Emma

Robby has to glance over at that. The father-to-be's still pretending to read the chart in front of him. His brows are furrowed, his nose slightly flared with every wrinkled line of his face morphed into performative irritation, but there’s a small lift at the corner of his mouth.

...He's disgustingly pleased.

Robby lets out a slow breath as Jack rambles on. This is what friends do, right?

"Shaving her legs. Putting that oil on her stomach. Lotion on her back. In the afternoon, she woke me up because her feet were dry."

"That's basically an emergency. You say no?"

Jack's brows raise. Robby almost snorts, but he doesn't, cause he's not as suicidal as he once was.

Alright, the suggestion alone is insulting. Sunshine could wake Jack whenever the hell she wanted, and he'd be halfway to doing whatever she asked him to do before she even finished speaking. That's his bad.

"She’s carrying my kid. I’m not gonna let her heels crack open."

Robby finally is brave enough to lock eyes with Jack. He looks tired, the shadows under his eyes are darker than usual, and it's probably because the love of his life now requires assistance rolling out of bed.

And yet...he's so fucking smug about it. He's loving every damn second. Good for him, but why lie about it?

"Most people complain because they don’t want to do something."

"I don't want to. She makes me use too much lotion. It gets everywhere. The sheets, my shirt---"

Robby sets down his tablet.

"You could stop helping."

...He's a little too satisfied to catch Jack's offended snap of his eyes. He sits down in the rolling chair as the guy, again, continues to ramble on. And on. And on.

Only you are deserving of such passion, Sunshine. Jeezus.

"I told you, she can't reach. She shouldn't have to strain."

Robby shrugs. "You could buy her one of those long-handled applicators. It's got a pad on the end. She could do her own back---"

"No. Those things are unsanitary."

Oh brother.

"...M'pretty sure you can wash them...unless the last ten minutes you spent pretending your pregnant girlfriend allowing you to rub her body every morning is some kind of hardship is just that...pretending."

Jack's nose flares. Robby's heart drops. That could've been a little too much for him.

"It isn’t like that. It's for medical purposes. It's good for her circulation when I help her."

He stares at the guy.

You lotioning her ass for circulation, Jack?

...Okay. Robby doesn't know where you're putting the lotion, but knowing you with Sunshine, he's got a pretty good idea.

Jack scratches his neck, rolling his shoulders. "I’m not gonna make her do all that herself, Robby. You're right, maybe I'm just nitpicking. It's not the worst. She sits between my legs. I do the belly first. Then her sides. Lower back if she can stand it."

...Okay. There's the real reason for his "whining". He wants to talk about it. Robby should've guessed that.

Jack wants to talk about it. He wants Robby to picture you nesting yourself between his thighs, round with his baby, lifting your shirt and trusting him to tend to every sensitive inch.

"Glad you got a system for your hardships, Jack. Sounds like an efficient routine."

"You need one. Otherwise, she gets impatient."

Robby nods like he could ever believe this bullshit, blinking slowly.

"Mm. God forbid."

Jack thinks about it in the truck. He doesn't have it in him to admit he's pathetic enough to sit in traffic as he fantasizes about moisturizing you. He just knows what comes next.

You’ll be in bed, probably wearing one of his shirts pulled up over your stomach. You’ve started waiting there for him during his final hour of work, surrounded by pillows, sending increasingly dramatic updates.

your daughter has lodged her foot beneath my rib. bring pudding or don’t come home

He stops for pudding before going home. He locks the door and checks it twice before moving through the house.

"Kid?"

"In here!"

Jack smiles, and by the time he enters the bedroom, his undershirt sleeves are pushed to his forearms, pudding and spoon in one hand.

You’re sitting against the headboard, pink pajama shorts beneath your stomach and one of his old shirts gathered underneath your tits.

Your belly shines softly in the sunlight. You smile at him.

"Hi, Daddy."

Jack stops.

His eyes remain on your stomach. There’s a sheen over it with a lack of the soft dryness that waits for his palms every morning and evening.

You’re already lotioned.

The fuck?

"Oh! My pudding, you're the best!"

You don’t appear to notice the shift in him. You’re too busy reaching for the pudding cup and spoon. He put the rest in the fridge.

He stands beside the bed, waiting. For what, he doesn’t know. Maybe for you to explain yourself. But you just eat your pudding, round and comfortable and glossy without him.

Jack sits on the edge of the mattress, breathing low.

"You already moisturized?"

You lick pudding from the spoon. He swallows.

"Mhm. I was getting itchy---"

"I was coming home. You couldn’t wait?"

Your brows rise, and Jack can't give a shit over how unreasonable he sounds.

"For lotion, Jack? Wait, are you pouting?"

Jack Abbot was never really the type to feed himself the way a person should eat. He lived off of vending machine food and granola bars. He could cook—he’s actually a very good cook—but didn’t see the point after a twelve hour shift that left him dead on his feet.

But for you? He’d cook a three course meal if you asked. He made sure you had dinner when he was off, waited on you hand and foot.

You did the same for him. But more so; you kept him fed.

You started meal prepping lunches for him to take to work; sometimes just leftovers from the previous night or something you made new entirely the day before while he was at work. Then you started adding desserts and snacks; a donut or pastry from the corner bakery you both loved, homemade cookies or brownies.

You left yogurt and homemade granola, veggie sticks with dip, beef jerky. But the dinners you packed? God, Jack could die on that hill.

He couldn’t explain how happy and domestic it made him feel to open up his lunchbox and find you’d packed him leftovers from the lasagna you’d made. Or chili, or a sandwich that looked like it came straight from a deli. Wraps that were filled to the brim with turkey and lettuce and everything he liked in them. He’d groan every time he took that first bite, leaning back in his chair with a content sigh. Something dangerous playing in his heart.

You—his sweet girlfriend of a few months who lived in his t-shirts and padded around his apartment with a giddy step and had more kindness in your pinky than most people had in their entire body—packed him lunch like it was nothing. Taking care of him like it was second nature. For you, it was.

People noticed, because Jack Abbot didn’t eat on shift unless it was a handful of nuts or whatever stale thing fell out of the vending machine when he kicked it after it ate his money.

But along with Jack eating good, came the changes in his body. Not anything drastic or bad but…he got thicker. At first it was just a little more pull at his scrubs, nothing he couldn’t handle by adjusting his arms a little.

He didn’t get fat or out of shape just; broader, healthy fat lining his muscles. His pecs and biceps always strained against his shirts, but now they looked like they were seconds away from busting the seams open. His ass got rounder, cheeks slightly more plush that you grabbed every time he kissed you; making him yelp a noise of protest. Every. Single. Time.

Don’t even get started on his torso. Layered with a slight pudge at the bottom when he wore his belt, abs and back muscles visible and flexing underneath his movements. He looked divine. He was stronger, more solid and filled out. His scrub top looked more than two sizes too small, hanging on for dear life.

Even if people noticed, they didn’t say anything; not at first. But of course Robby would be the one to put a stop to that; coming to a halt as he walked by with an ipad in hand, looking at his best friend like he’d just committed a felony in front of him.

“Jesus brother”, Robby says; “Let that shirt breathe.”

Jack turned to look at him, pushing his elbows off the counter of the hub; “What?”

“You look like your shirt’s two seconds away from ripping”, Robby points out, like it’s common knowledge.

“I don’t-“

Dana appears out of thin air next to them; “He’s right. You’ve been eating actual food too.”

Jack’s mouth stays open for a second, before a smirk takes its place; “So what? People eat.”

“You”, Robby says, pointing at him with a look over his glasses; “Don’t eat.”

“This feels like a personal attack”, Jack scoffs, still slightly amused; “You don’t eat either.”

“Correct. But i’m not suddenly showing up two months later looking like an honorary Avenger about to bust out of his scrub top.”

Jack’s jaw ticks, eyes flicking between the two; “You’re unbelievable.”

Jack grabs his own tablet, throwing a mock glare at the two in front of him; “I have patients to see, you know, like a real doctor?”

Then he walks away, throwing a half-hearted wave and a middle finger at whatever Dana and Robby are calling out after him.

Robby shifts on his feet, scoff leaving his mouth; “Damn.”

Dana gives him a look; “Whatever you’re thinking Robinavitch; don’t.”

Robby shakes his head; “No…Abbot’s got a better ass than me.”

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

A week later Jack finds himself standing in the break room, pulling out the lunch box you packed for him—leftovers from dinner the night before. Pasta and bread that he happily reheated in the microwave and toaster oven.

A small yellow sticky note was stuck to the top of the container, his lips already twitching at the corners.

‘Baby! I can’t wait to see you today. Go kick ass & save lives, sexy doctor man !! I love you sooooo much !! PS: I left you a surprise from your fav place !!’ with a little smiley face and heart drawn below it.

Jack’s heart skipped a beat, feeling the heat climbing up his neck and ears; settling on his cheeks as he slipped the note into his pocket to hang in his locker later with all the other notes of yours he kept.

He settled at the round table in the break room, looking further into the lunch box where sure enough—he found a pastry from his favorite bakery around the corner from his apartment.

He took a bite of it, sighing and letting his eyes close as the sweet taste hit his tongue. Shoulders dropping a bit as he relaxed a little into the chair.

He didn’t even open his eyes when the break room door swung open, whoever was stepping inside slipped to the back of his mind.

“Woah, is that homemade pasta?”, Shen’s voice broke through his thoughts.

Jack grunted quietly in response, nodding as he leant forward to take a bite; “Maybe.”

“You got a professional chef at home we don’t know about?”

Jack smirked a little; “Something like that.”

He took another bite, knowing more questions were coming and secretly hoping Shen would just do whatever he came in to do and let him eat in peace—but this was the ED, the night shift nonetheless; and Jack knew that was wishful thinking.

The door swung open behind them, Ellis sliding up next to Shen—stopping in her tracks.

“Abbot’s got homemade pasta”, Shen says, eyes wide.

Ellis leans over to inspect; “Now I know you didn’t cook that yourself.”

Jack raises his brows; “I can cook.”

“Not like that”, Ellis defends; “You burnt the noodles at last year’s potluck.”

“Robby was distracting me.”

“Excuses.”

Jack huffed and took another bite of his food.

“A pastry too? Who’s packing you this stuff?”

Jack takes the last bite of his pasta, pushing himself out of his chair and packing up the empty container; “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

He can feel the eyes on him as he puts the lunchbox back into the fridge, pulls out a water and slips past them with a smirk; “Enjoy your break, crawlers.”

Ellis scoffs, turning to Shen; “Fifty bucks says he’s got a woman at home. He’s not cooking like that.”

“Sixty-five”, Shen says, holding out his hand.

Ellis shakes it; “Done.”

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

The buzz of Jack Abbot’s sudden new eating habits—that actually benefited his body more than a vending machine dinner—quickly reached every corner of the ED. Various bets and hushed whispers of different theories floated around med students and residents alike. Hell, even Robby’s name had made it up on the betting board.

Jack himself couldn’t care less, the hushed whispers of the bet made him smirk to himself; knowing it was driving his coworkers crazy.

He wasn’t keeping you a secret exactly; it had just never directly or seriously come up.

He didn’t pay too much mind to all the whispers about his new size, either—mostly brushing it off as teasing or Robby and Dana just trying to get him all riled up.

But now, as he stood in the bathroom of his apartment—tugging a soft grey t-shirt over his head after a much needed shower; he was starting to think what Robby had said may have some truth to it.

You can hear him huff to himself in the bathroom, words you can’t quite pick up on as you flip through TV channels. A soft groan of frustration or disbelief echoes through Jack’s room, making you sit up more.

“Baby?”, You call, “Everything ok?”

There’s another quiet murmur of something before Jack comes out of the bathroom; hair still damp, greying curls lightening up as they dry. Boxers clinging low on his hips, the grey shirt he has on doing almost nothing to cover the contour and outline of his muscles—clinging to him so close he might as well not even bother wearing it.

Your mouth goes dry, watching as he sets his crutches against the bedside table and slumps down onto the end of the bed—every muscle in his back moving and pulling the shirt fabric even tighter.

“M’fine”, He says, messaging his residual limb; “Just starting to think maybe Robby’s right.”

“Ok…?”, You breathe; “Don’t ever say those words again…but about what?”

Jack huffs a laugh; “I’m serious!”

You shimmy out from underneath the covers, walking on your knees to the end of the bed and letting your hands roam over Jack’s shoulders. He instantly leans into it—like he didn’t even have to think about it anymore.

“He said my scrub top looked too small”, Jack sighs.

“Really?”

“Well actually his exact words were ‘let that shirt breathe, you’re about to rip it’ but I was phrasing it nicer.”

You laugh; “What makes you think he’s right?”

Jack shrugs; “Didn’t notice anything until I tried to put this shirt on and it barely fits. It used to be loose on me…”

He trails off, something in his mind making him think extra hard.

You hum softly, continuing to rub at his shoulders and a little down his arms; playing with the damp curls at the nape of his neck.

It’s quiet in the room as Jack continues to massage the tension out of his leg, eyes flicking over whatever TV channel you’d landed on before he came out. You press a soft kiss to his nape.

“Am I bigger?”, He asks suddenly.

Your eyes widen, a surprised laugh escaping your lips; “W-What?”

“Am I bigger?”, He repeats; “Have I put on weight?”

You soften immediately, realizing by the scrunch in his brow; he’s insecure about this.

“Baby, no”, You coo, slipping around to settle into his lap.

His hands come up to your waist, immediately steadying you.

“You’re just eating good”, You assure him.

His brow stays furrowed, a slight pout on his face and lips; eyes not looking at you.

“I mean maybe you’ve put on a few pounds, but with your job and SWAT; it’s all muscle, my love”, You say, letting your fingers comb through his hair.

He doesn’t answer yet, but his brow softens, eyes flicking towards yours now as you move your face in front of his.

“You’re so broad”, You whisper, hands roaming his shoulders again; “So strong.”

“Yeah?”, He asks, eyebrows raising a bit.

You nod, bottom lip between your teeth; “Yeah.”

You giggle softly when you feel his fingers flex at your waist, the way he shivers when you let your hands drift under his shirt—palms pressing flat against his torso. You let them settle there for a moment, fingers tapping against skin before you pull them back—tugging upwards at the hem.

His ears are pink now, but he doesn’t hesitate; pulling the shirt up and over his head with one pull at the back of the collar. It lands somewhere on the floor, but your attention remains on him.

Pale skin with a slight farmers tan disappearing by his elbows; laid out bare in front of you. His eyes flicking around the room, hands back at your waist.

With a soft hand on his jaw, you force him to look at you.

“You’re so thick”, You murmur, pressing a kiss to his bare shoulder.

His grip of your waist tightens, a breath leaving his nose.

Your kisses travel over his skin, trailing over his shoulders and torso; leaving no spot unmarked.

“So full and filled out.”

Kiss.

“So muscular.”

Kiss.

“So handsome.”

Your compliments start drifting elsewhere as you let your kisses trail over him.

“So kind.”

Kiss.

“So caring.”

Another kiss.

“So good to me.”

A kiss to his neck.

Your hands stop at the bottom of his torso, just below his belly button where the slightest bit of softer skin sits just above his waistband. You smooth your hands over it, feeling the muscle below it tense.

You look up, finding Jack’s cheeks the same color as his ears—his eyes wide and waiting. You pinch his skin once, before letting your hands roam back up his freckled arms to his shoulders; cupping his nape in your hands.

“You’re so beautiful, Jack”, You murmur.

A shaky breath leaves him, your lips against his cheeks and nose. He pulls back, eyes searching yours.

“God, I love you”, He huffs, pulling you in for a kiss.

His lips press firm against yours, hands traveling up your back and settling on your ribs. Jack’s forehead stays against yours when he pulls back, eyes still closed.

“It’s your fault, ya know”, He smirks.

You shrug; “I know, and I’m gonna keep feeding my man good.”

He lets out a noise between a groan and something of disbelief when you move off his lap, finding your way back to your spot on the bed. He follows you, rolling over to lay on his stomach; arms framed around his head and tucked under his pillow.

“Besides”, You say, mischievous smile growing; “Your ass looks ridiculously good.”

He yelps when your hand comes in contact with his ass, eyes wide as pink practically runs up his neck.

“Baby!”

“M’not even sorry”, You say, leaning in to capture his lips before he can protest any further.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

Something in Jack settles after that, most of the insecurity gone. He takes all the comments from Robby and Dana in stride. He still eats what you pack him, still keeps your notes.

He frowns when he goes to get his lunchbox out, finding it missing with a note in its place.

‘No lunch today, baby. Got a surprise for you!’

He can’t help the way his lips turn up at the corner, curiosity taking over when the door behind him swings open.

“Abbot! We got a MVA coming in”, Dana’s voice cuts him out of his thoughts.

“How long?”

“About two minutes.”

Jack sighs once, putting his bag away and following Dana out the door; the part of him trying to figure out what you were up to slipping to the back of his mind.

About two hours later, the bay doors open around you; boxes stacked in your hands as you wander towards the hub.

“You need help there, hon?”, Dana’s voice comes.

She’s standing at the hub, brows quirked in amusement and confusion.

“Oh hi!”, You chirp; “I just brought some lunch for my boyfriend and his co-workers. Not really sure where to put it though.”

Dana’s smile grows; “Well why didn’t you say so? Follow me, we’ll put those in here.”

She shows you to the break room, holding the door open as you slip in.

“So boyfriend huh? Which one of our lucky med students gets all this food?”, She asks, leading you back to the hub.

“Oh! He’s not a med student, he’s a doctor! Uh, Jack?”, You say.

Dana’s smile widens even further; “So you’re the one who’s feeding our grumpy guy?”

Robby’s head whips up from the other side of the hub, Ellis and Shen slowing to a stop behind him.

You can’t help the laugh the slips out; “He looks grumpy sometimes, but he’s actually not. It’s all a ruse.”

It’s Dana’s turn to laugh; “Huh.”

“He thinks he’s got everyone fooled, but he’s just a big—“

“Sweetheart?”, Jack’s voice breaks through.

Your eyes light up immediately, rushing to meet him halfway; “Jack!”

You meet his chest with a soft thud, arms wrapping around him as you lean up and press a kiss to his lips. He’s frozen for a moment, but immediately melts into the kiss once your lips meet his. His strong hands find your waist, smoothing over them; keeping you both grounded.

Nothing else around him matters in that moment—not whatever trauma he’d just stepped out of, not the fact that his leg was a little sore, not the fact that the ED had fallen almost silent around you; and not Robby or his coworkers bewildered gazes.

He’s melted into you as you wrapped your arms around his torso, tucking yourself under his arm; hand rubbing softly over his ribs.

“Baby!”, You hum; “I missed you.”

Jack’s eyes wander over you; “I missed you too, sweetheart.”

There’s a moment where his brain catches up, and he’s suddenly tilting your head up to look at him; worried eyes checking over your features.

“What’re you doing here? Are you ok? Are you hurt?”, His questions come rambling out.

You giggle, squeezing his side; “I’m fine! I brought you and your friends some lunch. It’s in the break room.”

Jack softens, a small graze of his lips against your head; “Sweetheart, you didn’t have to do that.”

“I know”, You shrug; “But I wanted to.”

The gazes around you narrow, mouths agape at this Jack.

Jack Abbot was a lot of things in the ED; assertive, leading, confident, level-headed, kind, always looking out for everyone in his own quiet way; but he wasn’t soft.

But with you? Jack crumbled under your gaze, the strong-willed and grumpy looking attending was a smiling and sweet puddle in your arms.

“I got that coffee that you like”, You hum.

Jack dips his head down closer to hear you; “From the deli?”

“Mhm, it’s at home on the counter. Where do you think I got the sandwiches from?”

Something sparkles in his eyes; “That’s what you brought us for lunch? Baby, that’s too much.”

But the glint of excitement stays in his eyes.

You tsk and wave him off; “Not for you.”

His face goes unbearably fond, eyes and smile soft. His lips brush against your ear.

“You’re gonna spoil us”, He says, voice low and raspy.

“Let me”, You smirk.

Behind you, Robby finally clears his throat; “Jack you gonna introduce us or do we all just not exist now?”

“You don’t”, Jack rolls his eyes, smirking as Robby feigns hurt.

Jack introduces you, pointing to each of his colleagues that have gathered around; “That’s Robby, he’s annoying.”

You smack his chest; “Be nice!”

Jack doesn’t falter; “That’s Dana, she makes this place run smoothly. Behind her are Ellis and Shen.”

“Oh! You’re Dana!”, You smile; “I’ve heard so much about all of you.”

“Oh really—“, Robby starts before Dana stops him with a flick to the back of his neck; “Ow!”

Jack takes that as an opportunity to steer you away from the crowd and into the break room; Whitaker slipping out the door with a mouthful of sandwich from one of the boxes.

“Well it seems like they like the sandwiches”, You say, watching as Jack himself digs into the boxes you’d left on the counter.

“I labeled yours”, You add.

Jack finds his as the words leave your mouth, unwrapping it as he lowers himself onto the small couch—patting his lap; “‘Cmere.”

You drift towards him with a magnetic pull you’ll never be able to explain, finding your spot on his good leg. Hands drifting up to play with the curls on his head; a little sweaty now from working.

He hums around another bite of sandwich, his free arm resting at your back; “Thank you for this, really sweetheart.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Jack. I like taking care of you”, You tell him.

The smile on your face matches his as he presses a kiss to your temple, offering you a bite that you gladly accept.

“Your friends seem nice”, You add; “Kinda quiet though.”

Jack scoffs, smirk crooked; “Give them a chance.”

“We should have them over sometime, for a barbecue or something.”

Jack hums, palm circling your lower back; “Whatever you want, baby.”

You reach out and grab his chin, catching him off guard; his mouth still half open as he went in for another bite—brows in his hairline.

“I love you”, You coo, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

He chases after your lips; “I love you too, sweetheart.”

You let his lips take over yours, warm and present. You jump when you pull back, checking your watch; “Oh! I gotta get going, I’m gonna be late.”

Jack pats your bum as you press another kiss to his lips, slipping out of his lap and heading towards the break room door. You turn back when you get there, smiling at Jack whose eyes have never left you.

“See you at home?”, He asks, not really wanting you to leave.

You nod, bottom lip between your teeth; “With dinner and a hot bath ready.”

Jack groans, already aching to be cuddled up with you and unwind from his shift. You blow him a kiss with a soft wave, that he happily returns before you slip out the door; leaving him alone in the break room.

He can still feel your weight on his lap, your fingers in his hair and your lips against his—a blush and smile creeping up on him as he leans forward for another bite of his sandwich;

“So ‘baby’, huh?”, Robby’s voice comes.

“Shut up, Robinavitch”, Jack juts.

The sound of a clipboard hitting the floor and Robby yelping as he jumps out of the way are all that Jack hears as the door swings shut; humming softly to himself—more than ready to come home to you.

Today was an absolute mess. One of the most hectic mornings to date, in fact.

Your 5 year olds, the twins, refused to let you dress them in matching outfits but also vetoed different ones. After you begged on your hands and knees for them to just put some clothing on, they landed on the same shirt but different colored bottoms.

Then your middle child, the 3 year old, who was usually quiet and sleepy in the mornings, decided to splash your husband with so much water in the tub that he had to change. Twice. Screaming from bath times' start to finish.

Thankfully, they have daycare five days a week, and because it's a weekday, you got to ship the crazy trio off to school. Getting to spend the second half of your unbelievably early morning with your one year old.

Pope shrugs off his jacket, leaving him in a tight black t-shirt and jeans. He's already dropped the car keys in their dedicated tray by the time he presses a soft kiss to your temple. Before you can formally greet each other, his gaze snags onto the mess his son is making, whose chubby little cheeks are coated in mushy carrots and peas, onesie stained so aggressively you can barely see the yellow lions on it.

“Food is ‘sposed to go in your mouth, grumpy,” Pope takes a thick thumb and carefully wipes off a big glob of mush from your sons button nose.

'Grumpy' is the nickname one of the twins gave their new baby brother when he came out of the womb having the exact same twisted scowl as their daddy.

You nudge your shoulder into Popes side with a small huff, “He’s trying his best.” You then turn your attention back to the angel in the high chair, "Aren’t you sweet boy? Yes you are! Yes you-"

Your baby talk effectively dies in your throat when you feel bile replacing it suddenly. Your stomach lurches at the same time you do, slapping a palm over your mouth, dropping the tiny spoon you were mid airplaning and diving for the sink.

Once you’re done vomiting up the half cup of coffee and the single blueberry that fell off your middle child's plate that you’ve eaten since 5 am, you sag against the sink.

"What's wrong? Are you sick?" Pope steps behind you to grip your forearms, keeping you upright, immediately concerned and wanting to fix the problem.

You lean back against his body and breathe for a second. Letting his strong chest and warmth flood your senses enough to quell the uneasiness in your belly.

"No, I don't think so," You answer truthfully. "I've just been super nauseous the past few…"

You trail off as the familiar puzzle pieces fall into place as they have done many times before since you've been married to Pope Cody.

You slowly turn around to face him, your features morph into a wide eyed, horrified gape.

"Oh my god..." You breathe and thats all you can manage.

Pope's hazel eyes literally light up, but his face stays in its usual tight expression. You can tell it's because he doesn't want to speak to soon.

You had never believed your husband to be a superstitious man, but before you had even had kids, you once you thought you were pregnant, and he got so excited that he bought you a big ass SUV so you could- in his own words- 'drive all his kids around when he's not there to'.

You hadn't been pregnant, though. You found Pope crying in the shower after you told him it was a false positive. You made him and yourself feel better by having a whole lot of shower sex that did irreparable damage to your water bill that month. But the two of didn't even end up caring, because three weeks later, a real positive showed up on a pregnancy test.

Grumpy babbles from his high chair and you realize you and Pope are still just staring at each other wordlessly. After another beat, he blinks and his jaw works just once, “Go take one right now.”

You know what he's referring to. One of the many pregnancy tests you have lying around the house due to the literal sports team you have been popping out.

Going to the bathroom, finding a test and taking it is all a blur. It all becomes clear again when you shuffle back into the kitchen.

"Oh my god!" You shriek in disbelief and utter exhaustion when you flash him the test with two lines so dark you feel another wave of nausea threaten to spill over.

"How could you do this to me again!”

A smile finally breaks onto Pope's face. A big goofy one that shows off the crooked teeth and crinkling eyes that you love so much that got you into this mess in the first place.

This particular smile he's sporting is one that you’ve only seen a few times with him. The first was when you said you would go out with him, the second was when you told him you loved him back, and then it appeared every single time you found out you were pregnant.

You knew what day this pregnancy came from. It was the last time you had sex, which was three weeks ago. A quickie in the laundry room during everyones nap time.

You squint at him. Throwing up an accusing finger and taking a step back when he reaches for you.

“I told you you should’ve worn a condom!” You practically hiss.

Not that you really care your pregnant again.

You’re truly always excited to have kids with Pope. Obviously... because you have so many. But right now, it’s barely 8 am and you’re pretty sure that your throw up further clogged the garbage disposal that one of the twins shoved blocks down this morning.

Pope blinks at you, scrunching his handsome face up as if he genuinely doesn't understand the notion, “You’re my wife. ‘m not using a fucking condom.”

"Andrew!" You gasp as he finally closes in on you. "Grumpy is right there!”

You let him tightly wrap his arms around you. Because you're tired, nauseous and now a type a nervous that you haven't felt in over a year. His hold is the only thing that keeps you sane in this moment.

He presses his face into your neck, “ ’S fine.”

Your hands encircle his tree trunk waist, grip probably too tight and exposing your worry, but Pope doesn't say anything.

You glance to your youngest son who is your husbands pocket sized version, then whisper into Pope's chest, "No cursing. He’s old enough to hear words and repeat them.”

Pope presses his body further into yours as if trying to meld the two of you together. Your cheeks heat as you feel the hardness of him that's now standing at full attention against you. The heavy weight of his bulge brings pressure on the outside of your belly and pools warmth inside of it.

Pope's breath tickles your neck, “You think he’s old enough to look after himself while mommy and daddy go cuddle?”

Cuddle.

The word the two of you started using when the twins started catching onto to when their parents started kissing and pawing at each other in the kitchen and then abruptly called for everyone’s bed time at 7:30 pm.

You pull back and swat at his shoulder, “Andrew!” feigning incredulity even though you have to discreetly squeeze your thighs together.

“Cmon, I’ll be quick,” he says through the kisses he starts leaving on your neck.

You snort, “Romantic.” You manage to steel your mind just enough to push Pope off and the thought of getting to mount him as you cross the kitchen to your baby boy. “You better not’ve been serious about leaving our one year old unattended, or mommy will never cuddle with you ever again.”

Despite your threat, you see Pope bite his lip when you call yourself mommy.

He slowly looks you up and down. Even with your hair slightly wet from your first shower in days, baby food accompanying the throw up on your face, and one of his giant t-shirts hanging off your shoulder, the heat still simmers in his eyes. Needy and hot. It makes your face grow warm and you have to turn away from him.

After a beat of him silent behind you, you hear him grunt dramatically.

He mutters, “Fine. I guess can wait until Friday.”

Which is when you’ll drop the kids off at your parents house. It’s your designated date night (even though you never even leave the bedroom). But you’ve missed almost a whole months worth because one of the twins having a fever one night and then there was a toddler ballet recital the next and all that other wonderful parenting crap. So you’re both… pent up, to say the least.

His footsteps sulk out of the kitchen and stalk upstairs behind you, huffing and puffing as he goes.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding as all the heated anticipation leaves your body. You glance at the calendar covered in parent teacher conference sand sports events that hangs on the fridge.

Okay, it's Monday. You can wait four days. Right??

Your focus lands on Grumpy, you then realize that Andrew had finished feeding him while you were upstairs peeing on a stick. The familiar steady ease of Pope being your rock in this marriage has some of the anxiety about being pregnant again fade away.

"Da," Grumpy chirps.

You pick him up and nuzzle his nose with yours, “I know. Daddy is so dramatic, isn’t he?”

Your one year old giggles as if he agrees with you.

About a half an hour later, Pope is upstairs changing Grumpy as you empty the dishwasher. Your husband held onto his scowl he passed onto your youngest the whole time, throwing a fit that he can't have sex with his wife after finding out she's pregnant with his kid.

You had rolled your eyes and given him a quick kiss on the cheek after you brushed your teeth, then came downstairs to tidy up the mess that your children left in the living room and kitchen this morning.

Your brow furrows as an unexpected knock comes from the font door, and that furrow deepens when your neighbor, who you ask to babysit sometimes when no one else is around, is on the other side of it.

"Oh, Hi Bertha," You can't hide the confusion in your tone. "Can I help you?"

She nods once, big framed silver glasses that match her hair slide down her long nose, "I'm here for baby Cody."

You open your mouth to tell her you have no idea what she's talking about, but are interrupted by Pope appearing from behind you. He has Grumpy and a diaper bag in hand.

"Thanks," He says curtly as he hands off your baby boy. "The family matter isn't too serious, so we should we only be two-” then his gaze flicks to yours and his mouth quirks sideways to hold back his smirk and he corrects himself, “-maybe three hours.”

Your jaw drops. Not entirely believing that your husband lied about a family emergency just so he can get some alone time with you. But before you can say anything, Pope plants a kiss to Grumpy's cheek, mutters a goodbye to Bertha, and slams the door.

After a single blink of gawking at him, you throw your hands up.

You absentmindedly take a few steps backwards as you shriek, “Oh my god!" You continue to wave your hands around until your opposite him, the coffee table sitting in between you. "You’re unbelievable, Andrew!”

Your husband simply shrugs, “Decided I couldn’t wait.”

You scoff, the delirium of being a mother of four and the apprehension coming from the prospect of a fifth already starting a tiring mental battle in your mind.

“I am not having sex with you! It’s barely 9am and you just-" pregnancy brain kicks into overdrive and frustration bubbles up as you fight to string a sentence together- "You just carted off our youngest son to our neighbor!”

Pope scoffs in response, as if you would ever actually deny him. Annoyance prickles up your spine, adding to your already formed aggravation.

This man has the nerve to get you pregnant again and be all smug about it?

When he tries to round the coffee table to reach you, you step away, crossing your arms and basically glaring at him.

Pope raises a brow. He takes another step forward, you take another step back. After a second of confusion, a mischievous glint darkens his eyes.

He licks his lips, “Hmmm you haven’t played hard to get in a long while sweetheart.”

Your breath catches.

This is... not where you were expecting this to go.

You manage to fake an eye roll, trying to act as if his words didn't make your stomach tighten, “I’m not playing hard to get. It’s not happening.”

The words don’t fall as stern as you’d like them to, because you feel a dull throbbing sensation starting to build up in between your legs.

Damn your husband and his sexy face, voice and body.

A sly smile overtakes his face as the two of you start to slowly circle the coffee table. Pope's voice morphs into a taunt that send goosebumps across the back of your neck. “Wanna make me work for it? Okay honey, I’ll work for it. Don't gotta worry 'bout that.”

Nervous laughter bubbles out of you as you try to fend off the flush of arousal that he’s probably already spotting from a mile away.

A tense game of cat and mouse ensues as you round a corner and he rounds the opposite one. Over and over and over.

“You don’t need to work for anything. We’re not having sex.” You get even more irritated when your voice waivers embarrassingly on the last three words. Your husband tracks the sound and hunches over slightly, as if he is literally trying to snatch you up you like a hunter catches an animal.

You don't really want to think about why it sends a rush of dampness to the boxers- his boxers- that you're wearing.

You have to stay strong. Follow through with your scolding. Why can't you ever deny him? Probably because he has the biggest-

Pope dawns a casual look. Nonchalant almost. But his eyes stay blazed as they take in your skittish steps and uneven breathes.

A shrug accompanies his next wide stalk around the corner of the wooden table, “Alright. Stop walkin' away from me then.”

You feel your body betray you, growing all hot and fuzzy in wicked anticipation as you try to steady your voice, “I will. Once you stop following me.”

His movements falter for a second, thinking about it. He looks at you, then the remaining space between you, and opens his mouth.

“Nah.”

He lunges for you.

Reacting instinctively, you yelp and jump sideways out of his reach that grazes your waist. You land parallel to him across the table once again.

He groans as if this is the sexiest foreplay he could ever ask for, “Fuck sweetheart. You want me to chase you?”

How did you end up here? Weren't you just throwing up in the sink??

Damn these pregnancy and postpartum hormones that make Pope Cody even more irresistible.

While you are very flustered by the ridiculousness of the whole scenario, you are also, very turned on.

You've completely forgotten why you said no to sex in the first place at this point. The only notion that rings clear in your mind is that you really, really want him to chase you.

“N-no.” A lie.

Your hesitation has him chuckle darkly, “My day just keeps gettin’ better.” It’s spoken quiet, meant for his inner thoughts but slips through the cracks in the heat of the moment.

Pope slowly eyes you up like you’re his prey and then he cocks his chin up once. A vague gesture to the rest of the house that sits behind you.

His already deep voice drops an impossible amount of octaves as he rasps, “Better get movin’ sweetheart.”

Your eyes widen. Heart dropping all the way into the basement where only Pope goes because theres crickets down there.

You turn and bolt through the living room before he can make his next move.

A disbelieving gasp-shriek sounds from you as you run as fast as you can through the first floor of the house he bought you.

The exhilarating rush you get at the though of him chasing you has your heartbeat thump in your ears and somewhere else you don't need to dignify with naming. You haven't looked back once as you reach the bottom of the stairs.

Your racing mind has half a thought that you've gained some distance, but then you hear Pope's heavy footsteps thud behind you in the hallway.

Then up the stairs.

Then into your bedroom.

You squeal like a school girl when he finally gets his hands on you.

Pope- gently because he would never actually hurt you- throws you onto the bed, easily pinning you under him within seconds.

He has one large hand holding both of your own over your head. The rest of his body is pressed on top of you, faces inches apart. You feel your hearts rapidly beat against each other as you're chest to chest.

“You can never outrun me,” His rough whisper ghosts your lips, making you realize you haven't kissed all morning.

You close the gap and place featherlight kiss to his mouth. Your voice is delicate despite what you just did and the position he now has you in, “I never want to.”

All the buzz starts to settle in your body. Melting into a safe and glowy feeling that engulfs you and your soulmate.

He stares at you for a second when you pull back. The heat in his gaze melts into something different. Something softer.

He exhales through his nose, gulping audibly as he mumbles what he always does when he finds out you're pregnant.

“Thanks for givin' me another one.”

You smirk at him, wrapping your legs around his thick waist tightly, “Could be two again.”

You giggle at the pleasure coated groan that sounds from him at the thought.

Pope presses his face into your neck, pressing his hips into you. When you feel the large bulge that has made it's way back into his jeans, you know just how much he liked that thought.

He places hot kisses up your neck until you’re squirming beneath him. He says lowly into through kisses, “I love you so much.”

You whisper back, “I love you too, Andrew.”

“So much," he continues. "Too much. I wish there was a way I could show you how much.” His breath is warm on your skin, the affection only you see from him sends your heart fluttering.

Pope means it sweetly. A true testament to romance.

But there’s still some adrenaline coursing through you from the chase, so you can’t help but tease, “You could give me an orgasm for each kid?”

He exhales a sharp laugh against your collarbone then drops his hand, releasing both of yours. Your fingers automatically shoot up into his auburn curls with their newfound freedom.

His lips twitch upwards when he pulls back to meet your eyes. He softly presses his lips to yours, murmuring, “Sounds like a good start.”

“Start?” you raise a brow at him.

Pope grinds his hips firmly into yours, drawing a soft moan from you. His tone gets serious. Determined.

"Honey, I bought us over two hours of alone time. I plan on giving you three times the amount of our kids.”

You brushed the back of your hand against hers to get her attention and she lifted her head to you in silent question.

You weren’t very touchy with her at work, but this seemed like an exception you were willing to make.

“What happened?” 

“Nothing.” Trinity mumbled as she crossed her arms and pouted. You smiled at her as she stuck her bottom lip out. You licked your lips as you quickly scanned the area around you. No one was around and technically the shift didn’t start for another thirty minutes.

You quickly pressed your lips onto hers, effectively wiping the pout away. A blush spread on Trinity’s cheeks as her eyes widened. 

“Baby,” she whined as she looked around, but surprisingly there was no one in sight. 

“Don’t worry, no one saw love. Besides, everyone knows we’re together.” 

“That’s besides the point and you know it.” You grinned at her, happy that she was no longer pouting. 

“So, you gonna tell me what Whitaker did or keep me and the rest of the ED on its toes?” Trinity groaned as she leaned back on the wall behind her. 

“He’s being mean.” You shook your head at her and rolled your eyes. There was no real bite to her words so you knew she was exaggerating the truth. 

“Mhm, Huckleberry’s the meanest.” You kissed her forehead earnestly as she stared up at you with soft green eyes. She looked almost on the verge of tears which melted your heart. You rubbed her arms lightly, knowing she’d want the comfort. 

“Honey, are you okay?” You were getting a little concerned now. She and Dennis argued like an old married couple, but it wasn’t often that she was actually upset. Usually her ego was just bruised and she’d get over it once the two of them talked things out. 

“Fuckleberry is going to be at the farm this weekend after he promised to stay with me when you work nights.” You frowned with heart eyes at the sincerity in her voice before wholeheartedly laughing.

“Don’t laugh! It’s not funny mahal. You know I don’t like being alone when you have to work doubles.” You looked at her for a minute and realized she’d completely forgotten you were not working this weekend. 

Oh this was going to be fun, you thought as you tried to fight the smile playing on your lips.

“Love, why would I be working nights this weekend?” Trinity adjusted her posture and crossed her arms. She softly pushed your hands away. You kept them in front of you laced together. 

“You always work nights every other Saturday. You’ve done this since we met three years ago.” You nodded along with her. It was true that you typically worked a double on Saturdays, but there were exceptions. 

“That’s true, but what is this weekend?” Trinity rolled her eyes as she jutted her bottom lip out again. She knew what the weekend was. She may be tired from working in the ED, but the days of the week weren’t hard to remember.

“It’s the thirteenth.” Trinity stated matter-of-factly. She had a smirk on her face as though she’d shown you up. To be fair, she was correct, but it was clear she’d forgotten the meaning of the date. 

At least in the moment, considering you’d just been talking about the significance a few days prior.

“That’s true, but think a little harder, baby. Because I don’t think Dennis was being mean when he decided to make sure he wasn’t at the apartment this weekend.” Trinity rolled her eyes for the thousandth time, but took a minute to think before her eyes widened in realization.

“Oh my fucking God.” Trinity pushed off the wall after giving you a rushed kiss on the lips. She was halfway down the hallway when she turned back to you.

“I didn’t forget mahal. It was just a momentary lapse of amnesia.” You smiled at her and shook your head.

“I know love.” And you did know. Trinity would never forget such an important thing. Especially not when it was important to the two of you. 

You walked back to the nurse’s station where Dana was already waiting. 

“Couldn’t get anything out of the kid, he turtled into his shell immediately.” Dana said when she saw you approaching. She watched Trinity walk over to Dennis and the two immediately had an animated conversation. 

“Do I need to call Ahmad to separate those too?” Dana joked. 

“Nope, just a misunderstanding. Trinity forgot I wasn’t working nights this weekend and got angry when Dennis said he wasn’t going to be around.” Dana clicked her tongue. 

“That girl forgot about the two year anniversary dinner she planned that she wouldn’t shut up about for the entirety of last week?” Dana asked incredulously. 

“Exactly.” You laughed to yourself as you watched the two siblings talk it out. Dennis had a sheepish smile on his bright red face. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but knew they’d worked it out when Trinity gave him a quick hug and walked away like nothing happened. 

She beelined to your side and squeezed your hand as she kissed you on the cheek. You squeezed her hand in return and nodded your head towards Dana. 

“Sorry for the tension D.” Dana raised an eyebrow at the R3 and nodded.

“All good, kid. It feels like a brand new ED in here now. Thing one and thing two always work it out.” Trinity’s eyes widened as a blush spread on her cheeks and she buried her face in your neck. 

All you could do was laugh as you cradled her head and pretended to shield her from Dana.

“Don’t worry love, I’ll protect you from the scary charge nurse.” Dana barked out a laugh and you sighed happily. 

Today was going to be a good day. 

***