#mfiy

…

“This… doesn’t look right.” Bradley pulls back and rests his hands against his hips, staring at the car seat with an unimpressed gaze frown.

“Sure it does.” You answer, peering around him to examine the situation in front of you. The straps are secure at the top of his chest, his plush cheek resting against the padded restraints.

“I don’t think so. He doesn’t look comfortable.” Bradley answers you with a shake of his head. This is his second practice of the day. He doesn’t want Tom to be in the car seat too long, but he knows that his most significant job in all of this is getting the two of you home safe.

He leans forwards and begins to fiddle with the straps again. Your newborn doesn’t seem fussed by his neurotic, worried dad anyways. Bradley hums. “Don’t worry, buddy, we’ll figure it out.”

“The Bradshaws! — How are we this morning?”

This, Thomas is fussed by. Over the last six days, the first six of his life, you’ve figured that your son has some pretty sharp reflexes. Even just blowing on his cheek makes him flinch. He jumps, arms and legs tensing at once, his still unfocused eyes blowing wide open as the doctor strolls into the room.

His lip begins to wobble and his nose scrunches up tight, his hands trembling under the confines of his mittens. You nudge Bradley out of the way and unclasp the straps right as Thomas begins to cry.

“Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to spook this little sweetheart.” The doctor is smiling and reaching out to tickle the infant’s back and on your end, everything is forgiven. Bradley, however, glares at her as he reaches his son.

You hadn’t been expecting the same guy who once jumped off of the roof of a neighbouring frat house and into their pool to be such a nervous nelly when it came to parenthood. Especially not the same guy who told you he wanted no part in any of this.

You roll your eyes, rocking softly, shushing the baby. These past six days have taught you a lot of things. That the birthmark on the bottom of Thomas’ back is kind of the shape of Italy. That even though he can’t see much yet, he likes to look around while he’s being fed. That Bradley is not fast enough at changing diapers yet to avoid getting peed on.

That somehow, you and Bradley might have just created the most perfect little boy in the entire world. With his thatches of brown hair and his tiny fingers and toes, his sloped nose and poured lips. Those funny, jumpy reflexes.

“I’m just here to do some tests, see if we can get you guys home today.” She tells you with a bright smile. From the way that your face changes, she can tell that this is the news that you’ve been waiting for. Six days of barely walking, hearing other people’s babies screaming — you’ve been ready to go home for a while.

“Today? — Nobody said today. They said tomorrow.” Bradley interjects loudly. You scowl across at him and he shuts up, but the nervous way he fidgets on his feet tells you everything you need to know.

“I know, I know. But he’s doing just fine so far, and I’m sure you two are eager to sleep in your own beds again.” The doctor coos softly, learning from her initial mistake as she takes the baby from your arms. She follows your pattern of soothing and rocking and Thomas seems to consider quietening down.

Bradley pushes his hands into the pockets of his sweat shorts and just leans back against the end of the hospital bed. He’s so focused on watching this stranger with your baby that he doesn’t even hear you move until you’re pressing in against his side.

“You’re doing fine.” You promise him, stretching your open palm against the fabric of his black t-shirt, stretching your neck to look at him. “Stop stressing.”

He doesn’t say anything, and that worried frown on his face doesn’t soften either. Bradley swallows, brushes a hand over his upper lip and reaches out for you. You close

Your eyes as he secures an arm around your waist and tugs you closer, leaning down and resting his mouth against the top of your head.

He inhales deeply, breathing in the scent of unfamiliar shampoo and hospital borrowed soap.

“She called you a Bradshaw, you know.” He whispers finally, just before he straightens back up. You scoff, jabbing the tip of your index finger into his side.

“Don’t get any ideas, Pops. It’s bad enough you talked me into letting Tommy take your name.” You’re joking, of course. The amusement in your voice makes his chest feel that little bit less tight. You’ll say yes, one day. He’ll make sure it’s special and you’re not giving birth next time, and you’ll say yes.

He pinches your side playfully and tugs you closer again. “Pops? — I thought we agreed on you calling me—“

He grunts as you jerk your elbow back into his stomach, just enough to make him jolt but not enough to actually hurt the idiot you’ve come to be so fond of. There it is, he grins behind you, his chest rumbling with a soft chuckle.

Minutes later, the doctor turns around to you and gives you the go-ahead. Suddenly, the little boy in the roomy onesie is all yours, and yours alone. Well, not that suddenly, there’s paperwork first. But sudden feels the only appropriate word when you’re walking out of the hospital, with no one to guide you.

Bradley’s knuckles are white around the handle of the car seat in his right hand, a slightly softer approach to the way that he’s holding your hand in his left.

“You’re sure you can walk? — They said you could have a chair, if you want a chair.” He checks, for the second time since you stepped out of the elevator.

“I’m fine.” You give his hand a soft squeeze and groan softly as you step out into the mid-summer suffocation of the Florida heat. “Now walk with purpose. It’s too hot for this.”

Settled into the backseat beside Thomas, sleeping in his car seat, you catch Bradley frowning worriedly back at the both of you before he turns the key in the ignition.

The drive home is slow, and uneventful. The baby is asleep. Bradley’s eyes are trained seriously on the road, his hands holding a steady ten and two position on the wheel. You don’t dare suggest that he turns on the radio.

There were plenty of things that you had prepared yourself for when you had decided to have your baby. Your body changing, fine. Your career plans changing, okay. The hormones and the responsibilities and the tiny human who would depend on you for probably the rest of your life, sure.

Some things about such a drastic lifestyle change simply cannot be planned for.

Nine hours ago, you brought your son home from the hospital. This is something that you would never admit out loud, but in those last few days of your pregnancy, the concern had flooded your mind that maybe your feelings for Bradley were purely hormonal. You were carrying his child, it makes sense that your body would want him around. It was the after that had concerned you.

But, you had watched today as Bradley had carried the car seat in one hand and secured you by his side with the other. He had buckled your son into the car, and he had driven home under the speed limit the entire way.

You exhale softly as you step out of the shower. That’s growing easier now, six days later, but your body is far from healed. Your legs still tremble when you try to stand too long, and your back aches in a way you’re starting to worry might be permanent.

It’s quiet in your apartment now. You listen out as you towel dry your body, trying to find the pitch of a sports narrator or some soft music — anything. It’s almost dead silent.

You wriggle into your pyjamas and wrap your wet hair, walking slow out of the bathroom and down the hall. You’re barely dry, your warm feet padding along the carpet, wrinkled fingers pushing open the door to the bedroom.

One of the things that none of the articles you had read seemed to mention, is what to do the first time that you see the father of your child at home with your baby.

Bradley’s sitting up against the pillows with Thomas nestled against his chest. His hand eclipses the infant’s torso as he pats his back softly. Thomas’ cheek is resting against Bradley’s pectoral, you can’t see from where you are but instinct and your son’s uncharacteristic stillness tells you that he’s sleeping.

Bradley’s singing. He’s patting the baby’s back gently and he’s singing softly, trying hard to push the usually deep rumble of his voice into lullaby territory.

Your mouth falls slack, cold feet becoming still against the soft floor. This tiny first apartment and its discernible wooden doors that creak at every opportunity give you away and he stops just as quickly as he is perceived.

His gaze flickers up and his lips twist softly into a small smile. You watch him take account of your matching maternity pyjamas which threaten to be too big without the stretch of your bump. Amusement floods the hint of the smile on his lips — he loves to laugh at these pyjamas.

His hand stills against Thomas’ back, those glittery brown eyes flicker up to study the look on your face.

“Hey, babe,” He hums, keeping his voice low so that he doesn’t startle the baby. “How was your shower?”

“I didn’t think I would miss our shitty water pressure, but I’m just so glad we’re not at the hospital anymore.” You pad across the carpet towards him and crawl into bed, pulling back the sheets and draping yourself across Bradley’s brawny thighs.

He looks down at you and secures the infant close to his chest, freeing one hand to brush tenderly across your cheek.

“What was that song were you singing him?” You ask. The ceiling fan whirs above you like a thrumming, excessively loud lullaby. The warmth of his thigh props up your cheek.

There’s something about it all that feels too much like a dream. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep. The NICU isn’t exactly a luxury retreat, despite its price point. Tonight is your first night home from the hospital. Your son is six days old and yesterday, he officially crossed the threshold into five pound territory. Tonight, he’s huddled against Bradley’s bare chest, wearing a diaper that had seemed too tiny for an actual human to wear and zipped into a onesie printed with little ducks on it. Geese, maybe, actually.

You lift your hand and reach out, watching your fingertip follow the soft cotton covering those wrinkled lines on the sole of Thomas’ foot that you’ve come to be so familiar with already.

The infant curls his toes and unclenches them again, scrunching his knees. Bradley watches, lips twisted into a smile that he couldn’t fight back if he tried.

There’s something about the steady, heavy thrum of Bradley’s heartbeat that puts the kid right to sleep. The warm bath and the ounce of milk that came before he was set on his dad’s stomach may have helped too. Bradley’s hand cups the back of Thomas’ neck, keeping the sleeping baby steady.

“Wildflowers by, uh— Tom Petty, I think?” Bradley shrugs. In truth, he knows the song inside and out — it was the first song he learned to play on piano. He’s used to playing that down. Girls find guitars hot, not his years of classical piano lessons.

You smile, lifting your head and pressing a gentle kiss to the sole of the baby’s foot, soft blue cottons

against your lips. Then, you lower your mouth and press it softly to Bradley’s stomach. Just once, before you drop your head back down and set it against his thigh.

“He’s so good, and I’m still exhausted.” You murmur, exhaling deeply. Behind heavy lids, you make a mental note to look into which ingredient in the smell of baby soap acts as such a good sleeping agent.

“You should sleep. He’ll be up again in a couple of hours.” Bradley reminds you, stroking damp hair back off of your forehead. Closing your eyes, you nod with him, but make no effort to move. He smiles. “Come on, I don’t need to sing the both of you to sleep, do I?”

You huff a soft sound of amusement, giving a small shake of your head. “Not tonight, Pops. Put him to bed, let’s get some sleep.”

Bradley chuckles, carefully shifting your son off of his stomach and instead laying him across his thighs as you sit up.

“Mom and Dad… isn’t that crazy?” He muses, stroking his thumb across the soft hair on the infant’s head. Thomas is still so small that Bradley’s palm makes him look even tinier. You lean into your boyfriend’s shoulder and stroke the baby’s cheek.

“I know.” You agree quietly.

Big, round cheeks and pursed lips, dark eyelashes and a soft little nose. His tiny hands balled into fists, his knees curled up to his middle. Blue clouds adorning his onesie. Half you, and half Bradley.

“Alright, we’ll see you in a couple hours, little man. Yell if you need something.” Bradley half jokes as he pushes himself up from the bed and turns to set the baby into the bassinet. With the lung capacity he has already impressed you with, you know that he’ll have no issues letting you know if he wants something.

He crawls back into bed beside you and flicks the beside lamp off, pulling the covers up around the two of you. Readily, you press yourself close to him and close your eyes. He smells like baby soap.

“Are you still hurting anywhere?” Bradley’s voice lowers to a whisper now, his breath fanning across the nape of your neck as he leans his head into the crook of your shoulder and cautiously rests a hand against your hip. Into the dark, your mouth twitches at a smile.

Your hips feel both squished and torn apart at the same time. Your back feels like it might never feel quite right ever again. But even with him a cautious distance from you, you can feel the perpetual warmth from his body.

“Everywhere. But I still want you to hold me.”

Slowly, he slides an arm under you and another over you. Draping his body around yours, he pulls you close and suddenly you get whatever it is that sends Thomas off to sleep so easily. The faint musky smell of his fading cologne. The steady, heavy thrum of his heartbeat. The long, deep pattern of his breathing.

Just when you think he has beat you to it, he reminds you that he’s still awake. A soft, chaste kiss presses to your throat, his voice low as he mumbles, “I love you.”

As much as Thomas is a good baby; he’s still a baby. A small one at that, with plenty of growing to do. Even now, he just about finishes an ounce of milk at a time — half of the time. That means a lot of wake ups. A lot of diaper changes with your eyes half open.

The first four days of parenthood pass you by before you’ve really come to terms with the reality of it all. Constant feeds through the night, surviving off of instant noodles and pizza — all of this doesn’t feel too far of a stretch from your recent college days.

But it’s harder now. The responsibilities are never ending. It’s hard to remain rational about any of it.

“If you could breastfeed, would you do it?”

From the other end of the couch, Bradley seems to startle awake. Brows drawing together in confusion, he stares across your dimly lit living room at you, then takes a second to look around him.

You’re at the end of the movie now, so he doesn’t have a clue how long he has been sleeping. Stretching his legs out, he sighs softly, “Yeah. I guess so.”

Your mouth twitches at the fact that he doesn’t even ask you why. He blinks softly and brings both hands up to rub at his eyes tiredly.

“What time is it?”

“Two, maybe.” You shrug, watching Thomas’ eyelids grow heavy. His hands remain balled and tucked in against his chest. He has spent these past four days stretching out occasionally, scrunching himself back into a tight ball frequently.

“No fucking way did I just sleep for four hours. The movie’s still playing.” Bradley protests, awkwardly fumbling to push himself upright and puckering his mouth into a deep frown. You just shrug across at him once more.

“I put the sequel on after you fell asleep.”

He hadn’t ever thought he would be able to have a regular conversation with a woman who had her breast out in front of him, but here he is. It doesn’t even cross his mind to check you out. The only thing he’s thinking about is the fact you’re running on maybe an hour of uninterrupted sleep and all you had wanted was to watch your movie with him. And he had fallen asleep.

He fumbles around, checking his pockets for his phone, finding it instead resting between his jaw and shoulder. You close your eyes for a moment as he checks the time. In the split second that your eyes are shut, Thomas makes a spluttering sound.

As quickly as you can lift and turn him, the has already spit the last mouthful of milk back against your skin and all down his chin.

“Oh, Tommy…” You groan, adjusting the strap of your nursing bra with one hand as you support him with the other.

“Here, I’ll take him.” Bradley offers, pushing himself up and starting to scoot towards you.

“We’re fine.” Maybe it comes out a little bit harsh, maybe your tone is a little colder than normal. Bradley frowns at you, sitting still at the opposite end of the sectional. “Just go back to sleep.”

“Hey, I didn’t mean to—“

“I know you didn’t.” You’re just doubling down at this point as you wipe at Thomas’ mouth with a muslin cloth. Bradley’s brows draw together a bit.

“So why are you mad at me? — Just let me help you.” He pushes forwards again and reaches for your son.

“I said we’re fine!” You bite back. The baby flinches and quickly starts to scream. You slam your eyes shut, darkness behind your lids and a dull ache drilling from your temples to the core of your brain.

Opposite you, Bradley sighs, dropping his head forward into his hands. You’re both silent. The sequel plays on. The baby keeps on screaming. Neither one of you look at each other.

This is what all new parents go through, you know that. It doesn’t make it any less sore in the moment.

“What should I do?” Bradley asks finally, pushing up from the sofa and squeezing against your side, wrapping an arm around your aching shoulders. It’s not worth dragging your eyes open for.

“Never get me pregnant again, for starters.” You mutter half-jokingly. Bradley chuckles at your side and turns his head to kiss at those sore temples, like he can feel where it hurts. Maybe those dad-senses are sharper than you give him credit for.

“Not even once more? — But look how cute the first one wa—“ He’s only joking of course, but he still has the good sense to shut up when you turn your head and glare at him. He grins, and he looks just like he did the first time you were stupid enough to melt for that pretty look.

“You hungry?” Bradley asks. He read somewhere that breastfeeding can cause stronger appetites.

“Yeah.”

“Dad’s got it. We’ll be right back.” Bradley promises you, dipping forwards and kissing your temple once more, stealing the baby in one fell swoop. “Come on, buddy.”

Bradley pads into the kitchen barefoot, bouncing the baby in his arms and you let your eyes fall shut once more. You’re only two weeks in. They don’t start sleeping through the night for another couple months at least — sometimes years. You don’t know how you could do another couple years of being this delirious.

Closing your eyes, it’s easy enough to imagine that you’re not here. That you’re still in school, or still in your parents’ house. Somewhere safer, where you could hide from the limited responsibilities that you had back then. It would be so easy to drift off into a dream about life being that easy again.

Instead, the sofa dips at your side and your boys are back. Bradley announces himself by kissing your cheek softly and pressing a spoon into your hand.

“All we have is Ice-Cream.” He tells you, settling Thomas into the crook of his elbow and passing the tub of ice cream off to you. You blink at the vanilla flavoured frozen treat in front of you, then look up to stare at him. “I’ll go to the store tomorrow. We’ll both go. You can stay here and sleep in.”

You look away for just a second, digging the tip of your spoon into the ice cream, and hear him continue.

“We can get whatever we want, Mommy won’t be there to tell us no.”

Despite your best efforts, a smile itches its way across your face. You turn your head and attempt to force at a scowl. All five of Thomas’ right-hand fingers are wrapped around Bradley’s little finger, they both seem to be looking at you.

“I don’t care what you come home with as long as there’s more of this stuff in there somewhere.” You decide, slipping a spoonful into your mouth and savouring the flavour on your tongue. Bradley shifts, leaning his head against yours.

“Share.” He demands, leaving his mouth open. You snuff your nose at him as you dig another spoonful from the tub and shovel it into his mouth. “That’s so good.”

“Probably not what we should be eating. We aren’t setting a very good example.” You hum, ignoring your own advice and gulping down another spoonful, kicking your feet up onto the coffee table.

If only your mother could see you now. She would lose her marbles if she saw your approach to motherhood.

“Eh, this kid pees himself all day long. We’ll start being good examples for him later on.” Bradley shrugs, leaning his weight into you, turning his attention back to the tv. “So can you explain to me what I missed?”

…

…

“Hey, Bradshaw,” He looks up from his locker, brows raised as he cranes his neck to look over his shoulder. Ames, one of his new acquaintances from flight school, is about six steps away and the one speaking. Bradley gives him a small nod of acknowledgement as he reaches for his clothes. “Is it true you’ve got a kid on the way?”

Being as young as he is, and straight out of college, Bradley understands the surprise. He doesn’t hide the fact that he’s about to be a dad, but it’s not something that he advertises at work. He doesn’t advertise much about his life at work. Truthfully, his only goal is to get through flight school without any trouble.

“Uh-huh.” Bradley steps into his boxers and unwraps the towel from around his waist, draping it over his shoulder.

“That’s crazy,” Ames chuckles from behind him, shaking his head amusedly. Bradley shakes out his wet curls. Eight months ago, he would have agreed. “So, you’re getting married, then?”

Bradley scoffs. Even if you can manage to ignore that thick accent, Ames finds a way to remind everyone that he’s from the middle of Buttfuck-Nowhere, Kentucky. Stepping into his issued khakis, Bradley turns his head once more to find that most eyes are on him now.

“No?” He answers, tone incredulous. He’s not sure why everyone’s first reaction when they find out that the two of you are having a kid is to ask when the wedding is. Seems a little outdated. It’s not something that you’ve discussed. Or even something that he has really considered.

“Man,” Ames laughs from behind him as Bradley pulls his white t-shirt over his head. “I can’t imagine being stuck with the same pussy for the rest of my life.”

Halfway through tucking his shirt into his pants, Bradley stops, and turns towards his new colleague. He inhales slowly, blinking twice at the red headed asshole who just made the mistake of making that comment.

This is his career on the line, sure — everything that he’s spent his entire life working towards. But it’s not just that. This is medical, it’s security, it’s going to make sure his kid is okay for the rest of his life. It’s not worth throwing that little weasel on the ground and making him shut his mouth.

He exhales, then winds his face into a tight-lipped smile. “Maybe once you lose your virginity you’ll feel differently, buddy.”

The heavy silence in the locker room is broken by a round of laughs, and the mocking immediately begins. Ames groans, trying to quieten the jokes at his expense. Bradley pulls his khaki shirt on, buttons it swiftly and grabs his bag to leave.

His boots thud along the halls, not stopping for anybody as he heads for his truck. It wasn’t that long ago that he was in the locker room at college, listening to this same shit without batting an eyelid. Hell, when you first came to him, he was the one saying it.

He slips into the driver’s side and drives home. There’s no making up for how much of an asshole he was, not that long ago. He probably still is, or still could be — but his kid won’t be.

“Seresin!” Your eyes widen at the sound of him swinging the front door open and letting it slam closed behind him. Dropping the screws, your body tenses.

“Shit, shit, shit…” You whisper, abandoning the screws on the floor. With how round you’re feeling, bending over to get them at this point is quite simply not an option.

If he’s looking down at his phone, there’s a chance that he won’t even notice you. You slow yourself at first, quieting your footsteps along the floor as much as you can.

“Hey! — I thought I told you to stay in bed.”

You groan in frustration, one hand on your bump, busted. Footsteps behind you tell you that Bradley is not only home from work early, but he is also ready to enforce the bed rest rule again for another day. Pretending that you hadn’t heard him is becoming a more and more frequent issue, as you continue along the hallway and into the nursery.

“I’m talking to you, Seresin,” Bradley drops his bag by the door and starts after you. His eyes widen as you speed up, unsteady on your feet and leaning back under the weight of your ever-growing belly. “Are you seriously going to make me chase you?”

Admittedly, the idea makes you laugh as you swing the door to the nursery shut behind you, just to slow him down. He swings it back open and steps in after you, brows knitted together in concern. “Come on, we had a deal.”

The deal being that you would rest as much as you can and call him when you need something, and he’d take care of everything that needed to be done. You’d just been so bored. It’s been days of this. Sure, the first day, you welcomed it. You’d had blood tests the day before and were tired. By now, you’re about to start pulling your own hair out without some kind of stimuli.

“Fuck your deal,” Out of breath from your six steps of speed walking, you pant at him, lips quirked through your fading irritation as you brace one hand on the wall to lower yourself to the ground. Bradley looks between you and the torn open flat pack box at your side. “I’m building this crib.”

“I said I’d build it!” Bradley tries to reason, frowning and darting closer at the unsteady way you’re crouching towards the ground.

It’s been a rough couple of days. Reading sounds boring, you can’t stand to watch another second of TV and you hate having to wait until Bradley’s home in case something happens. It’s hard to pretend that you aren’t a little pissed off about it.

“He’s my baby,” You strain, wobbling as you get closer to the floor. You’ve been thinking about him a lot recently. About if he’ll look like you, or more like Bradley, or maybe even your dad. You always heard that Jake looks a lot like your grandfather. “And I want to build his crib. You can help.”

Bradley stands there, lips parted like he’s trying to come up with a way to get you back in bed. He knows that it’s no use, if he was you, he’d be damn near climbing the walls by now. If this kid is anything like you, he’s got his work cut out for him — there are going to be two of you to defy his rules soon enough. After a few moments, he resigns with a sigh.

“Alright,” Bradley breathes out, stepping behind you to help you to the ground before you collide into it. Knowing that he’s got far more experience with this kind of thing than you do, he resigns to being your assistant without argument. “Alright. I’ll help.”

He settles you onto the ground, then grabs the flat pack box, settling it onto the ground in front of you. Tired from work, sure, but he catches sight of the smile on your face and finds himself smiling too.

“I dropped all of the screws in the hallway when I was running from you.”

He looks down at you. You look up at him, face squeezing into an almost apologetic smile. Curls short, mustache trimmed to keep up with regulations, you’re still getting used to seeing his features as much as you have been recently. His lips twitch, almost smiling. He tries not to, trying to be stern. You can see it in those big brown eyes that he thinks this is funny.

“I’ll get ‘em.” Bradley decides with a slow nod.

“Thanks, you’re such a great assistant.” You tease, shooting him a quick wink. Still leaning over you, Bradley’s eyes flicker over every inch of your face before he finally gives in and smiles softly. You’re steadfast, more than happy to play his game of chicken as he leans in so close that you can practically still smell the jet fuel on his clothes.

There’s a long pause of silence again, where he’s just watching you. Wearing maternity shorts and a t-shirt twice your size, sitting on the floor of your son’s nursery.

“Careful. You keep looking at me like that and I’ll build you whatever you want for the rest of our lives.” He tells you with a soft smile on his face, his voice raspy after a day of yelling over the sound of engines.

You blink a few times. Bradley watches you trying to come up with some kind of witty response, and he gives you a couple of seconds to try, but you’re equally relieved when he leans forwards and kisses your mouth. Sliding five fingers into the hair at the nape of your neck, pressing closer to you.

He pulls back first, kissing the corner of your mouth and standing upright.

“God, you’ve got me wrapped around your finger, Seresin,” Bradley breathes out, shaking his head as he swallows and turns to leave. “Can’t even kiss you without my dick getting hard anymore.”

He’s just gone for a few seconds. He gets around a lot faster than you do these days. But, he stops in the doorway as he’s walking back into the room. “What?”

You set the base of the crib down, looking up at him. Bradley’s lips quirk. He glances down and cups a hand over his half-hard dick, running his palm roughly over it through his khakis.

“Fuck first and we’ll build the crib later?” He offers you in one swift breath, lips quirking up into a grin as you smile back at him. He steps forwards and helps you up from the ground, still careful not to rush you even though his hands are on your ass and his mouth’s on yours from the second that you’re on your feet.

“Fuck yeah.” You agree against his lips.

Working open the buttons on his khakis, kissing him so deeply that it makes you dizzy as he walks you backwards, arms wrapped around you to keep you safe. He’s in just his white t-shirt and slacks by the time you’re at the foot of your bed.

Then, he stops kissing you. Just for a second, taking a moment to really look at your face. Once he’s done, he lifts his hand, eclipsing the nape of your neck, pulling you into him so that he can kiss you again. Up close, your head tips almost all the way back as his lips touch slowly against yours. Brief, disarmingly tender.

You press forwards and kiss him again, harder than he had kissed you. You let him nudge back your jaw so that he can kiss your neck. His strong hands steady you against him, his lips working a trail of soft, open-mouthed kisses against your skin.

Bradley remembers when you first started hooking up again — how rushed all of those times had been, how desperate he had been to get his hands on every inch of you. His mouth too. He’d been a little rough, maybe, but you hadn’t been complaining.

He knows that you would probably enjoy that again now, but he knows your body. He knows that your hips hurt, even when you won’t admit it to him. He knows your breasts are sensitive, even though you like having his hands on them.

One thing that his mother taught him was to never act like he knows best. He doesn’t. You’d have no idea exactly how considerate he’s being when he touches you, careful to not press too hard on anywhere that’s too sensitive.

Pressing his fingertips lightly into your hips, he turns you around and walks backwards to sit on the edge of your shared bed, peeling his shirt up and over his head. There’s a brief moment where he’s torn between leaning back and taking a look at you, or grabbing hold of you and bringing you close again.

He falls for the latter, grabbing your thighs and pulling you between his legs. Your eyes are on him as he pulls your shorts down your legs, peppering kisses over your thighs and hips.

You swallow softly as he drags your panties down your legs to follow, his hand cupping your dripping sex, two fingers swiping gently through your growing excitement.

Closing your eyes, you exhale softly, anticipation vibrating through your middle, waiting for him to touch you. The feeling of his cool breath on your thighs makes you jolt, instinctively reaching out and grabbing hold of his bare shoulders.

Featherlight, his fingers slide under your t-shirt and guide it upwards. He hums in approval as you take the hint and grab the fabric, tearing it off and letting it fall to the ground with the rest of your clothes.

Tender, he reaches out and curls his fingers around your calf, lifting your leg and planting it beside his thigh on the bed. Now that you’re where he wants you, he grabs your hips to steady you and gets right to work.

As much as you try not to think about how many girls Bradley has slept with, each time he graces you with his tongue between your legs — you’re reminded that you should probably be thanking whichever one of them taught him how to do this.

His tongue trails slowly along your slit, thumbs brushing slow circles on your hips as he trails lightly upward to your clit and stars with a circle around the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Your fingers smooth along the ridges in his shoulder, up along the nape of his neck. You always forget that he doesn’t have long, messy curls anymore. The back is buzzed down to a number two. Bradley groans in approval against your clit as you grab the longer hair at the crown of his head and tug softly.

Working up slowly, he trails his fingers along your middle and cups your breast in his hand, delicate as he kneads the sensitive flesh. You breathe in deeply, squeezing against your hold in his hair as he makes your stomach start to twist into that familiar knot.

Pulling back, he’s careful not to be too abrupt. Kissing your pelvis, your thighs, leaving you with a few teasing nips and licks. You moan out, letting him go finally. He shifts backwards, touching your palms with the tips of his fingers as he does. “C’mere, baby.”

You open your eyes again to look at him. His eyes are hooded, watching you lustfully, begging you into his lap. He watches you hesitate, glancing down at your bump.

In response, he shifts further up the bed and plants his head on the pillows, unbuckling his belt slowly, chest heaving. You watch the muscles in his stomach contort as he kicks the khakis down his legs, dipping two thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and shoving them down too.

“Come here,” He looks so desperate, fist wrapped around his swollen cock. He sighs in relief as he lifts his hips just slightly, rocking into the friction his palm provides. His lips quirk softly as he lets out a breathy chuckle. “I’m not above begging, babe.”

Hesitantly, you kneel on the bed before him. His eyes light up, giving you a small nod of encouragement. Walking on your knees towards him, Bradley can’t help but groan. He watches you through half-lidded eyes, letting his tongue dart out to wet his lips.

Always impatient when it comes to getting his hands on you, Bradley sits up swiftly and grabs your hand in his, making you giggle softly. Moving just a little closer, you carefully straddle his thighs, gasping as he drags you closer.

Hands cupping both of your breasts at once, he practically nestles his head between them, kissing each of them first in turn. Then, looking up at you through those thick eyelashes, you briefly catch the wolfish grin on his face before he turns his full attention back to having his mouth on your tits. Kissing, sucking, grazing the underside with a gentle nip every now and again.

Careful not to hurt your over sensitive skin, he’s suddenly soft as he takes your nipple into his mouth, fingers skimming tenderly along your bare waist. He circles each bud with his tongue, taking his time, then peppering them with affectionate kisses. Large hands trail around your waist to meet at the small of your back, then slide swiftly downwards.

Grabbing two handfuls of your ass, he drags you closer again with an eager grunt, squeezing your soft flesh in his hands. Two can play at that game. You grab hold of his broad shoulders, shoving him back down against the pillows.

He looks up at you, grinning, as you lift slowly and replace his hand with yours around the base of his cock. Trailing your soft palm along his length once, twice, and then lowering your hips just enough to guide the tip between your folds.

He inhales sharply, hands sprawling out open along your sheets, eyes dark as he watches you tease him. You watch his eyes follow up to the swell of your pregnant stomach as you rock your hips just slightly, brushing his tip against your clit.

“Oh shit, wait.”

Immediately, his brows knit together as you lurch forwards and lean across him, reaching for the night stand. His hands grab at your waist to steady you, beyond confused as you sit back up with a little box in your hands.

“What the fuck is that?” He frowns at you.

You fight the urge to hit him in the head with the box, because this is exactly how you ended up in this position. Your fingers work open the box as Bradley props himself up on his elbows to investigate. “These are condoms.”

“We haven’t used condoms since — y’know.” Bradley gestures towards your stomach, then looks back up at you again, frowning.

“Exactly. We need to start getting into the routine of using them again.” You tell him calmly. He sits up and grabs at the nape of your neck, pulling you closer. Your eyes flutter shut at the feeling of his warm mouth sucking at the sweet spot on your throat.

“We’ve got three more weeks to practice,” He murmurs, breath tickling your ear between open-mouthed kisses. You shiver, damn near dropping the box. “Come on, baby. You don’t want me to cum in you one last time?”

There’s a pause between the two of you, his fingers squeezing at the flesh of your ass as he sucks a deep kiss into the dip where your shoulder meets your neck.

The box clatters noisily against the wall as you toss it out of your way, cupping his face in your hands and kissing him hard. You pull back, breathless, and narrow your eyes at him, “One last time.”

He grins, nodding his head as you lift your hips to hover over his thick cock. “Fuck, I love you.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes at him. It would be kind of hypocritical, when you’re smiling too. Bracing yourself against his pecs as you lower yourself down onto him, he screws his eyes shut and groans happily. Settling down against his pelvis, you let your head fall back and sigh in relief.

He’s trying to train himself out of grabbing your hips and guiding you where to go, so he reaches down and loops his fingers between yours. As good as he’s being, he can’t help himself from shifting down the bed, spreading his thighs and planting his heels to change the angle that you’re sitting on him.

The next time you lift your hips and come back down, his dick grazes your g-spot perfectly and makes you grip his hands a fraction tighter. Panting out soft moans, you settle into a soft pace, lifting up and sinking down on him again.

The gold cross chain around his neck slides on his chest, calling your eyes to the smooth ridges of his tanned pecs. Bradley watches the way your eyes drink him in, spurred on as he rocks his hips to meet your pace.

The way he watches you is so intimate, like he’s memorizing every inch of your skin. The way you’re coming down on him feels like it’s knocking the breath from your lungs each time, your moans filling the air. His thumbs stroke softly along the backs of your hands. Everything about the way he has learned to fuck you is so perfect, and the adoration in his eyes makes it hard to even look at him sometimes.

You feel sexy. With his eyes on you like this, the way his body responds to you, you feel sexy as you roll your hips into him and he rocks back to match your rhythm. Filling you to the brim, making your orgasm build swiftly in your stomach.

He leaves one of your hands, reaching out instead and catching the nape of your neck, pulling you down against his chest. Your stomach presses firmly into his. He lifts his chin and kisses you.

“You feel so fucking good.” He groans against your mouth, pleased as you moan back in response. Your hands flatten against his toned pecs as you push yourself to sit upright, so that you can ride him harder. His head falls back against the pillows, fingers pressing into your thighs. “Fuck.”

Bradley wets his lips with his tongue, eyes unashamedly darting from your tits to your face as they bounce in front of him. His brows draw tightly together and you feel him shift, pressing his heels harder into the mattress, fingers marking into the soft skin of your thighs.

A muscle ticks in his jaw before he inhales sharply, trying not to focus on how close he feels like he is. It’s not like you aren’t close too. Just a little more. He bites hard on his bottom lip as your palms trail down to rest against his toned stomach and lift almost all the way up.

His gaze falls down, watching his length disappear inside of you once again, bucking his hips up hard to meet you as you come down on him. The buzz rips through you, your arms going weak as the feeling rushes through your body. Bradley wraps both arms around your middle as you collapse against his chest, continuing to rock his hips upwards as he chases his own high. The feeling seizes you, buzzing through your middle and all the way down into your core, thighs clenching around his hips, walls squeezing around him.

Bradley holds the back of your neck, keeping you close against him as he spills inside of you with a desperate grunt. His body shudders, exhaling deeply before he turns his head towards your jaw and kissing your skin once softly.

“Fuck me,” Bradley pants, brushing a hand softly over your messy hair, kissing your cheek. Briefly, Ames crosses his mind. He really wouldn’t mind this for the rest of his life. “How was that? — You okay?”

“Good,” You smile breathlessly, resting your head against his chest, hiding your face in his neck. “So good.”

You lift your hips and let him slip out of you but stay safely tucked against his chest for a while longer, just letting the two of you both catch your breaths. His fingers trail absently along the bare length of your spine.

“Hey, Bradley?” You hum, kissing softly at his throat.

“Hm?”

“We’ve still got a crib to build.” You remind him delicately, smiling as you feel his groan vibrate through his chest.

Soon enough, you’re up and both sitting on the nursery floor in your pajamas, staring silently at the instructions. Three and a half hours later, and a band-aid on Bradley’s beat up thumb, you’ve got a crib.

Bradley had heard of nesting, and he had been trying to prepare for it — but he didn’t think it would be as fun as this. Getting to sit on the ground with his best friend and playfully bicker over Part A and Screw C for almost four hours. Then, sliding into bed beside you and feeling you sleep more soundly than you have in days.

The results from the blood work were a good thing, it’s not Fetal Growth Syndrome, but you’re not out of the woods yet. He’s still behind where he’s supposed to be and now you’ve got no answers as to why. He knows that it’s been keeping you up.

So, if happily bending to your each and every whim is what gets you to finally rest, Bradley’s okay with doing that for the next few weeks until he gets to meet his kid.

The next morning, you wake up with him all over you again. He fucks you slowly, both of you laying on your sides, barely awake but smiling softly. Then, he begrudgingly gets up and starts to get ready for work. He hates leaving you naked in his bed in the mornings. If it was up to him, he’d lay there with you until the afternoon.

“I love you,” Bradley tells you, grinning as he darts forwards to press one last kiss to your cheek. As much as he enjoys watching the sky turn from burning orange to soaring blue over the runway, he’s sure that nothing will ever beat the sight of you in the first bed you ever shared, with one hand on your stomach, smiling up at him like this. He beams, leaning down and pressing his lips to your belly, just below your navel. “Both. I love you both.”

You lift your foot and kick softly at his thigh, “You’re gonna be late for work.”

As you push him away, he comes right back again, kissing your mouth like he’s taking in a breath of air. “I know, I know. But, I’ve got this girl at home who won’t listen to a thing I tell her, and how am I supposed to concentrate on, y’know, saving the world if I’m so worried about the troublemaker I’ve got at home?”

“You’re an idiot.” You scoff, pushing at his shoulder this time, grinning against his mouth as he comes right back in for another kiss. After maybe the fifth ‘last kiss’ in a row, Bradley pulls back enough to brush the tip of your nose with his. He exhales softly, his grin fading to a smaller smile.

“Promise me you’ll be good ‘til I’m back, okay?”

You lift your chin and kiss his cheek, wrapping your pinkie finger around his.

“We promise. No mischief ‘til Daddy’s home.” You tell him. He turns his head towards you and leaves you with one last kiss, for real this time, kissing your bump as he starts to stand up from the bed. He calls goodbye to you three more times total before he’s finally out of the door.

Laying in Bradley Bradshaw’s bed almost a year later, you smile to yourself. That dumb girl in his bed the night after Halloween would never have imagined herself here, giggling like an idiot with the guy that was meant to be a one night stand.

He’s gone for a while, probably about halfway to work, by the time that you decide to pull yourself up from bed and walk to the shower. It still counts as bed rest if your plan is to get clean, stretch out Bradley’s clothes and make the treacherous hike to the living room to sit on the couch.

Water streams over your hair, your face, warming your skin. Savouring the feeling, you stand there for a moment with your face towards the ceiling. Your backache is pretty much a permanent feeling at this point, but as you roll your shoulders back and stretch upright, there’s a sudden sharp pain in the small of your back, right the way through your middle.

Fuck. Bradley has been gone for less than an hour, and you’ve probably pulled a muscle. He’s going to be so much more annoying when he hears about this.

The water seems to soothe it. It doesn’t hurt too much when you’re reaching your arms up to clean your hair, or wash your body. But, the second that the water’s off and you’re leaning over to grab your towel, it happens again. The same, sharp pain, right the way through your middle.

Dressing yourself is always a chore at this point in your pregnancy, but this time you’re just mad about it. No trouble. Since when does no trouble equate to injuring yourself mere moments after he’s out of the house? — You’re growing sick of this helplessness. Even bending down to tie your own shoelaces is impossible at the moment, but Bradley hid all of your shoes that weren’t slip-ons like that would make you feel better about it.

Sighing as you pull the shorts up around your hips, you flinch at the sound of rushed knocking at the door. Salespeople. Another groan as you start to walk, your swollen ankles taking the brunt of your anger as you start to stomp towards the door. Just to make your worsening day that little bit more insufferable, halfway through the living room, you kick your toe into the back of the couch.

Grabbing onto the back of it for leverage and jolting forwards, you’re met with another sharp pain. You’re supposed to be taking things easy, shit. At least it’s an excuse for Bradley to use his years of knowledge from playing sports and massage your back for you later.

By the time you make it to the door, the knocker is already turning and walking away. From behind, you don’t recognise him. The second that you turn around, instinct tells you to slam the door in his face. It’s what Bradley would do if he saw his Uncle Pete standing on your doorstep at 7am on a Thursday.

One hand on your stomach, you’re visibly disgruntled, but Maverick knows it’s too late to just walk away without saying anything. His eyes dart from your swollen stomach and back up to your face. It’s clear that your pregnancy makes him uncomfortable.

“Sorry, I was… I was looking for Bradley, I’m… I’m a family friend.” The aging pilot on your doorstep explains awkwardly. He brings one hand up and scratches at the back of his neck. His blue eyes drop down to your stomach again.

“I know who you are.” You reply softly.

Pete swallows, then nods. It takes him a second before he remembers to speak again, giving a disoriented shake of his head as he steps towards you and extends his hand. “Right. Um, I wrote this, and I’d really appreciate it if you could give it to him. I just want a chance to explain.”

Looking down at the folded letter in his hand, your face softens. You glance quickly between him and the bundle of paper, your mouth twisting into a frown as you give a slow shake of your head.

“I can’t make him read it.” You explain quietly, lifting your arm and reaching out for the paper. Maverick sets it in your hand, his head bowed, eyes on the concrete outside. Maybe that’s just easier than looking you in the eye. “I’ll give it to him, though.”

That alone is more kindness than Bradley has showed him in the last two years. Maverick lifts his head quickly, blue eyes glassy as he searches over your face. You can see him fighting not to overreact, or frighten you.

“Thank you,” The pilot breathes out finally, like you’ve personally lifted the weight from his chest. “I apprecia—“

A sharp gasp and your hands fly to the small of your back. You crane your body, moving with the pain and stretching up straight. “Ow, fuck.”

Maverick freezes. He watches you for a few seconds, the searing pain that you seem to be going through. Suddenly, all he can think of was the time that Carole almost broke his hand when she went into labour with Bradley.

“Are you… okay?” Maverick broaches the topic cautiously as you seem to come down from the pain with a few deep breaths.

“Yeah. I think I pulled a muscle or something, it’s killing me.”

“Just… a muscle?” Maverick asks quietly. Brows furrowing, you stare at him. His eyes flicker down to your stomach once more. Finally, it dawns on you.

“Oh. No,” You shake your head quickly, “He’s not due for another three weeks.”

The aging pilot just stares at you. You could go into the ins and outs of it. That he’s a little small for this stage of the pregnancy. That they told you specifically that you were likely to be overdue as a result. Overdue. Like past his due date. Not three fucking weeks early. He’s not big enough yet

The front door’s still wide open. The two of you just stand there, silent, staring at each other. Equally unsure of what comes next. You gulp, smoothing a hand softly over the swell of your stomach. Maverick watches the tears start to well in your eyes.

“Should… Do I call Bradley?”

Pete doesn’t remember Carole looking this young, or afraid, but he knows she was. He was. Goose was the only one who seemed to know what he was doing, even though he hadn’t either.

Christ, he shouldn’t be here. Bradley should be here. Or Goose. Or someone who could help you. Anyone but him, he just knows that he’ll screw it up further — and Bradley’s going to hate him even more than he already does.

“Yeah. Call Bradley.” Pete croaks out, still standing awkwardly on your doorstep. He’s meant to be leaving today. He’s supposed to be back in Miramar by noon their time.

“What if it’s nothing? — He’s flying today.”

“Try him. He won’t be in the air yet.” Pete answers. If he’s good for nothing else, at least he’s got knowledge about what Bradley’s day at work should look like. “And your Mom. You should call your parents.”

“I — I don’t speak with my parents,” You’re already stumbling back, turning away from him, your voice trembling. Pete’s heart thuds in his chest. “It’s just Bradley.”

And Jake. You wish Jake was here. He would know what to do.

Maverick watches from the doorway as you disappear down the hall. He doesn’t dare take a step forwards. He’ll move if you start screaming for help or something. You reappear quickly and wave him inside, phone pressed to your ear.

The letter isn’t in your hand anymore but that doesn’t seem important now. You've met with Bradley’s voicemail three times in a row. Pete stands just inside the doorway, feeling like his knees are about to give out.

Closing your eyes, you will yourself not to cry in front of this stranger. You silently plead with this little boy to just hang on a little longer. Just until he’s bigger. Until he’s a little more ready. Until you’re a little more ready.

“Is there anyone else I can call for you? — A friend, or… a boss? — Anyone?” Maverick tries. You lift your head to look at him and he freezes as your eyes gloss over.

“No,” You whimper. Not down here, there’s not a single soul that you could turn to. Not with Jake being away. “Just Bradley.”

“Okay, um…”

You’re both standing on opposite sides of the room now, separately and silently freaking out. Finally, it occurs to you to check the time.

“Wait, I just — I went fifteen minutes without any kind of pain. If they were contractions, they’d be regular. Right?”

“I’m not sure.” Pete’s already shaking his head. He doesn’t know a lot about babies. Or pregnancy. Or families in general. But, if there’s any time to be cautious, it seems like that time would be now. “Maybe we should take you to a doctor. Just in case.”

Wiping at your eyes, you sniffle softly. “No, it’s — I’m — we’re fine. I’ll call my doctor, and I’ll wait for Bradley to come home.”

“Are you sure? — I mean…”

“I’m sure. Thanks. For being here. I’ll make sure he gets the letter.” Everything in your tone is telling him that he has overstayed his welcome and that you would like him to leave. That’s not really the case. You don’t mind him. But, he has just royally freaked you out, and you would like the privacy to continue to freak out in peace.

“Sure. Alright,” Maverick bumps into the wall behind him as he steps towards the door. Maybe he should stop by the base and try to find Bradley, let him know that he needs to come home early. “My number’s on that letter. If you need anything, I’m nearby. Just call me.”

One hand on your stomach and the other gripping the kitchen island so tight that your hand starts to lose feeling, you give him a tight-lipped smile. Maverick mumbles a quick goodbye and closes the door behind him.

Admittedly, he lingers just outside of the door for a while longer than he needs to. He just can’t help but wonder if this is the last he’ll hear from Bradley, or you — or this baby. He wonders if he’ll ever know this child at all.

The weight of it sits on his shoulders. Just a little extra, sitting on top of what’s already been there for the past twenty years. He bows his head as he walks back to his car.

Unlocking the driver’s side and pulling the door open, he doesn’t hear the front door fling open behind him.

“Mav!”

He stops and turns, brows drawing together. His jaw falls slack. You’re gripping onto the doorframe with one hand and your stomach with the other. Your legs are soaked.

“Fuck.” Maverick breathes out.

…

“Hey, you made it!” Red cup in hand, equally red cheeks to match, he starts toward you with mud and leaves under his Nikes and a beaming smile on his face. He smiles like that when he’s inebriated.

That’s what you’re allowed to call it — since he ‘doesn’t get drunk’.

Just as quickly as he lifts his arms, they’re thrown around you, heavy in his fleece lined denim jacket. His cold cheek bristles yours as he pushes his one hand under your unzipped coat, his fingers skirting your waist, his lips grazing your neck.

Peering around the verge of his thick, denim-padded shoulder, you catch a glimpse of your big brother deep in conversation with a few of his buddies, talking wildly with his hands, the glow of the bonfire casting amber shadows across his face.

As he pulls back, Bradley’s free hand skims across the developing roundness of your stomach. Under the thick covers of your thermal layer and college branded hoodie, he can’t really feel anything, but his fingers linger there anyway. Sprawled across your belly, protective and affectionate in one touch.

“I missed you.” He murmurs, flickering shadows casting flecks of gold across the brown in his eyes. His lips twitch, boyish and sweet as he almost smiles, flexing his fingers where they sit. “Both of you.”

As much as the smile does its best to take over your face, you wrinkle your mouth and try to twist away from him. “Don’t be stupid.”

His lips part in mock offence, dark eyes glinting with mischief as he lets you go.

“What? — I can’t be excited to see the mother of my child?”

“Weird time to start, is all.” You hit back, physically too, jabbing at his arm as you try to pass him by.

He almost sighs, hearing your boots crunch against the leaves below you and knowing that you’re about to ditch him for another night of hiding behind your friends. He wants to talk. He wants to hold you.

“Wait! — Do you… want a drink?”

You spin to face him as he does the same, glancing down at your stomach. Even he isn’t that dumb.

“No, like cocoa or something? I think we have some.”

It’s becoming a more frequent thing for your open palm to find its way to your stomach, sitting there protectively. You raise your brows at him as your fingers rests against your growing bump. “You’re going to make me a hot chocolate?”

He breaks into a smile, almost giddy as he lifts his cup and shrugs his shoulders, gulping back a quick sip. “If you want one.”

You almost tell him no; you almost do the sensible thing and turn around to find your friends, and start to enjoy this evening while ignoring him like you’re supposed to.

But, it’s a rare occasion for him to offer to make himself useful. Pressing your tongue to the inside of your cheek, you think on his offer while he swishes around the drops of beer left in his cup.

“Fine. Lead the way.”

The kitchen in this place is almost always a mess, and today is no exception. An island littered with drinks and mixers, counters filled with used red solo cups. You follow him cautiously, tugging your jacket closer to your body.

He searches through the cabinets, clumsily letting doors slam as he goes until he finds what he’s looking for. “Ah, here — do you want marshmallows?”

“I want the whole works.” As he peers back to find you leaning against the wall with your arms folded and a shit-eating grin on your face, a strange feeling plucks at his heartstrings, something like butterflies in his stomach.

He smiles back, almost sheepish now, as he thinks to the long future ahead. “Noted.”

There’s something different about tonight. You don’t know what it is, and really, neither does he. He doesn’t know why tonight specifically is the night that he feels so differently, but he does know that the smile on your face as he passes you a steaming mug makes his chest feel tight.

Your lips stretch into a smile, all surprise and amusement, staring down at the mix of marshmallows and whipped cream — and M&M’s, because he didn’t have chocolate powder to dust, but had insisted on adding.

“This looks…” You shake your head softly, at a loss for words as you glance up at him. He smiles, cheeks pink. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

Neither one of you is in any hurry to step back out into the cold, but you can’t hide in the kitchen all night. He follows behind you as you step out into the backyard, one hand on the small of your back as you go.

You’re not expecting for him to reach for your free hand, but he does. He guides you over to two camping chairs and all but demands that you sit with him. For the first time in a couple of months, he really talks to you.

He listens to you.

Amber flames casting flickering shadows over your face, your hands warm from the mug between them, your eyes solely on him.

…

The drive home in silence just gives Bradley’s anger time to multiply, growing until he’s so restless that his car door is open before the engine is even off. He slams it behind him, knuckles white around the strap of his bag as he walks around to the front door. That slams too.

It startles you, making you flinch and almost drop the mug in your hand. The now lukewarm coffee that you’ve been trying to sip at for an hour spills down onto the white of your sweater. It’s just a small mark, easy enough to ignore.

His brows knit together slightly as he catches sight of your face from the other end of your open living space. The whole way here, it had felt like he practically had steam coming out of his ears. His palms are still reddish and warm from how tightly he was grabbing the wheel. But, he sees it in the way you’re looking at him and knows that his thing — all of the anger, resentment, blinding rage that Mav brings up in him — it doesn’t matter.

Immediately, he lets his bag, and everything that seeing Mav had just stirred up within him, go.

“What’s wrong?” He’s already rushing forwards, heading for you.

You had promised yourself that you wouldn’t do this and that you wouldn’t freak him out by crying. It just happens. A soft, heartbroken squeak as he reaches you and you throw yourself against his chest.

“Did something happen at the appointment?” He breathes out, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing.

“It’s — it’s not that bad, but he…” You have to pull back and force yourself to breathe to even attempt at the words. “He’s smaller than he should be, and the doctor gave me this pamphlet, and I’ve just been freaking out all day.”

Bradley secures you against him with one arm and turns his attention to the little orange leaflet on the counter with a smiling baby girl with glasses on the front of it. He presses his lips softly to the top of your head. With his free hand, he cautiously opens up the front page.

Your hands curl into the fabric of his khakis, breathing him in, pulling him closer to you. It takes him a few moments, to read what it says and to process it. He never once lets you go.

Just giving a small shake of his head, he exhales and squeezes you closer. “Okay. What did the doctor say we need to do?”

“I need to go for a blood test on Friday and another ultrasound on Tuesday. She said that I should be eating healthy, and more frequently, um — eight hours of sleep, rest. If it’s fetal growth restriction then he could have issues during birth or even after.”

Bradley cups your face in his hands and nods slowly. You can feel his heartbeat in his chest and it just doesn’t make sense that he’s able to appear so calm when you know that he isn’t.

“Okay,” He nods, his voice low. “Alright. When was the last time you ate?”

“I had a sandwich for lunch but I just don’t feel hungry, I’ve been crying all day.” You mumble out as he presses closer to you, smoothing a large palm down your back. You nuzzle your cheek against his shirt, exhaling slowly.

Both of you stand in the kitchen, holding each other close, shit scared of what this means. This future that you have committed absolutely everything to, this little thing that you’re so ready to love, and the fear that there could be absolutely no way of protecting it.

Bradley closes his eyes and turns his face towards yours, hugging you closer. His memories of his dad are fuzzy. His memories of his mother back then are fuzzy too. He doesn’t remember her crying much. He remembers them laughing a lot. Standing here, he wishes he had at least one clear memory left — just so that he’d know what to do now.

Most people probably get to share these worries with their parents, to ask them these questions. You’ve just got each other.

He doesn’t know what to do. The silence is setting in and the orange on that pamphlet feels like it’s becoming more obnoxious by the second.

“Well, I’ll cook tonight, and I’ll be really offended if you don’t finish what I make you.” It’s half playful, he presses his lips to your cheek and pulls back to look at you, fingers trembling against your sides, “It’s just been a stressful couple of months, you just need to relax these last few weeks. ‘M gonna take care of you.”

Crowded against the kitchen counter, you take a few seconds to just be held by him, tucking yourself back in against his chest.

You imagine your mother, probably staring at those six missed calls and feeling smug with herself — knowing that you’d have come crawling back for help eventually. You’re an idiot for thinking that she would’ve been able to help. You tug Bradley closer and press your face into his shoulder. Maybe she’s not really doing that. Maybe she’s sitting there and wondering if she should call you back. Either way, it doesn’t matter.

Everything you’ve given up and gone through, this new family that you’ve scraped together, it’s all that you need.

“You wanna come to the store with me or you wanna take a nap?” Bradley asks you, smoothing his hands down along your middle.

Your answer is immediate, filling the air before silence has a chance to set in.

“I don’t want to be on my own.” You admit, exhaling softly into the warmth of his chest. Bradley nods and kisses your temple. He keeps it to himself that he’s pleased with your answer. After the mood he was in and the day that you’ve had, he just wants you where he can see you.

So, the two of you take your car. It’s easier to get into than trying to haul yourself up into the bronco these days. It’s more of a family car. It’s crazy, actually, how much you’re starting to look like a family. Him, in his uniform and an arm draped around you, your hand resting on your swollen stomach.

He drives with his hand on your thigh, your arm looped through his. Then, once you’re in the store, he pushes the cart with you at his side.

“I could ask you what you want, or I could surprise you. What are you two in the mood for?” Bradley asks, leaning down to kiss the top of your head as you hug his arm.

“I’m not hungry, I don’t know.” You shake your head softly.

“Surprise it is.” Bradley decides, taking his arm out from the loop you’re holding it in and draping it around your shoulders instead. He pulls you in against his side and presses his palm over both of your eyes, covering your vision with a sudden darkness.

“Bradley, I’m seriously going to fall break my face!” You gasp, grabbing at his hand. You don’t even notice it. He beams with pride as you smile, finally.

He nudges you in front of him, between him and the cart, laughing softly as he guides you forwards, blind. “Have a little faith in me, I’m not gonna let anything happen to you. Just can’t risk you seeing my ingredients and ruining my surprise.”

“You’re an idiot,” You giggle, grabbing tightly onto the cart to steady yourself. He grins, kissing your cheek. “I’m so scared right now.”

“Scared? — C’mon, Mama, you’ve gotta start trusting me. I’ve got you.” Bradley teases, pressing his mouth to you jaw, pressing his chest into your back and making your laugh harder. He slows you, then stops. “Stay there, I’m grabbing something. Don’t open your eyes.”

Your heart flutters as his hands briefly leave you. There’s a chill in the supermarket without his body crowding around you to keep you warm. He’s back quickly anyway, something clatters into the cart.

“What a beautiful family you are!” The voice is soft, pleasant sounding. An older lady. You peek one eye open and find her beaming at you from a few feet away.

“Thank you.” Bradley answers, surging with pride as he puts a polite amount of space between you and him, still close enough to keep you bracketed between him and the cart.

“You’ll do just fine, making each other laugh like that,” Her eyes as crinkling at the corners, a smile spreading across her aged face. She looks fondly between the two of you, then nods. “Congratulations on the little one. How lovely. Your first?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Bradley answers. You almost sigh in relief that he’s not choosing now to try to make funny jokes.

“How lucky they will be, to have parents so in love.” She smiles. Bradley’s hand covers yours over the top of the cart, knitting his fingers through yours. Neither one of you says a word, at first. You’ve not said that yet. Technically, you’ve only been together for a few weeks. “You two have a lovely day.”

“You too, thank you.” Bradley remains polite, smiling at her softly. She looks the two of you over, fondly, almost reminiscent, and then she walks away.

Bradley catches you off guard, tearing you back away from your own thoughts as he covers your eyes once more. His lips press to your earlobe as he growls playfully, “You better not have checked out my ingredients, Seresin.”

“You’re paranoid.” You tell him, blinded under his palm, grinning dumbly as you let him guide you forwards again.

He hums playfully, pressing a gentle kiss to your neck, “Mm, I just know what Seresins are like.”

“Your baby’s going to be one,” You point out. He chuckled behind you. “You’re gonna be outnumbered.”

He uses his hold on your face to turn your head, leaning over your shoulder and kissing your lips. “Can’t wait.”

So, like the love-sick fool that you are, you let him lead you blindly around the grocery store, whispering jokes into your ear and planting playful kisses onto your neck. Your heart’s swollen and you’re so confused about how it could ever have been hurt by this same person.

Finally, after making you promise not to look several times, he uncovers your eyes and hands you the keys. Your feet are sore and there’s no point waiting in the checkout line with him. He watches you waddle out of the store with a dumb grin on his face.

It makes him want to grin as big as he can, watching the changes that come with your pregnancy. Not being able to tie your shoe laces anymore, knocking things off of the bathroom counter with your belly — waddling is a new one. It’s a special type of adorable, he’s certain that he’ll never grow tired of seeing it.

Loading your items onto the checkout, he pulls his phone from his pocket and waits, unaware of the eyes on him.

It was made abundantly clear earlier, that Bradley had no desire to speak to Maverick. He had turned, looked, and swiftly walked away. That familiar red flush covering his face and neck. He’s had that since he was in diapers, blushing a deep shade of pink whenever he was upset about something.

But now, for Maverick to be standing in a grocery store, staring at the kid that he hasn’t seen in almost two years, for the second time in the same day — it feels like fate.

He drops his items down onto a random shelf and silently walks towards the checkout as Bradley loads his groceries back into the cart.

“Bradley?”

Bradley looks up, finding Pete staring at him again. His face goes blank, and he straightens up like a cat raising its heckles. Pete doesn’t move. Bradley turns swiftly and walks out of the store without a word.

You get out of the car as you see him coming, your smile fading slightly as you notice the look on his face. That hardened, terracotta flushed look.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, let’s just go home.” Bradley practically tears open the trunk. Your brows draw together as you watch him load the groceries into it.

There’s a feeling, something in your peripheral that makes you turn your head. There’s a man standing by the edge of the parking lot, the colour drained from his face, staring right at you.

Pete’s head spins, heat flooding his nerves.

Looking at Bradley already feels like he’s got to be eye-to-eye with a ghost. Now, he’s standing there and suddenly it’s the summer of 1984, and his best friend’s about to have a kid. The picture’s fuzzy now, as it sits in Pete’s wallet, but it’s clear as day in his mind. Goose and Carole on the end of the Santa Monica boardwalk. She’s so pregnant that she could barely walk, but she was beaming — she had demanded to go to the beach that day.

He studies the crystal clear image before him now. Bradley in his khakis from work. The pregnant girl who’s smile has just faded, staring back at him.

Bradley takes one look at your face and then turns, following your gaze.

“Do you know that guy?” You ask gently, glancing up at Bradley.

“Wait in the car for me.” He answers you, slamming the trunk shut and turning. His pace is purposeful, storming across the parking lot until he’s almost nose-to-nose with Pete.

“What do you want?” Bradley spits.

“You… You’re having a kid?” Pete breathes out, confused, shaking his head. The reality of it hasn’t quite set in yet.

“I said: what do you want?” The same angry kid as he knew before stands in front of him again. Pete shakes his head again.

“You’re not ready to be a parent.”

“Just like I wasn’t ready to be a pilot?” Bradley answers back. You watch from beside the car as he steps closer to the older man, squaring his shoulders like he’s about to hit him.

“Think about your future! I mean — have you even thought this throu—“

“Don’t talk to me about my future after what you did.” He barks, loud enough for you to hear finally, eyes ablaze, shoulders squared. Maverick always forgets how much Bradley has grown. He looks up slightly as Bradley walks closer to him.

Maverick looks now to you, with one hand on your stomach and a confused look on your face.

“This isn’t what I wanted for you.” Maverick admits quietly. He’s not sure what makes him say it, it’s already too late, you look pretty far along. But, he says it anyway. When it comes to Bradley, there’s this intense need to do the right thing that usually propels him into doing the wrong thing.

“I didn’t mean — I shouldn’t have —“ Maverick stutters, shaking his head. It always ends like this. He always does the wrong thing. He sees the worry in your eyes. He always upsets Bradley without meaning to. “I’m sorry. Can we talk about this?”

“I don’t give a shit what you want, Mav,” Bradley shakes his head, disbelief. He stops walking finally and points a finger into Pete’s chest, deadly serious — less emotional than last time. “Stay the fuck away from me, stay the fuck away from my family.”

Blue eyes widened, serious, Maverick stares back at the boy before him. Bradley’s always had a temper, that’s nothing new. The sincerity in his tone is. He’s serious about you, it seems.

“Bradley?”

Both of them turn their heads to look at you at the same time. You swallow. His mouth sets into a hard line and it almost makes you wince. You’ve seen this before; it almost always winds up with you getting hurt.

It’s growing colder now that the sun has set. After the day you’ve had, you miss the days when you could take a hot bath. Going home and crawling under your covers would be enough at this point.

“I’m serious,” Bradley says slowly, giving his uncle a quick once over, and then taking a step back with a shake of his head. “You will never be family to me. Leave me alone.”

Without giving the man who had raised him time to argue, Bradley turns and walks back to the car, grinding his jaw.

“Who was that?” You frown.

“Come on,” Bradley sighs, shaking his head as he tugs open the passenger side door and motions for you to get in. “I’ll tell you later. I just want to go.”

You’ve seen Bradley angry — you’ve seen him being an asshole just for the sake of it. This isn’t that. You’ve never seen him rattled like this. So, you get in the car and you let him take you home, pretending not to see the way that the dark haired man watches you car pull out of the lot.

You let him cook for you and tell you about his week. You eat everything he makes you and he grins, proud of himself. After that, he insists that you spend the rest of the evening in bed. So, you do.

You spend it laying sideways with your head resting on his stomach and your legs dangling over the edge, his fingers toying with stands of your hair.

“So, who was that guy?” You ask finally.

And so, he tells you about Pete Mitchell for the first time. The man who raised him. Uncle Pete who let him stay up late and eat pizza, who came over on the days that Bradley’s mom just couldn’t stop crying. Uncle Pete who sometimes forgot that he promised to come to baseball games or pissed off an admiral and wound up in the middle of the ocean for a couple of months, so couldn’t come to that birthday party anymore.

The let downs and the wonderful memories weigh each other out. For every upside, there’s a downside with Maverick. And then it gets to Bradley’s senior year of high school, when Mav betrayed him. They hadn’t spoken since, other than at Carole’s funeral, briefly. That had gone worse than today had.

You squeeze his hand softly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Bradley says quietly. He smooths his hand down across my stomach. “I’m sorry that I did that in front of you. I’ve been trying to—“

You turn your head, pressing your lips gently to his knuckles. “I know.”

He exhales slowly. You know exactly how hard he had been trying for you.

“I love you.” You decide finally, leaning your head back so that you can look at him. Bradley raises his eyebrows. He’s had a couple of girls say it to him before, he’s never felt inclined to say it back. He would’ve never told them about Maverick, about his mother. He wouldn’t have ever been lying here with them, like this.

“I love you too.” He takes his hand away from your hair and strokes it along your jaw instead. You push yourself up, turning slowly towards him, kissing his lips chastely.

“We’re going to be alright. Right?” You ask quietly, resting your hand against his bare chest. His eyes soften just slightly as he gives you a calm nod.

…

Bradley wanders through the house, whistling as he goes. It’s maybe a little too quiet, but he’s not complaining. At first, he assumes that you’ve gone to the store or to the park — then he remembers why he’s home early today. It’s Thursday. Lamaze. After you had made such a big deal about the two of you going, there’s no a chance in hell that you would’ve forgotten that it was today.

His whistling stops as he continues through the apartment, trailing his fingertips along the wall. He glances into the kitchen — no sign. Following forwards, he next checks the baby’s room.

“Hey, Seresin! — You home?”

You scowl at the way he chooses to address you. One hand rested on your swollen stomach, your eyes darken, features stormy as he rounds the corner into the nursery.

“Hi.” He gives you a nod of acknowledgement, leaning against the doorframe, chewing on a piece of gum. He looks handsome, standing there in his flightsuit with a neat, white t-shirt on under it.

“Bradshaw.” You answer him begrudgingly, hoping he takes offence to it as much as you do. Six weeks away from bringing his child into the world and he still calls you by your surname.

His grin falters as he lifts his arm and checks his watch. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready? — That class starts in like forty minutes.”

“Yes.” You reply, continuing to fold the muslins on the ground like that is all part of the plan. His brows scrunch softly — you’re never late and you definitely weren’t this chilled out about the class last night.

“So…?” He prompts you. Your face creases with irritation, calmly folding the cloths, avoiding his gaze. Sitting criss-crossed on the floor, a grey tanktop stretched over your growing bump. His face drops in realisation, breaking into a delighted grin. “You can’t get up, can you?”

“Yes, I can. I just don’t want to.” You bite back instantly. His grin widens.

“I’ll give you twenty dollars if you stand up right now.” Digging his hand into his pocket, he goes for his wallet, amusement dripping from that shit-eating grin on his face. Your hand balls into a koala printed linen cloth as you lift your gaze and glare at him.

“Why would I want twenty dollars from you?”

You would think that he would know better than to taunt a woman as pregnant as you are, but he continues anyway, his laugh practically a giggle as he urges you on. “I’ll go down on you the second we get home. Stand up.”

You hiss in annoyance, balling the cloth in your hand and launching it at his head. “Get out of my face, I swear to god — you make me want to hit you with things.”

He doubles over laughing, knowing that you just proved his point. Clutching a hand over his chest, he drops to his knees in front of you, cheeks red and flushed with delight. Your scowl twitches. Still laughing, he leans in closer across your criss-crossed legs. “Baby, that is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. Let me help you.”