think it was just one decision.”

You look at him. “What do you mean?”

Robby rests his forearms on the table.

“When I asked you to stay…” He pauses, choosing his words carefully. “That wasn’t me deciding what the next year was going to look like.”

You frown. “It wasn’t?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

He glances down at his plate before meeting your eyes again. “I asked you to stay because I wanted to help.”

“I know.”

“But after that…” He gives a small shrug. “There were a lot of opportunities for things to go differently.”

You stay quiet, waiting.

“If I’d decided living together wasn’t working, we would’ve had that conversation.”

He lets that settle before continuing. 

“If I’d decided I couldn’t make your appointments anymore, I would’ve told you.” A faint smile crosses his face. “Instead, I somehow end up reading three pregnancy books.”

A quiet laugh escapes you, breaking some of the tension between you.

His smile lingers for only a moment before his expression turns thoughtful again.

“My point is…” He gestures between the two of you. “None of this has just been happening to me.”

You look at him.

“I’ve been making those decisions too.”

The humor fades from your face.

“You never thought…” You search for the words. “that somewhere along the way it stopped being your choice?”

Robby looks genuinely surprised. 

“No.” The answer comes without hesitation. “I never thought that.”

Silence settles over the kitchen again.

You stare at the edge of your plate.

“I think…” Your voice is quieter now. “I just didn’t want to keep assuming.”

His brow furrows. “Assuming what?”

You gesture vaguely between the two of you, the house, everything that has quietly become routine.

“That we were both still okay with… all of this.” You let out a slow breath. “We never actually asked each other.”

Robby is quiet for a moment.

Then he nods once.

“No.” His voice is thoughtful. “I guess we didn’t.”

You are quiet for a second, letting his words settle.

Finally, you nod.

“Okay.” Your gaze drifts back to your plate. “I guess we were overdue for this conversation.”

Robby nods once. “I think so too.”

Another silence settles between you. This one feels different. Not uncomfortable. Just… thoughtful.

You push a piece of chicken around your plate with your fork before speaking again.

“I mean…” You let out a small, self-conscious laugh. “I hope you know you’re allowed to see other people.”

His eyebrows rise.

“I am?”

You shrug.

“I don’t expect you to put your life on hold because I’m living here.” A crooked smile tugs at your lips. “I’d just… maybe recommend her place.”

He blinks.

You sigh dramatically.

“Think about it.” You motion around the kitchen. “It’d be a little awkward if she woke up in the morning and found your pregnant Vegas wife making coffee.”

A surprised laugh escapes him. “That would be awkward.”

“See?”

He shakes his head, still smiling. “That’s a very specific scenario.”

“It feels like a realistic one.”

The laughter fades.

Robby looks at you for a long moment. “Why are you telling me that?”

You look back at him.

“Because I realize I’d never actually said it.” You toy with your fork. “I don’t want you to think you have to stop living your life because I’m here.”

He holds your gaze for a moment before answering. “I’ve never thought that.”

The kitchen falls quiet again.

Robby watches you for a long moment. “Can I ask you something?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

He hesitates, choosing his words. “Are you telling me this because you’re thinking about seeing someone?”

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “No.”

He watches you quietly.

“Okay.” His expression stays calm. “I just don’t want to misunderstand what you’re saying.”

You shake your head.

“No.” Your voice softens. “This isn’t about me.”

He studies you for another moment before nodding once. “Okay.”

The kitchen settles back into silence. 

After a moment, he looks down at his plate.

“For what it’s worth…” He turns his fork between his fingers. “It honestly hasn’t crossed my mind.”

You look up.

“My life’s been…” He lets out a quiet breath through his nose. “A little full lately.”

The corner of his mouth twitches.

“Between work…” He gestures vaguely around the house. “everything that’s changed…” His eyes flick toward your stomach. “getting ready for the baby…”

He gives a small shrug.

“I just haven’t had the headspace.”

You are quiet for a moment.

“Okay.”

You smile, small but genuine. “I just wanted to make sure.”

He nods once. “Now you know.”

The silence that settles between you feels different this time. Not awkward. Just quieter.

You stand, gathering your plate from the table. Robby reaches for it before you can make it to the sink.

“I can get it.”

“I know.”

But he takes it anyway.

You watch him disappear into the kitchen, the sound of running water filling the house a moment later.

A few hours ago, you were sitting in your car wondering if the life the two of you have fallen into exists because neither of you has ever stopped to question it.

Now you have your answer.

It isn’t obligation.

It’s choice.

Maybe not the kind either of you expected to make.

But a choice all the same.

You smile before switching off the dining room light and following him into the kitchen.

── ✦ pope who was sometimes very strange and didn’t know he was. he’d bring you rocks because you once said – while walking past an enormous house in oceanside – that the quartz gravel in somebody’s driveway was pretty. so naturally he picked up a random little rock from the gutter two streets over, wiped it on his shirt, and gave it to you.

he did it again and again and again because you found that you were more endeared than anything and had started keeping these rocks first in your pocket, then in a shoebox, and finally on your windowsill. you could’ve told anyone which came from where. so even if you didn’t particularly have a fondness for random rocks when you noticed the quartz gravel, you definitely grew one!

(pope who also later replaced said rocks with the real thing when he came into money he had no idea what to use for, only ever remembering how your older tastes had sometimes made you look through the window at the jewelers and your eyes had lingered too long on a little diamond necklace. he never saw the necklace, really, only noticed you wanting it. he knew how to take care of that)

pope who wasn’t really sure how a simple hangout worked, so when you’d asked him to come over later on saturday without specifying when, he sat on your porch step for two and a half hours. when your mother asked him if he wanted to come inside and eat something, he’d say no, because he was supposed to be hanging out with you, not your mother.

when you finally came, you just sat next to him on the step and stayed there, finding it all so natural.

── ✦ and when he’d begrudgingly agree to hang out with your other friends, it’d accidentally lead into him drawing them away from the both of you. he hadn’t even meant to do that (not at first, at least).

he’d watched your friend hand you some shitty snack and said something like “don’t give her those,” without any explanation, smacking the snack away from your hand gently (though the explanation was that you’d ate one of those and promptly threw up on the ferris wheel, and it’d put you off of them for life).

if someone asked if you wanted beer, he’d say “she’s driving.” you were?

if someone asked you if you were cold, he was already handing you his jacket, mentally beating himself up for not having noticed sooner.

he’d move his chair to face the door wherever he was sitting, because ever since he’d watched people break into their little trailer as a kid – smurf, always tangled up in some shit – he’d learned to stay alert. so people always thought he was rude when he randomly turned his chair away from the group while someone was speaking and they were forced to stare at his back.

── ✦ pope who during your surprise birthday party (that he was only invited to because everyone knew how mad you’d be if they didn’t invite your best friend since you were a kid) would just stand in the corner and watch everyone with a frown, and when it got too late he’d tell everyone that the party was meant to end at ten even though that was never decided. and everyone would leave because you’d just stand there beside pope being like “yup!”

and then you and pope would spend the next three hours bagging cans, wiping down corners, finding a nickel or two between the couch cushions because of how thorough the two of you were. that was the good part. he’d wait for that.

after, he’d say, “that was fun.” and you’d think he was talking about the party.

── ✦ pope who kept saying “i can take care of it,” whenever one of your friends mentioned someone bothering them. at first, they thought it was a turn of phrase – ugh, i’ll beat him up for you, but in pope’s language – until pope started asking where he worked, where he lived, and what his car looked like.

pope who had punched a guy for you, a boyfriend-of-a-friend, when he’d said something about you while you were in the bathroom. he’d asked the guy to go outside to smoke a cigarette, decked him, and come back with his hands in his pockets.

you were a little confused when your friends told you pope had gone out for a smoke, because pope doesn’t smoke, and because the six of them had squeaked it out at once.

he knew your friends knew, so when he came back, he’d just looked at all of them as he stood behind your chair as you and your friends sat in silence, tilting his head to the side to confirm whatever social contract he’d expected from them. then he’d simply shrugged and said, “he had to go home.”

── ✦ and when pope started noticing that you were being invited to hang out less with your other friends, consequently meaning he was being invited by you less with your other friends, he’d ask, “is it ‘cause of me?”

you’d immediately say “no!”

because even you hardly believed that it was because of him; pope was so good. he read the manuals for everything you got, peeled oranges for you – handed over in an unbroken coil, because a torn piece would've bothered him – fixed your bike chain, and made you the perfect sandwiches.

sure, he had a tendency to sometimes growl when a stranger got too close to you or a little puppy barked at you. sureee, he always had bruises on his knuckles without ever having a story for them (or rather, without giving one). and he sometimes glared when your girlfriends asked you to go on a double date. or appointed himself as the designated driver when they specifically asked you to have girls night.

on the occasion you actually did go, he’d sit outside in the car watching you through the window of some restaurant or bar.

he’d come in just once – after he saw a guy linger at your table for nineteen minutes and thought it was fucking girls night, waiting until the guy went to the bathroom – and when you gave him a questioning look he just pointed toward the bathroom, forcing an embarrassed shrug like he just wanted to take a leak.

maybe it was just a coincidence that you nor your friends saw the guy come out of the bathroom! pope stopped at your table on the way back, hands in his pockets, knuckles freshly pink, and said, “want anything?” and when you said no, he went back to his car.

“isn’t he so sweet?” you’d say to your friends, misty-eyed and dreamily, watching him sit in the parked car like he was a pretty sunset.

“the sweetest,” they’d say, three of them in unison like they’d been trained. you were completely unaware that they were in the midst of realizing you were a lost cause.

so obviously you could not, for the life of you, imagine that people wanted to not hang out with you because of pope. it was their loss, anyway, you thought.

pope was so relieved once he realized he wouldn’t have to spend time with other people, just so he could hang out with you.

── ✦ pope who took over their vacancy so quickly that you didn’t even consider it as a loss even for a day.

if you wanted to get drunk at a bar, he’d go with you and get a beer while you slammed three cocktails within an hour. he’d try to gossip with you when you asked him to “tell me something fun.”

“craig and renn had a fight.”

you’d light up because that was interesting. “good. he’s bad for her anyway.”

“yes,” he’d simply say.

and when you’d press for the details (what did they fight about? who started it? did anyone cry? on a scale of one-to-ten, how bad?), and he’d have none, he’d noticed how you’d slumped slightly, ever the nosy little thing he’d been hauling around for years, he’d frown. he genuinely had no more details to give you because he hadn’t cared enough to listen to craig’s tangent. but clearly you cared, so he’d say, “i’ll ask him.”

after he managed to get the hang of it – and found he liked it, talking shit, the whole nine yards of "but you didn't hear it from me – you’d both end up laughing.

and when you’d ask him for another story (because he had so many; the cody house was so weird), he’d say, “smurf woke up so late this morning,” thinking it held the same value as baz breaking up with his girlfriend at the time.

when you opened your mouth without saying a single word, stumped, he'd double down, "like ten," like you just didn't get it yet.

pope who somehow started filling every single shoe of the people in your life. pope, your girl best friend. pope, your mother (“did you eat?” “yes.”). pope, your dad, apparently, at some point (making it his mission to check your car).

pope, your dog (waits by the door and knows the sound of your car pulling in). pope, your bodyguard (constantly scaring away everyone, threat or not). pope, your financial advisor (“you don’t need to spend that kinda money on that.”) pope, your sugar daddy, immediately after (“fine. give it to me.” “what?” “i’m getting it.”)

pope, when you’d run him through the list, just looked at you confused and said, “someone’s gotta.”

once again, he was right. you’d gotten so lucky with pope, what were the odds of that? astronomical, you’d think, cheerfully. and then you’d wonder if he’d like one more shoe to fill.

he’d be scanning the groceries at self-checkout, and you’d turn to see one of the workers looking at him. your spine went stiff, a frown marring your face. and then you’d start tugging on his sleeve from beside him, telling him to hurry, hurry up, hurry up, let’s go.

“who wants to have their way with me now?” he’d mumble, bumping his hip into yours, still not looking away from the register.

“no one,” you’d say. you didn’t want to boost his ego anymore. “just fucking hurry up now.”

“who is it?”

“me. i do. let’s go home so i can have my way with you.”

he clicked his tongue. “liar. you’re just gonna yell at me.” still, he turned his neck slightly to where yours was, murmuring a small “ah” to himself.

you groaned, but he did speed up. with bags in hand, he turned to walk out with you, placing himself behind you, free palm on your shoulder, thumb finding the curve where your neck met it. you’d come face-to-face with the poor woman you’d theorized was already in love with jack.

“hey, my girlfriend here really wants some lottery tickets. can you let my girlfriend know where she can find them?”

he couldn’t help it! he loves the little way the corners of your mouth curves up whenever he makes it clear that he’s taken.

the woman would blink, an obvious wedding band catching under the lights (jack would snort softly from behind you), as she pointed toward the front counter, entirely married, entirely not the threat you’d decided she was.

“good,” you murmured later, grabbing the lottery ticket as it printed.

his free palm would settle on your waist and he’d murmur, “did i make you happy back there?”

“yup.”

and jack would smile because he truly did feel like he’d won the lottery. he’d watch you over your shoulder as you fussed out a coin, brow furrowed as you did the scratch-off.

“i won two dollars,” you’d say after revealing the last symbol. you’d twist in his arms, ticket held up with a smile like you’d just told him you were pregnant with triplets instead of two dollars richer.

“lucky girl,” he’d say, matching your smile. his mouth would brush your hairline.

“uh-huh,” you’d say, letting him stay there, nose tucked against your hair.

“c’mon then, let’s go.” he’d put his hand on the small of your back after a minute, turning you around, to lead you out. clearly still hanging onto your short burst of jealousy. “before someone else decides to steal me.”

“don’t.”

“i’m vulnerable,” he’d tease.

or you’d go to pick him up in the morning, watching him handover the shift to robby, and then he’d go and say goodbye to one of his patients who thanked him profusely.

when he’d come back out, you’d roll your eyes and turn your back to him, already walking to the exit. “aren’t you just a ladies man?”

robby’d look at jack slightly confused and maybe even a bit put off, but jack would just wet his lips as he watched you leave, looking completely and utterly delighted.

“your girlfriend’s got a jealous streak, i think.”

“she does, doesn’t she?” jack would still be watching the doors you’d gone through, tugging the lanyard off his neck. “i love her. i gotta go.”

robby would rub his chin as he watches the man he’s known for too long look utterly delighted to get chewed out and wonder what the hell was going on in your home.

meanwhile you’d be at the car with your arms crossed, watching jack walk toward you with a little smile on his face that should’ve been wiped off with the long shift.

“i’m sorry,” he’d say immediately, slightly out of breath because he’d sped up to find you. “she thought i was her son,” he said about the patient, an eighty-year-old woman who truly did think he was her son. “but i’m sorry.”

“you’re too old to be her son.”

“too old to be a lotta things.” he’d back you gently into the passenger door, hands finding your hips. “not for this, though.”

and you’d keep going anyway, muttering how he was too nice, that he should only smile at you, that it wasn’t fair, that he was doing it on purpose.

“tell me to shut up,” you’d say out of nowhere, in the middle of your rant, furrowing your brows as he let you go on and on.

“no.” he’d rear his head back like he was confused by the demand. “i’ve wanted to hear your voice for the last twelve hours.”

you’d stare up at him with your mouth slightly open and nothing at all to say. his thumb would come up to press gently on your chin, keeping the expression there.

“there she is,” he’d murmur, pleased. “quiet at last.”

in the car, on the way home, he’d respond to bits of your rant.

“all my patient satisfaction scores are gonna go down.”

“so those are more important than me?”

his hand would land on your thigh as he kept his eyes on the road. “nope. i like the girl more than the scores.”

a lot of the time with you, he’d feel like a puppy getting a trick right. which is why he’d started doing it on purpose; introducing you before he introduces himself, texting you the logistics of his life unprompted, taking your hand in the condiments aisle for no reason, calling you after physical therapy simply because his physical therapist – sam – had touched his arms during the lesson and – like he’d been pavlov’d, some conditioned little bell going off in his head that only you were allowed to touch him – jack felt an immediate pressing need to hear your voice.

he knew that he was only feeding into it, selfishly craving more of your teeth in his shoulder and your fingers wrapped around his forearms in public even if your positioning hardly ever allowed for it.

it was getting out of hand. on a night off, when he’d come in with swat during the day and stayed until the end of day shift, robby and dana asked him to come to the bar and get a drink.

“yeah – let me just ask her if she can come, too.” he immediately said, already pulling out the phone to ask you.

except you were on shift till nine p.m., and you’d said so – go!!! have fun!!! tell dana i said hi!!! – when he texted you. jack made a small noise in his mouth.

“i can’t,” he’d said.

“she’s not letting you go?” robby asked curiously.

no, you’d in fact told him the opposite of that. but he didn’t want to say that, quite liking the idea of you having that hold on him. so, he’d say, “somethin’ like that,” hoisting his bag over his shoulders. “i’m gonna sit in her bar till she gets off. you’re welcome to grab a drink there.”

“so we can all watch your girlfriend make drinks?”

dana would simply chuckle, shaking her head, already knowing that jack would somehow manage to convince half the staff clocking out to come watch you work.

he’d never felt as doted on and claimed as you made him feel. you’d swapped out the ancient bar of soap in his shower for something that smelled like you. there were bobby pins in every crevice of his car now. you’d somehow become his emergency contact, too, leaving robby a little stunned.

you’d spend all night leaving small marks on his body (the crescent of your nails at his shoulder, your teeth marks just below his collarbone that would be evident with one wrong movement under his scrubs) and he loved finding each of it randomly while getting ready.

this is also why he’s so confused when dana brings up your jealousy and how a little bit of couples counseling could help. nothing feels wrong about the relationship at all!

he’d go through all the questions he assumed a therapist would ask.

was he unhappy? not at all. he was actually stupidly happy. he’d started humming in the car and coming home early.

was he worried? about what – that you’d give him the silent treatment for twenty minutes and then hold onto his bicep for hours just to make up for it? that you’d get a bit vicious about someone and then fall asleep on his chest like an overheated animal?

that you sat tucked him in the corner in restaurant booths so you could see the whole room and he could only see you? jack hardly thought there was anything worth looking at besides you anyway.

“even the healthiest couples do it,” dana would say.

“what would it do?” jack would ask curiously, indulging her.

“well.” dana would settle in, elbows on the desk, warmly concerned. “it’ll help with her being less possessive, for starters.”

jack would just look at her, head tilted, genuinely lost. then he’d rub his thumb along his jaw, feeling eerily unsettled by the words. “it’d make her stop?”

“ideally, yeah. that’s the idea.”

oh, he hated that thought. he knew your possessiveness didn’t come out of you being insecure. he knew that it was easy to assume some poor anxious girl white-knuckling her way through the relationship, checking his phone, counting the women, but that wasn’t it.

it came out of you picking him up and putting him in your pocket. you’d simply decided that jack abbot was yours, and so what if you got a little feral when the world got too near him?

“nah,” he’d say, shaking his head as he pressed his lips together. “we’re alright.”

“you may be fine with it. but, she’d have healthier relationships in case – ”

jack’s eyes would widen, and dana would look a little caught off-guard, realizing what she’d said.

“no.” he’d make a small sound, shaking his head again. “we don’t need that, then.”

“jack –”

“she’s not goin’ anywhere.” he’d knock the desk twice. “neither am i.”

“you know what,” dana would say, blowing out a breath. “i believe that.”

later that afternoon, he’d settle on the couch beside you, mind still reeling from the idea of there being an after him for you. his arms would go around your shoulders, pulling you in impossibly close. one hand would fit around the back of your neck, thumb under your jaw, tipping your face up until you had nowhere to look but at him.

“never gonna leave me, right?” he’d ask.

your brows would pull in together, the corners of your lips curving downwards.

“why?” you’d drawl. “planning on doing something bad?”

“nope,” he’d say. “just askin’”

your jaw would tighten as you tried to gauge his expression. “then stop. nobody’s leaving anybody.” you fixed him with a pointed look. “you’re not going anywhere.”

“damn right i’m not,” he’d say. his hands would slide up your neck and into your hair, fingers spreading wide. “say it again.”

you’d laugh shortly. “you’re not going anywhere.”

“mm.” his thumb would drag along the column of your neck as he felt you go pliant under his hold. “again.”

“jack – ”

“humor me, angel,” he’d say, the words coming out in a barely-hidden plea.

“you’re not going anywhere,” you’d say, humoring him, half breathless and the other exasperated. he’d kiss you on the last word, catching it in his mouth before it finished.

the other hand would come down at your lower back and haul you across to settle on his lap.

both your knees would land on either side of him, and his hands would immediately settle on your hips.

“you’re being so strange today,” you’d say, chin tilting up as his mouth dragged down your neck.

“yeah.” he’d smile against your skin. “gonna hold it against me?”

“maybe.”

“good,” he’d say, breathing out, breath billowing warmly. “hold everything against me.”

you’d laugh, surprised at the dramatics. and he would smile so hard and spend the entire day proving to you he would never. which mostly meant he let you do whatever you wanted for eleven straight hours.

you’d put a face mask on him. he’d sit there on the couch, a decorated combat medic, and let you take four photos he’d only found out you’d posted when javadi and santos looked at him funnily during handover. he’d let you try different colors of polish on his nails, and then paint yours with the one you liked best.

he’d watch you scroll on your laptop through different clothes, pointing out things he liked, which you’d taught him to do while being visibly delighted the one time he’d said “this one’s nice.” now he did it constantly, never quite holding himself back from voicing his opinions (it was often, he thought everything would look great on you).

jack is exactly where he wants to be! and people would just have to grow used to your claws and your terrible manners spawning out of nowhere, because the man they came out for had no intention of asking you to put them away.