#uncle bad batch

Heavy wind rattled the window above the headboard, whistling against the side of the house. 

You scrunched your eyes with a heavy exhale. It felt like you’d only just drifted off. You pulled the covers tightly over your shoulders, willing yourself to relax. A series of hefty kicks struck the top of your belly, magnifying your inability to fall back to sleep. 

Between rolls of thunder, a repetitive banging sounded from outside. Not loud, but dull and insistent. 

You opened your eyes, staring at the wall as you strained to hear what it could be. From the depth of the pitch, it sounded like it could’ve been the back door. Maybe the screen door you and Echo hadn’t gotten around to fixing yet. You furrowed your brow. If it were the back or screen door, it would be marginally louder. Realization hit you moments before the next clap of thunder. 

The shed. You meant to replace the latch a few days prior. 

Now the storm was testing your willpower. Judgement of your competence. 

You groaned and squeezed your eyes shut again, wishing Echo were home. Normally, you would leap at the opportunity to get up and do anything outside of your routine. But someone had kept you from consistent sleep for the past week, and with your due date closing in, you just wanted to sleep. 

Part of you was torn. You wanted so badly to simply roll over and go back to sleep, maybe call the neighbors to ask if they could check, but you shoved the idea away as soon as it came. Why wake them? It was just the shed door.

If it weren’t the middle of the night, you’d be beyond grateful for something to keep yourself occupied. You just wished you were able to do more without help these days.

Another round of thunder rumbled overhead. Pulling the covers back, you used your arms to walk yourself up to sitting. You paused, catching your breath with a hand on your belly. You heaved yourself to your feet and turned to look out the window.

Rain pelted against the glass, trees bending in the wind. You sighed, knowing no amount of clothing coverage would keep you completely dry in this. You opted not to change out of your pajamas, and instead pulled on a simple raincoat. Its zipper had broken months ago, but it was better than nothing. Your eyes found your boots, mocking you from the floor. 

Bending over seemed impossible, particularly at this hour. Skipping the boots, you pushed your feet into an old pair of sandals and headed for the stairs. 

Flipping the switch for the lights, you groaned again. 

No power.

As you carefully descended to the living room, you glanced through the front window. Where you could normally see out to the ocean was only a wall of rain, coming down sideways in sheets. You had to hurry if you didn’t want a good many materials in the shed ending up ruined. 

Your gaze fell on the stepladder in the living room. A brief memory flashed across your mind; how you had almost fallen off the same ladder several weeks prior. You’d stretched too far on the top step, its sudden wobble sending your heart to your throat and paint to the ceiling. 

You paused for a moment, wondering again if you should ask a neighbor for help. Just as quickly, you shook off the thought. There was no way you were waking anyone this late at night for a task as simple as closing a door.

Crossing through the kitchen, you opened the back door. Wind caught it almost instantly, pushing it open to slam against the wall. You gasped, rushing to grab the door and push it closed again. 

You paused for another moment, gathering yourself and wrapping your head around just how strong the wind was tonight. You pulled the hood of your raincoat over your head and tugged it a little tighter around you, cursing yourself for not getting one with a better zipper. You were truly going to get soaked. 

Glancing down at your sandals, you second guessed your decision. The yard had to be nothing but mud. Cleaning your feet would be far easier than cleaning shoes. Kicking them off by the lightswitch, you grabbed the flashlight on the counter and braced yourself.

The moment you opened the door, wind sought to pull it from your hand again. You squeezed the handle, grabbing the edge of the door as you turned and backed out. As it clicked shut, a flash of lightning startled you. You quickly flipped around, pressing your back to the door. Cold rain immediately pelted your skin, soaking every part of you not covered by your jacket. Thunder finally echoed above, several strong kicks in your belly reminding you to be quick. 

You placed your free hand over your baby. “Don’t worry,” you murmured, more to yourself than your child, “we won’t be out here any longer than we have to.”

Clicking on the flashlight, you shined it down the path toward the shed. Sure enough, the door swung freely, periodically slamming against the outer wall. Rain had certainly gotten inside. You hoped it hadn’t been too long. 

Looking at your feet, you cautiously stepped down onto stairs slick with water. You moved your free hand to grasp the railing, inching your way to the bottom. Though it was only three steps, you didn’t want to risk toppling over in this weather. 

You cringed as you reached the bottom of the steps. Puddles and mud caked the yard, a once clear path to the shed now completely unrecognizable. Stepping down to the grass, water and mud squelched between your toes. Clutching the flashlight in one hand and your raincoat in the other, you began the tediously careful—and gross—trek to the shed. 

I should’ve put the damn boots on.

Around you the storm roared. Somewhere behind wind, rain, and thunder, ocean waves thrashed against each other, compounding the noise of it all. 

A gust of wind tore through the yard, ripping the hood from your head. You tightened your grip on your coat and leaned into the gale, hair soaked within seconds. Loose strands whipped at your face, your cheeks stinging beneath bullets of water. You pressed on all the same. 

Cracking wood snapped your attention to the tree beside your home. You froze in place as you watched a large branch splinter away from its trunk, crashing down on the fence bridging your yard and the neighbor’s. Its weight crushed the fence in an instant. Debris flew into the grass and loose leaves scattered in the wind. 

You gaped at the sight. Suddenly chilled, you turned back to your objective, squinting against the rain as you pressed forward with an added urgency. 

Reaching the shed, you paused to assess the damage. The first couple paces inside were soaked, including the spare wood Echo wanted to put towards building a back porch. You sucked your teeth, shaking your head. 

You grasped the edge of the shed door, pulling it along as you walked it closed. Mud squished up around your feet, suction resisting your movement as you took each step. 

Another impossibly strong gust of wind pushed into you. It grabbed ahold of the door, catching it like a sail, and yanked it from your grasp. The edge cracked into your shoulder, just enough to jolt you from your balance. Fighting to regain your footing, your heel slipped and the world tilted sideways. The flashlight flew from your hand as your hip struck the earth—hard. 

With the breath knocked from your lungs, you laid still, mouth agape in shock. You groaned briefly, dull pain blooming along your hip and side. Your hand darted to your belly, relief quickly settling your nerves as you felt your baby shift and wiggle. 

Your throat tightened, all at once furious with yourself. 

All you wanted to do was shut a door. 

Eyes irritatingly full, you lifted a hand to wipe a splatter of mud from your face. Your frustration only grew when you felt that your hand—accompanied by continuous rain—had smeared even more dirt across your cheek. 

A familiar voice called your name through the downpour. 

Your stomach dropped, heat rising in your cheeks. The tears that had welled up immediately threatened to fall. 

This is not good. 

You pushed yourself up to sit on your hip. Heavy, fast footsteps smacked through rain-sodden grass behind you. 

“Kriff– Are you okay?!” Echo shouted over the rain—his voice sharp, alarmed. 

“I’m fine!” You responded starkly, attempting to wipe mud from your arm on your coat.

He was knelt in front of you in an instant, hovering for a moment as if afraid to touch you. Then one hand wiped wet hair from your face, his scomp link finding your shoulder. 

“Why are you– What happened?” He breathed, eyes darting all over you.

You avoided his gaze. “I slipped. I’m fine.”

He looked at you again and hesitated, ultimately raising his comm. “Tech, come in.”

“I’m fine, Echo,” You insisted, pushing one hand deeper in the mud in an effort to hoist yourself up. 

“What is it?” 

“I need you here ASAP.” Echo reached for your other arm, intending to help you up, but you pulled your arm away. 

“I said I’m fine,” you hissed, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes. Rain continued to pour, splashing more speckles of mud from the ground on your face and in your hair.

“Should I fetch the midwife?”

Echo nearly recoiled at your reaction. “You’re not fine,” he blinked, shocked you were denying the gravity of what he might have been seconds shy of witnessing. Bending down again to hook his arm under yours, he raised the comm back to his mouth. “She fell,” he said, eyes assessing you again. “I don’t know.”

“I’ll be there soon.”

You resisted the urge to scoff. You knew it was a good idea to check on the baby. You just didn’t want to be the one being babied. You didn’t want to be scolded for trying.

“I’m okay, Echo. You don’t need to call Tech.” You grumbled, relenting to his efforts.

Echo’s eyes grew. “It’s the middle of the night, you’re soaked, lying in the mud in a storm like this—” he pulled you to your feet, hand and scomp on either side of your arms. His voice grew increasingly distressed with each word. “Kriff, you’re freezing, and shaking— What are you doing out here?!” 

You gritted your teeth. As soon as you stood squarely, you pulled away from him again, throwing an arm at the shed. “Rain was getting in the shed! I had it handled!” 

“‘Had it handled?’” Echo blinked incredulously. He stepped behind you, pulling the shed door shut and wedging a rake through the handle to keep it secure. The sound of it sliding into place grated in your ears, mocking your defeat. 

“I slipped!” You argued, wiping more mud from yourself. “I was fine!” 

He turned back to you, eyebrows furrowed. “You call that—” he gestured to where you had laid moments before, “—‘fine’? You fell at eight months pregnant!” 

“It was only an open door!” You shouted, a crack of thunder hiding the crack in your voice. A tear bubbled over, rolling down your cheek. You hoped the rain disguised it. “I wasn’t about to ask for help with closing it!” 

“Yeah, well,” Echo crossed his arms over his chest, “You scared the hell out of me.” 

You turned your face away, biting the inside of your cheek. That makes two of us.

Echo clamped his mouth shut, pressing his lips into a thin line. This wasn’t how he thought you’d react to something like this. He knew you well enough to know you’d always be worried about your child, but this was something entirely different. Something felt off. 

He said nothing else, but instead took a few steps toward you. He pressed his hand to the small of your back, gesturing to the house. 

Echo’s hand seemed to burn on your back. You turned, watching your step as you trudged back to the stairs. Internally, you shrank in on yourself. Your stomach twisted at the thought of the conversation sure to happen inside. 

You weren’t necessarily ashamed—no—but you couldn’t deny that perhaps, in the pursuit of sustaining your own independence, you got reckless. 

Now you felt selfish. Prideful. 

And your pride stung. 

A few hot tears slid down your cheeks. You ignored them, letting the heavy rain wash them away. They weren’t tears of pain, though your hip ached sorely and it took some effort not to let it affect your gait. Rather, they were of embarrassment. You wanted nothing more than to be as capable as you were before your pregnancy progressed. 

First you couldn’t paint the living room without nearly falling off a stepladder and splashing paint on the ceiling. Then you couldn’t put furniture together without straining your back. 

Now you couldn’t so much as close a door without incident. 

Even now, knowing Echo’s hovering hand was really only a matter of slippery stairs, you felt immensely small. Fragile. Vulnerable. 

You were no stranger to vulnerability, and especially not with Echo. You did marry the man. But feeling that your usefulness was restricted by the growing child inside you—at least for the next several weeks, still—was something you weren’t used to. 

The back door swung open, aided by the ever present wind. You took a few steps inside, Echo pushing the door closed behind him. Mud and rainwater began pooling on the tile around your feet, dripping from your clothes, fingertips, and hair. 

Echo stepped toward the table in the middle of the room, pulling out a chair. “Come on,” he urged softly, “I’ll get towels.” 

You shook your head. “I need to shower anyway, don’t waste the clean ones.” 

He paused a moment, then moved to the stairs. “Tech’s checking you out first, and you’re freezing.” 

You stood still for a moment, listening to his footfall fade down the hall. Slowly, realizing how cold you really were, you began trying to peel off your mud-coated rain jacket. It clung to your arms and shirt, refusing to budge however you pulled and twisted. You grunted with the effort, forbidding yourself from failing at this, too. 

A hand on your shoulder stopped you. Turning to look over your shoulder, Echo met your gaze. Though he said nothing, his eyes had softened and spoke every bit of “let me help you” that you knew you wouldn’t have accepted otherwise. 

You released your grip on the jacket, raising one arm towards your husband. He grabbed ahold of the cuff, pulling firmly as you tugged your arm toward yourself. After a moment of resistance, it released. Echo dropped the cuff and moved to the hood, holding it up while you got your other arm out. 

With the jacket gone, fresh air met your wet pajamas and sent a chill down your spine. Goosebumps popped up all down your arms and legs, shivers settling in. 

Echo turned with the jacket in hand, moving to temporarily discard it in the kitchen sink. You ran a hand over the fabric that clung to your belly, watching him step over your muddy footprints. 

A quick series of knocks sounded at the front door. You took a step towards it before Echo stopped you with his scomp. Neither of you spoke, but he gave you one of his gentle, stern looks. He wrapped a towel around your shoulders, pointedly looking between you and the dining chair, then turned and disappeared around the corner. 

Normally you might sass him; give him a run for his money on who was the deciding voice. But shivers and exhaustion won, ultimately convincing you to take a seat as he told. You took a corner of the towel and wiped droplets from your forehead. The front door opened—rainfall echoing from the next room—then hissed shut. You patted your hairline, hoping to stem the flow of water from your hair into your eyes. 

Several moments later Echo returned, his brother following shortly behind. 

“Hi Tech,” you muttered, reluctant to meet his gaze. “Sorry to bother you so late.”

“It is no inconvenience,” he quickly waved your worry off, kneeling in front of you with scanner in hand. “I had not gone home yet.” 

Echo stood a pace away beside you, watching Tech conduct his scans. You spared a glance at him. His eyebrows were furrowed, seemingly stuck in that squared position. He had his arms crossed, the bulk of his weight leaned against the kitchen counter behind him. 

“Turn please,” Tech said, interrupting your observations. He gestured his scanner to the side you fell on. 

You cleared your throat, shifting in the chair to angle yourself. Lifting the hem of your shirt, you revealed a large purple splotch already peeking from beneath your waistband. Tech paused half a second, but gave no other visible or audible reaction. Echo shifted at the sight of the bruise, bringing his hand to massage his chin and run his fingers across his mouth. Tech passed a glance at his brother through the corner of his eye, but returned to his analysis just as quickly. 

Several minutes passed in trepid silence, rainfall on the roof serving as the only buffer. 

Tech finally stood up, tapping at his datapad briefly before he spoke. “All is well with both mother and child.” 

The room let out the smallest of exhales. Relief loosened your muscles just enough for exhaustion to make itself glaringly known. 

Echo pushed himself away from the kitchen counter and let out a short sigh. “Thanks Tech.”

Tech lowered his datapad and reached to adjust his goggles. “I suppose I should ask how this happened?” 

The air between you and Echo stiffened again. You met his gaze briefly, but looked away almost immediately. You shuffled your feet against the tile beneath your chair, squeezing the towel in your grip. “It’s a long story,” you muttered, glancing up at Tech. “I’ll tell you another time.” 

He paused, as if considering whether to push further, but ultimately said nothing else of the question at hand. He gave a curt nod, then looked to his brother as he turned towards the front door. “Do not hesitate to contact me if things change.” 

“We won’t,” Echo assured, remaining where he stood.

You waited in tense silence for the sound of the door. When it clicked shut, you finally looked at your husband. His arms were crossed again, giving you the look he usually saved for Omega when he knew she was hiding something. 

You let out a heavy breath. “Don’t start.”

“You’re not getting away from this.”

“What’s there to get away from? Tech said the baby’s fine, I’m fine. I’m not made of glass, Echo.”

“No one said you were.” He stayed put as he watched you stand, clinging to the towel around you. “But that never should have happened.”

You took a deep breath, willing him to let go of the matter and let it disappear. “I’m tired,” you stated. “I just want to shower and go back to bed.”

“Did you hear what I just said?” Echo stepped in your path, blocking the way to the stairs. “We’re talking about this now.”

You tried avoiding looking directly at him, averting your eyes just about anywhere else. He shifted his gaze along your face, noting the redness beneath your eyes. 

Echo brought his hand to your jawline, pulling you to face him. Tears welled in your eyes and despite his frustration and worry, his heart softened. He ran his thumb along your cheek. “This isn’t like you,” he said, quieter now. “What’s going on?”

You took his hand in yours, pulling it away from your face. “I’m just–” you paused, looking to the ceiling as you fought against the knot in your chest and struggled to find the right words. A frog leapt to your throat as you looked down at the floor. In a whisper, you admitted, “I’m tired of being like this.” 

Echo’s brow furrowed further, confused. “Like what?” 

“I can’t do anything by myself anymore,” you let out a shaky breath. “If I want to do something even remotely taxing, it’s, “you should be sitting down,” or, “go ask Wrecker to do that,” and even the neighbors jump in.” 

You were quick to wipe away a stray tear, which only served to smear crusted dirt across your face. You paid it no mind, hardly thinking of anything less than everything you’d kept bottled up for the past several months. 

“I can’t go on missions anymore. I can’t come with you guys and stay on the ship. I can’t so much as take a flight out to orbit.” Your body slowly grew more tense as you spoke, coiling tighter in your chest. “So I do what I can here. But then I can’t move the nursery furniture. I can’t carry in groceries. I can’t do anything without someone saying something about it.” 

Echo stood still, letting you speak freely as his heart crumbled a bit. All this time he thought they were just taking care of you, that he and his brothers were doing the right thing letting you rest. He hadn’t realized they were essentially withholding you from what you needed. He suddenly felt a wave of anger. Or was it sadness? Something close to regret. 

“I could have waited until morning, or for you to get home, or called a neighbor. Maybe I should have. But I’m so tired of letting other people do for me what I used to do without thinking.” You ran a hand through your hair, pressing your palm to your forehead. “But then I feel crazy because there’s times I really do need help, but asking for it feels like I’m making myself a work-around in everyone’s day! I feel like I’m losing it, Echo!” You scrunched your eyes shut, bringing your palms to press against your eyes as if you could scrub it all away. 

“It’s like I don’t have any control anymore! It’s like I’ve been replaced by an entirely new person, and she’s clumsy, and she’s lazy, and I hate her.” You dropped your hands to your hips, bracing your back, and scoffed. You felt like a fool. “And now I couldn’t even close a door.”

“Hey,” Echo’s voice neared a grumble, “that’s my wife you’re talking about.”  

You gave him a soft side-eyed glare. 

The corner of his mouth quirked up on one side in response. 

You shuffled backward, sitting yourself down again. You exhaled slowly, quietly. You hadn’t meant for everything to come pouring out like that—if at all. And if you did ever plan on mentioning how incapable you felt, you certainly would have preferred it to be in much more controlled circumstances than this. 

Regardless, you couldn’t deny how much lighter you felt. Not joy, not comfort. Not even close. But still lighter. Like you had room to breathe where immense pressure had been. It wasn’t completely gone, though. There was still a bit of water in the dam, but at least you weren’t hiding the dam. 

Echo watched you wring the corners of the towel. He knew he wasn’t as present as he wanted to be—as you needed him to be. So when he was away and suggested going to the neighbors or his brothers for help, he thought he was just trying to be a good husband to you. But here you were, in tears after months of suffering in silence, after months of tolerating it all, all because you knew everyone was only trying to help. 

Slowly, Echo stepped over to the table and knelt in front of you. He took one of your hands in his, running his thumb over your knuckles. 

He let your words hang in the air, heavy with your admission. When he finally spoke, his voice came out hushed, like he might wake someone in another room. “You’re not crazy,” he murmured. “You’re not incapable. And you’re sure as hell not a burden.”

You brought your eyes to his. They were unwavering; solid and grounding.

He continued. “You have been doing something incredible. Growing our baby changes how your body works and feels, but that doesn’t mean it’s weak. It doesn’t mean you’re weak.” Echo’s thumb stilled. His hand moved to lace his fingers with yours, his thumb now drawing circles in your palm. “The people around us get involved because they care, not because they think you’re helpless.”

Your throat tightened. You opened your mouth to argue, but he shook his head before you could utter a word. Where you might’ve been unsure whether to believe him or assume he was only being reassuring, you didn’t doubt he believed what he said. He said everything so factually, like there was no debating it.

 He shifted his weight, bringing your hand to his mouth as he pressed a tender kiss to your knuckles. “You may be limited with what you can do for now, but that won’t last forever. You don’t have to prove anything. Trust me, I know what you’re capable of,” Echo grinned, flicking his eyes up to meet yours. “Now, maybe I’ve overdone it a little–”

“A little?” You snorted. You shifted slightly in your seat.

“I wanted to make sure you had help when you needed it while I was off-world,” he defended with a bashful smirk. 

You smacked his arm lightly, resting your palm on his shoulder. The hint of a grin tugged at your lips. 

“What?” He scoffed out a laugh. “I was being resourceful, right?” 

You nodded, but then your grin faded. His words had undoubtedly done the trick and reassured you, but you still felt the sting of your pride for failing at something so easy. 

Echo saw the sudden shift. He reached his hand to yours on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

Your gaze drifted to your lap as you softly admitted, “I felt like I proved myself wrong, like maybe I really couldn’t do anything without help, even something that simple.”

Echo shook his head, moving his hand to your chin and pulling your face back to meet his. “Hey, don’t belittle yourself like that. That’s one hell of a storm you went out in.”

You let out a resigned chuckle. “Yeah, and look where my courage got me.” You glanced down to your mud-soaked clothes, a faint curve rising at the edge of your mouth again. 

A short, hearty laugh bubbled up out of him. “You do look like you wrestled a Mudhorn.” 

Your smile grew slightly as he stood to his feet. “And lost.”

He laughed again and locked his fingers between yours, gently tugging you to your feet. 

Hand stretched behind him, Echo led you to the stairs, still dark due to the lack of power. He let you take the lead as you climbed to the second floor, ever watchful of your step though the mud on your feet had long crusted over. 

You headed straight for the bathroom, and instead of grappling with your self-esteem, this time you welcomed Echo’s help from the start. You raised your arms above your head and let him peel off your mud-crusted tunic, watching as he tossed it—and your used towel—to the corner. 

As you wiggled off your bottoms and kicked them to the same corner, Echo turned the shower faucet on. It sputtered to life, quickly growing to a low roar. Its sound paled in comparison to the storm still alive outside. 

While you waited for the water to warm, you tried combing your fingers through your hair. After a few too many knots yanked on the most sensitive parts of your scalp, you gave up, flopping your arms to your side with an exaggerated huff. Echo stepped away from the shower, letting out a chuckle under his breath. He bent down and opened the cupboard beneath the sink, taking out a battery-powered lantern and setting it on the counter. He clicked it on, casting the room in a soft light. 

The water soon warmed, puffs of steam rolling from its steady stream. Echo left the bathroom, leaving you to start washing off the effects of the storm. Faintly, just beneath the sound of the shower, you could hear the clatter of his armor in the bedroom.

You relished the hot water flowing over your head and down your back. It loosened the tension pent up from the storm, your muscles relaxing the longer you stood beneath it. Your toes tingled as warmth returned. Streaks of muddy water flowed past your feet to the drain.

With the storm still rumbling outside, you wanted to be in and out. You washed your hair quickly—not as thoroughly as you wanted, but enough to get the splatters of mud out. You lathered your ends with more conditioner than you’d ever used, determined to eliminate wind-whipped knots. 

While the conditioner rested, you grabbed a washcloth and lathered it well. You scrubbed everywhere you possibly could—your face, arms, belly, and sides—but with limited range of motion, you soon realized you wouldn’t be able to get it all on your own. 

Your mind jumped to Echo in the next room, but a brief flicker of frustration stopped you before you could call his name. You quickly kicked the feeling away. He’d already proved he didn’t think you were helpless. Why would that change now? You were grateful he was there for you. This is what you both signed up for, after all. He wouldn’t think less of you for needing help in the mundane. 

You called his name and heard the closet door close. Moments later Echo appeared in the doorway, armor shed in exchange for a pair of plaid pajama bottoms. A warm look settled in his eyes.

Without you asking or him speaking, he crossed the bathroom and pushed the shower curtain aside, taking the washcloth from your hand. You turned your back to him, pulled your hair out of the way, and he began gently scrubbing. When he was done he gestured for you to give him your foot. Knowing full well you couldn’t bend that far anymore, you obliged. One by one, he washed your feet and ankles. Though you couldn’t see over your belly to your toes, more muddy streaks washed down the drain. 

When he stood back up you leaned in and thanked him with a quick peck to the cheek. You expected him to leave and head back to the bedroom while you finished washing your hair, but he didn’t move. He grinned, a mischievous twinkle in his eye, and stepped over the mouth of the shower, straight into the waterflow with you.

You gasped and started laughing, shocked, as he wrapped his arms around you, his pajamas quickly soaked.

“Echo, your clothes!” You laughed as he pulled you against him.

He pressed his lips firmly into yours, smiling into your muffled giggles. “I’ll add them to the pile,” he mumbled, drawing another fit of laughter from you.

You leaned into the moment, enjoying the spontaneity and giggling when he pulled back to pepper your face with kisses. 

After a while you smacked his chest lightly, pushing him back. He stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel, drying himself off quickly. You turned back to the water to rinse out your hair, throwing a blushing smile at him as he threw off his pants and headed back to the bedroom to change again. 

Confident your hair was free of conditioner and as many knots as you could comb out with your fingers, you turned the faucet off and stepped out. You wrapped yourself in a towel, blissfully warm from laying on the radiator, and padded out to the bedroom.

It was dim, lit only by another lantern usually stored in the closet. Echo sat on the edge of the bed, datapad in hand. He looked up as you entered, tapped a few more times on the device, then set it aside and stood. On your side of the bed, a fresh pair of pajamas had been laid out: an oversized shirt (one of the few that would fit over your belly) and a pair of his old blacks’ bottoms. And underwear, of course.

Despite having been married for several years, Echo’s actions melted your heart. There was nothing too small for this man to show you he loved you. 

Your lips curved as you glanced at him. A sheepish smile was his only response.

As you changed, the weight of your exhaustion really began to hit. Your bones felt heavy, your blinks became slow and lazy, and the warmth of fresh clothes only slowed your movements that much more. 

Echo had climbed into bed by the time you finished putting them on. You slid under the covers, his arms immediately finding purchase around you. He pulled you close, his flesh arm nestling above your belly and below your bust. You sunk into him, his warmth and closeness softening every sharp edge of the day. 

For a while, neither of you spoke. Bone-tired yourself, you thought he’d drifted off. Then, as your eyelids began to feel puffy, words rose softly behind you.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here to see it.” 

Your brow furrowed, but he continued before you could stop him. 

“I should’ve been here more often. I didn’t know I was robbing you of your independence, I thought… I thought it was right. I thought you needed rest, and that the best way I could give you that was to… you know… yeah.”  

You turned your head over your shoulder and rolled your body just enough to face him a bit more. Guilt was etched across his face. It creased between his eyebrows and hung in the bags under his eyes. You tisked, rolling over to face him directly. 

“Echo…” you said softly, “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. You had a job to do, brothers to save. I have never and will never blame you for being away for that.” 

You brought a hand to his cheek, swiping your thumb over his skin. He pressed his lips into a thin line, giving a small, barely perceptible nod.

“I should have told you how I felt,” you murmured, trailing his jawline absently. “I just– I wish I could do what I used to. At least without being a work-around for everyone else.” 

Echo turned his head, planting a kiss into your palm. “Well, you don’t feel like a burden to me, or anyone else, so please try not to think that of yourself.” You felt his hand drift across your belly, moving back and forth slowly. His hand stilled as your baby wiggled. “And it won’t be much longer now.”

You sighed, your eyes drifting shut dreamily. “Little one can’t come soon enough. I feel like a beached whale.”

A few beats of silence passed. You began to drift off, then Echo broke the silence.

“We’ve got a pretty simple job coming up… I’ll see what I can do.”

“Hmm— Really?” You perked up, a little more awake again, but didn’t stir from your comfort. “You mean it?”

“Maybe,” he rumbled, wanting to be careful not to get your hopes too high. “I’ll see. You’d probably have to stay with the ship. We’ll see what Tech says.”

“Honey, anything is better than being stuck here for any longer than a few months at a time,” you murmured, your voice becoming raspy with drowsiness. “I’d be happy to take a flight out to the closest moon, for crying out loud.”

His chest rumbled with a chuckle. “Well, I’ll ask Tech what he thinks.” He tightened his arm around you gently, tugging your back closer to his chest. “Now go to sleep. It’ll be dawn before we know it.”

What is it about my brain that refuses to write fluff by itself? Why does it always need to be paired with angst? 😭