Phoebe

4) legs intertwined under covers

The worst thing about getting promoted at around the same time as your husband, Maddie discovers, is the sudden lack of them time.

Not that they'd been drowning in free time before, what with the children and first responder schedules and the constant near-death experiences that seems to plague their entire family. But now they both had to figure out paperwork, which is arguably far worse.

Still, you figure it out, which is why when Chimney had curled his hands over her shoulders from behind as Maddie was elbow-deep in paperwork, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and slowly dragged her out of her seat, Maddie only laughed a little in protest before following.

"What are you doing?" she giggles, allowing Chim to wrap his arms around her waist as he walks both of them down the hall. It's clumsy, awkward, and wholly endearing the way that her husband tends to be, and she feels so fond of him that it feels too big for her body, sometimes.

"We," her sweet, impossible husband emphasizes, nipping at her ear as he backs them through their bedroom door. "Are taking some time off."

Maddie throws her head back to laugh at that, twisting her face to look at Chimney, his eyes sparkling as they meet her's. "Chim," she says, tangling their fingers in front of her stomach. "I have so much work to do."

"So do I," Chimney says, raising an eyebrow. "But I miss my wife, and I didn't convince your little brother to take both our terrors away for a full day so we can do paperwork."

Whatever words were on her lips puff away with a startled, laughing breath as he tips them both in her bed, soft duvet billowing up a little around them with the force of their combined weight. Maddie giggles, twists around so that she's facing Howie, their legs criss-crossed beside each other like puzzle pieces, his knees locking her in place like he doesn't want her to leave, like she'd ever want to be anywhere else.

Her hair falls around his face, and Chimney runs his fingers through the ends of her hair, bringing a few locks up to press a kiss to the ends. Maddie feels warm shiver through her, a bubbly fizz through her veins. She wants him so badly it makes her teeth ache. He grins up at her like he knows, smile crooked and mischievous.

Impossible, infuriating man.

Maddie grabs his face and pulls him into a kiss, long and deep. He hums into her mouth, his hands wrapping around her hips and pressing into the soft curves that he's so obsessed with, up scars and folds and underneath the soft cotton of her shirt to cup the underside of her breasts, making her sigh shakily into his mouth.

"You're gonna help me fill out all those forms later," she grumbles into his mouth, not at all protesting as he twists the two of them deftly under their covers, hands pulling her shirt over her shoulders. Her hands come back down to loosen the laces of his sweatpants immediately, Chim laughing, sweet and awful, into her neck as she fumbles a little in the dark.

"Whatever you want, baby," he promises, kissing down her neck as she finally gets his pants off, as he tumbles her into their star-studded sheets, hitches a knee between her thighs, and looks at her like she's impossible, too.

18) unsure fingers braiding hair

A year after his daughter is first born into the world, Chimney sits on their sofa and braids his girlfriend's hair.

"You're getting pretty good at this," Maddie murmurs, eyes half-shut as she leans against him. There's an easy trust in the way she does this, the way she allows him to hold her up, that punches the breath out of him if he thinks about it at all. So, instead, Chimney huffs a laugh into her vanilla-scented shampoo, watches the long strands of her hair weave through his fingers like silk, like something proprietary.

"You haven't seen the results yet," he quips, basking in the little giggle that she gives in response. Over, under, over. Slow and careful, strand over strand, weave over weave.

"You'll be fine," Maddie says, easily and completely. "You're a paramedic, you're good with your hands."

And there it is again, that quick belief, the way she looks at him and sees someone utterly trustworthy, competent, good. Chimney weaves the next twist of her braid very, very carefully.

"I am, aren't I?" he replies, flirtation sliding into his voice, just to see the pink at the tips of her ears.

"Shush, Howie, you know what I mean."

"Do I?" he teases a little more, ducking down to press a kiss to the side of her neck, reveling in her shivery little sigh. It's not going anywhere, not right now, when Jee-yun is asleep in the next room and probably preparing to start crying any second now. Chimney makes a mental note to ask Buck to babysit next shift, he's been complaining about how the Lees got too many turns. Right now, though, they're Jee-yun's parents before they're anything else, impossibly together and undoubtedly her's.

"You do," Maddie says, leaning into him regardless. "Have you been practicing?"

Chimney freezes for a moment, and Maddie twists a little, forcing him to move his hands a little to keep ahold of her hair. "Chim?" she blinks at him, owlish and assessing, clever and too-quick. "Wait, you have been practicing?"

"Uh."

A little laugh, the most beautiful thing in the natural world, and the unnatural parts of it too, probably. "On who, Chim? Hen is bald."

Chimney splutters a little. "I just- well-" he shrugs a little, gently pulling her head back so he can keep braiding, fingers slow but getting more sure. "You know, with the leftover thread and stuff, on the ambulance. Sometimes I need something to do with my fingers."

He can almost see her eyebrow raise. "And you chose to learn to braid them?"

Chimney hesitates for a moment, the words a little too fragile in his mouth. But he's never been able to keep his mouth shut, least of all with Maddie. "I tried to braid mom's hair before," he says. "When I was little. She let me, but I made a mess-- you know, all knots. It was silly. Dad-- dad caught us, and he told her that it was a waste. That there was no point trying to fix it. That she should just cut the knot out instead." A memory of dark hair through his fingers. Sad eyes. "She kept her hair short, after that."

"Howie--"

"I wish I'd learned better, for her," he says, looking at Maddie's long hair, the slightly uneven weave of it. He keeps braiding. "She lost it all in chemo, it seemed like a shame, that she kept it short for all that time before."

Maddie circles a hand over his ankle, gentle and grounding. "You're learning now," she says.

"I want to," he tells her. "Anne had short hair, and so did Hen. I never thought about it. But you like to keep your hair out of your face after you shower."

"I do," Maddie says, a little wonder in her voice, as if she can't believe that he loves her enough to remember, as if he doesn't love her enough to do far more.

"And Jee's growing up, too. One day, she'll probably want a daddy that can braid her hair for school. I want to be that for her. I don't want to cut her hair just because it's messy."

He pulls the hairtie from his wrist, wraps it around the end of her braid. It sits a little crooked on her back, but it's neat enough, made beautiful simply by the fact that it's Maddie, who will always be one of the most beautiful people he knows.

Maddie, who turns around, wraps her arms around him, kisses him once, again, eyes bright, smile tender. "You won't," she says. "You're a great dad, and a great partner."

He puts an arm around her waist, the other pulling her braid over her shoulder. "A partner who's a master braider?" he asks, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

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