Who: Luke and Wren What: The pregnancy talk. Where: Their house. When: Recently. Warnings/Rating: None.
The hands of the generic clock above the entrance doorway had begun to creep up on 3am by the time Luke’s shift finally finished, leaving him stifling a yawn as he tossed out his hours-old coffee as he left the precinct. Late nights like these were a definite downside to the job, but he figured the pros outweighed the cons despite what Adam had said about ditching the hero act and being a family man instead. He was trying to do just that, damn it, and he shrugged off the uncomfortable prickle that crawled along his spine whenever he thought about how badly his conversation with his friend, if he was even that these days, had gone. Yeah, he worried about Adam and MK, but right now his concern was focused closer to home.
Wren hadn’t been okay since the party; he might not have been the most observant person all the time, but he wasn’t an idiot. He knew her better than anyone, and he knew something was wrong. Something she wasn’t telling him, for whatever reason, but he hoped that would change. He always hated when she kept things from him since it made him feel like he wasn’t enough for her, that he was less than she deserved, because obviously there was a reason she felt she had to hold whatever it was back from him. And her nightmare had just amped up that concern, making him impatient to get home and see her for himself. She’d sounded scared over the phone. He just wanted to be there, to fix it (whatever it was) like he always did. Or like he always tried, at least.
It didn’t take him long to get home, and he was quiet as he slid the key in the lock and turned. Finch was there to greet him, no loud barking but just a soft wuff and fur beneath his fingers, then a warm body at his side as he locked the door behind himself, slipped off his shoes, and made his way through the darkened living room to the hallway and Gus’ room. His first stop, to watch his son sleep and kiss his forehead, too soft to wake him but felt enough to make him murmur in his sleep and turn over. He smiled, achingly fond, and then he slipped out of the room and made his way to their bedroom, alone, since Finch had stayed behind to curl up at the foot of the little boy’s bed with the puppy.
She’d said she would wait up, but he was still careful when he pushed open their door to look inside, and he spoke in a whisper. “Wren?”
Wren had, as threatened, spent the time after hanging up the phone pulling lights from the trunk she kept at the end of the bed. Some of them were old and yellowed, harkening all the way back to Seattle, and some were newer, from Christmas and hidden away before the tree had come down. The trunk had been her maman's, and she'd had plenty of trouble keeping it from being thrown away during the years between New York and Nevada, but she'd managed, and it was old wood and memories. There was lace inside, also yellowing around the edges, which had belonged to her maman. As a child, she'd run around their small house on Duval street and used it as a veil, which had caused her maman to sing wedding songs in French and tickle her until her belly hurt. She hung the lace beneath the lights, and she draped it all over the bed, which she pushed against the wall and crawled into to wait.
It would all last a night, maybe two, she knew, depending on how long it took Cygne to notice the flimsy fabric, but the puppy was asleep with Gus, and she knew Finch was sitting at his post by the door, the way he always did when when Luke was working. As for Petti, the cat hated everything and everyone, and he barely opened his eyes from the chair across the bedroom, not at all interested in lights and lace.
And she was nervous. That was the whole reason she'd bothered with the distraction of the lights, because it was a half-hour gone, and that was a half-hour that she didn't need to sit there and worry. Because she was worried. Whatever Luke said, she knew he didn't think they were ready for other children, and she didn't necessarily disagree. Gus was terrified about school starting, all wide eyes and perpetual silence as he clung to her, or to Luke, or to Finch, and she was worried that he'd come back after the first day and never, ever want to go back. And then there was Luke's job, and the fact that the manhunt for the missing baby had kept him away from home for hours and hours, and she was pretty sure he'd say that was another reason why they shouldn't have a baby. And lastly, Gotham, where Selina was sending her home covered in bruises more often than not lately, and she didn't even know why. At least before, she'd had an idea of what was going on with Selina, but she didn't have even the smallest notion anymore.
Her stomach was roiling, as it always did lately, and she rolled onto her side to try to make it stop. She hadn't gone back to the clinic after the doctor had called to verify she was pregnant, and she knew she needed prenatal vitamins and blood tests and ultrasounds, just like she knew she hadn't been feeling well, and that she hadn't been sleeping well. But that all scared her too. Being pregnant with Gus had been terrible, and she'd already started to feel that horrible weakness that she'd felt then, and now there was this new terror about nightmares to go along with it. None of it made her feel very safe about anything, and she curled herself around a pillow and tried to keep her eyes open and not think about it.
In the end, it was exhaustion that made her doze, her yellow pajama pants and matching shirt loose enough to almost hide the weight she'd put on around her middle, and a string of bright new Gotham bruises dotting her jaw. His whisper woke her, but it was a slow thing, a whimper at the discomfort in her belly, and a tentative stretch in the quiet lights of the canopy to ensure that moving didn't make her want to throw up again. "Hi, officer," she said shyly, without sitting up, dark shadows beneath her tear-puffy eyes and a soft smile on her lips.
Too late he realized that she’d been asleep, and he felt an immediate pang of guilt as she whimpered and stirred beneath the newly strung lights. He should have let her sleep, he thought, noticing the shadows beneath her eyes; she hadn’t been sleeping well lately and it was stupid of him to ask her to wait up. Whatever was bothering her could have waited until morning. But she was awake, now, and he pulled the door shut behind him as he stepped into the room. “Hey, baby,” he said softly, his smile mirroring hers. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” He sat at the edge of the bed beside her, gaze softening and warming as he looked down, and his fingers brushed over her cheek and along her jaw. “Are you feeling better?”
"I was awake," she said, though she hadn't been, and the husky and sleepy tone of her voice gave that away entirely, even if her sleepy grey eyes didn't. She nuzzled her cheek against his fingers, and then she pushed herself up to sitting, until she was beside him, cross legged and fingers idly tugging at the buttons of his work shirt. She looked at the buttons as she freed them, biting her lip and trying to figure out how to start, if she really wanted to, if she even could. But she'd promised she would talk to him, and she didn't want to go back on that. And, too, she knew it wouldn't keep forever, her secret, and running away wasn't an option, not like it had been in New York. His fingers on her jaw were a momentary distraction, the Gotham bruises there barely twinging beneath his touch. "That man I met on the bus, he asked why you hit me," she said, wondering if they could at least talk to Selina about getting bruises where people couldn't see. A sigh followed and she looked down at her fingers again, as if there was a lot of concentration required to free buttons from buttonholes. "I had another fight with MK," which really wasn't what they needed to talk about, but the sadness on her features was genuine, the corners of her eyes going damp almost immediately. She paused, another button slipping free. "I haven't been feeling very good," she admitted tentatively, knowing there wouldn't be any turning back once she started down this path.
He gave her a knowing look when she said she was awake, one which clearly said he knew she’d been asleep and he knew he’d awakened her with his whisper. It didn’t worry him when she didn’t answer his question right away; he was better at being patient now, and he watched her work on his buttons with a small smile playing on his lips. That smile faltered and died, however, when she spoke, and his expression went from surprise to dismay at the realization that the bruises Selina caused could be misconstrued. “He thought I hit you?” He was a lot of things, but he’d never raise his hand against a woman, against her, and he felt sick at the thought that people might assume he would. Impulsively, he shifted forward to brush his lips against her jaw, where the bruises lived, as though that alone could make them disappear. “I can get Bruce to talk to Selina,” he said against her skin, because despite their issues he knew the other man still had a lot of sway with her. He pulled back a little when she mentioned MK, and his fingers slid from her jaw down to her shoulder, thumb rubbing circles over the fabric of her shirt. “I’m sorry, Wren,” he said, because he didn’t know what else to say. “I know you just want what’s best for her, and she doesn’t see that.” It didn’t take a genius to figure out what their fight had likely been about.
As for her not feeling very well, he’d known. He wasn’t always the most observant, but he’d known her for years, and he’d always liked watching her whenever he could. Something was wrong, something beyond lingering aftereffects of the party. “Okay,” he said, careful, gentle. “Why haven’t you been feeling very good?”
"People probably think you have a really angry wife too, or that you like getting in bar fights," she said as his lips brushed her jaw, because Bruce came home battered just as often. The bruises were different, and maybe they weren't always as noticeable, but they were still there. "I usually do a better job of hiding them," she admitted, because she'd gotten lazy lately. After over two years of hiding Selina's life on her skin, she just wasn't as careful about it anymore, and she really needed to change that. His fingers were on the yellow pajama top by then, tracing comforting circles, and she shrugged her shoulders a tiny bit about MK. "I don't know what to say anymore, and she said I do it all wrong. I push too hard, I don't understand what they're like, and it always comes back to us, and how they don't have what we have, and she makes me feel so guilty about our lives. Like I can't be her friend and have this, and I don't want to abandon her. Everyone else has, and I don't want to be like everyone else," she explained, words all a rush of sadness and emotion and confusion, because she was trying, and it just wasn't working. She tugged on the brown fabric of his work shirt, and she looked up at him a little sheepishly. "I'm sorry. We're not supposed to be talking about MK," she admitted.
His question, when he asked it, was direct enough that it was hard to find an answer without replying directly. She parted her lips, and she closed them again, and then she worried her lower lip and thought. She'd never been very regular, and she knew she could start with that, explain how she could have possibly messed up again. Or maybe tell him it was too late to do anything about it first, in case he reacted like Adam had. But, no, he wouldn't. She knew he wouldn't. Even if he felt that way, he would never do what Adam had done to MK. "You aren't going to like it," she whispered, looking down.
“It’s different for me,” he said, shaking his head. “People’ll just think I got in a fight or something. I don’t-- I don’t want anyone thinking I hit you. Not-- I mean, it’s not even really about them saying something, but I just hate the thought of someone thinking I-- that I’d-- you know?” He shrugged, a halfhearted attempt to explain why the opinion of strangers bothered him in this instance when most of the time he didn’t care what other people thought. “And she should be more careful anyway,” he added, of Selina and her penchant for bruises. It’d been a while since he’d talked to her. If Bruce couldn’t make an impact, maybe he could. But even that paled in comparison to MK, and while he thought of the woman as a friend he was admittedly getting tired of how her selfishness was taking its toll on Wren, unfairly so. The pressure of his thumbs increased ever so slightly, and her explanation made him frown. “You’re not doing anything wrong, baby. Our lives and what we have aren’t their business, and she has no right to make you feel guilty about it.” He paused, voice softening. “I know you don’t want to abandon her. I’m not saying you should. But you just want what’s best for her, and she doesn’t see that right now. You’re a really, really good friend,” he insisted. “Most people wouldn’t stick around for as long as you have.” As for MK not being their intended topic of conversation, he smiled reassuringly when she tugged on his shirt. “We can talk about whatever you want to talk about. There’s nothing you can’t tell me, okay?”
The longer it took for her to answer, the more worried he became. Scenario after scenario raced through his mind as he watched her, but none seemed to fit, at least not until she admitted that he wasn’t going to like it. One second, then two, and it clicked-- or, at least, he thought it did. Her not feeling well, all that talk of losing him and not wanting to mess things up… she was sick. Not flu-sick, but really sick, and she just hadn’t wanted to tell him. He paled, trying to keep the fear out of his expression, and he took a deep, deep breath in order to calm himself. Maybe he was wrong. But the more he thought about it, the more difficult it became to convince himself otherwise. “Baby, listen, we’ll get through it together. I promise, I’ll be here for you every step of the way. Just… how bad is it?” He swallowed heavily and slid his fingers beneath her chin, trying to get her to look up at him.
She wouldn't have mentioned Michael's question from the bus if she'd known it would bother him so much, and she spoke over him, reassuring. "We'll tell Selina," she promised, though she didn't really have a lot of faith in Selina listening to anything she said, not when she hadn't made any attempt to figure out what was going on with the other woman since things had changed with her. Even with all that, it was easier to think of making some kind of peace with Selina than focusing on her failures with MK. She smiled the tiniest bit as the pressure from his thumbs increased. "You'd absolve me of absolutely anything," she said knowingly. "I could be the absolute worst friend in the world, and you'd still defend me," she said knowingly, completely believing that to be true. "I'm just not very good at being a friend," she said a moment later. "MK was the first one I ever had, and it was easy in Seattle. It's not easy anymore, and everything I say makes her angry, but I don't know the right things to say. I did once, but I don't anymore, and the harder I try, the worse it gets." She sounded dejected, because she felt dejected. She was getting to the point where she was just scared to say anything at all to MK, because she knew it would be wrong, and she didn't know where to go from there. But it was just like him to say they could talk about anything she wanted to, and she leaned against him and pressed a soft kiss to his jaw. "You're really, really too good to me."
He paled a second later, and she wondered if he'd figured it out. No, she assumed he had, because why else would he go pale like that? She could tell he was having trouble breathing, which just made her stomach threaten to revolt, and she was on her feet by the time he was slipping his fingers beneath her chin. And maybe pacing wasn't the best thing, because she made it two passes in front of the bed, and then her knees threatened to buckle and the world threatened stars at the edges of her vision. She swallowed back bile, and she mentally told herself that she would not be sick. Fingers on the edge of the footboard, and she began rambling, because she needed to say something. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean- I didn't mean for it to happen. I swear. It wasn't on purpose. I don't want you thinking it was on purpose, and by the time I figured it out, it was already really late, and there was only a few days to do something about it, and I should have told you then. I know I should have, but I was scared," she admitted and oh, god, she was going to be sick.
He nodded about Selina, her tone of voice calming his agitation, and he tried not to think about people seeing the bruises and thinking him some sort of abusive thug. It didn’t matter, after all; he knew the truth, she knew the truth, and so did their friends. Her comment about him absolving her made him smile; it was true, of course, but he actually believed his own words rather than just saying them for her benefit. “You deserve to be absolved,” he told you. “And of course I’d defend you, because you’re a wonderful friend and I hate that this thing with MK makes you feel like you’re not.” The movement of his thumbs stilled, and he held her shoulders instead. “I don’t think there is a right thing to say with her, baby. MK wants you to tell her what she wants to hear, and when you don’t, she gets angry. But what she wants and what she needs aren’t the same. That isn’t your fault.” He was firm in his beliefs, that in order to help someone they needed to let themselves be helped, and MK hadn’t yet reached that point; sometimes he wondered if she ever would. He sighed when she leaned against him, a contented sound, and smiled again. “You only deserve the best.”
Her reaction surprised him. He didn’t understand why she was apologizing for something that so obviously wasn’t her fault, and his concerned spiked as she began to pace, because she definitely didn’t look like she should be on her feet and moving around like she was. “Hey, baby, it’s okay,” he began, getting to his feet and seeking to soothe her in the midst of her rambling. “Don’t be sorry. You don’t have to be sorry. Of course you didn’t mean for it to happen, I’d never think that. I know it wasn’t your fault,” he said. “Just sit down, please?” He reached for her, carefully, hoping she didn’t pull away. “It’ll be okay. I promise. I won’t-- I’m not going to lose you, so whatever it is, whatever you-- whatever you have, we’ll find a way to make it better. I don’t care how much it costs or what I have to do, just--” His breath caught in his throat. “Sit down. Please. Please,” he repeated, tugging on her wrists, gently, pleading.
She listened to him talk about MK. Part of her knew he was right. Logically, everything he was saying made sense, and she probably would have told him the exact same thing if he'd come to her about MK himself, but it was still hard for her to make it okay for herself. MK made her feel selfish and like a very, very bad friend, and she couldn't shake it at all, no matter how she tried. But she listened, and she didn't interrupt him, and she loved the fact that he didn't criticize her even once, even though she knew she deserved it at least a little. She did push too hard where MK was concerned. It came from a good place, but she definitely did it. She would have teased him, if her stomach wasn't threatening to turn over, and she was on her feet before she had a chance to say anything else about MK at all.
For some reason - and she had no idea why - she was surprised when he got to his feet. Maybe she expected his anger to be stationary, or maybe she expected him to storm out of the room and out of the house. But she was surprised, and she looked up at him when he said she didn't need to be sorry. She wanted to believe him, to believe she hadn't done it on purpose, but she didn't see how he could, and the disbelief showed in her watery grey eyes. She didn't pull away when he reached for her, because she had been so sure he wouldn't want to touch her again, not when he knew. Instead of pulling away, she took a timid step closer, and then another, and she tried to make sense of his words as he tugged on her wrists. She shook her head, the words at the ending lingering the longest in her mind and making the most sense as the room threatened to spin. "Even if we find the money, I don't think I can," she said mournfully, as she tried to figure out how, "whatever you have" fit into the conversation and drawing a blank. "I'm too far along, I- I can't. Even if I wasn't, I couldn't," she said, and she bit her lip and looked at him tearfully, because she knew she wasn't actually giving him options. Like MK with Adam, it was a trap, really. Unlike Adam, she knew he'd turn it around and make the best of it, and even with her persistent fear of being ill, she felt terrible about cornering him. Her fingers were clammy in his, and she didn't want to sit down; she wanted to hug him. And, after a second, she did. She was soft against him, tiptoes and wet words against his neck as she stretched onto the tips of her toes. "I'm sorry, Luke."
She bit her lip, and she sniffled, and she reached for one of his hands with her shaking, clammy fingers. She began to slowly tug it under her pajama shirt, began to press it to her slightly rounded belly, but guilt stopped her partway.
Nothing she said made sense to him, and maybe that should have tipped him off, should have made him slow down and rethink his assumptions, but he did neither. "What do you mean, you don't think you can?" His words were heavy with disbelief and confusion, and he tugged on her wrists again, trying and failing to make the pieces fit together. Why wouldn't she want to get better? MK was like a distant memory, that topic overshadowed by what he was currently faced with. "I don't understand, Wren. No matter how far along you are, there has to be something we can do. There has to be. I can't-- I can't do nothing," he said, helpless. Surely she didn't expect him to just accept that she was terminal, which was what he assumed she was saying. But it didn't quite match up, and he frowned as she hugged him, her body warm against his and her apology spoken against his neck as his arms went around her.
He was about to ask, to clarify, but then she was reaching for his hand and tugging it under her shirt. Despite stopping halfway it still caught his attention and he looked down, brow furrowed, as he continued the path she'd begun and slid his fingers beneath the yellow fabric. And then, as he felt what he'd failed to see until that moment, a belly more rounded than it should have been, he looked up at her with new realization in his eyes. "You're not sick," he said, something like hope mixed with relief in his voice. "You're not sick?" A question, this time. "You're-- you're pregnant?"
Somewhere in the middle of all that disbelief, she realized he'd come to the wrong conclusion, and it just made her more nervous. Having him get there himself, having him assume, it had been easier, and now she was going to need to fix it, which seemed absolutely impossible. She bit her lip until it bled, and she tried to find words when his arms went around her. Time seemed to go impossibly slow, and she still didn't say anything, head ducked down as she watched the truncated movement of his hand. Given all that, she was surprised when he kept moving his fingers forward, and she sucked in a breath that didn't really do even a little bit of anything to make her stomach concave or flat. She shook her head right away when he said she wasn't sick. Well, she was, but not the way he meant. The hope in his eyes made it easier to breathe, and she sagged against him the tiniest bit, giving up the fight to keep the world from tilting and just letting him do it for her. "I'm not sick how you mean," she said tentatively, words so, so, so slow, as if she could draw out the inevitable in syllables. "I've been running a fever, and I don't feel good, but that happened the first time, and-" and the words were whisper soft, fading into nothing when he actually asked if she was pregnant. She nodded, the movement almost nothing, really, and she began to apologize again almost immediately. "I'm sorry. I know we can't afford it, and I know you said not now, and I didn't mean for it to happen. I didn't- I know no one's going to believe that. I know it, but it's true. I swear. I promise." Her breath caught and hitched, and she looked up at him. "I'm sorry."
He was glad she wasn’t sick. That fear had been swift and overwhelming, and it took a few seconds to peel it away and let it fade, as it no longer had any place here, because he wasn’t afraid of her being pregnant in the same way he was afraid of her dying of some unknown illness. But then he had to absorb this new revelation, and it was a slow, slow thing, to let reality sink in, and he didn’t really hear her words despite being aware that she was saying something. Pregnant. She was pregnant. He looked at her, and then he looked down and splayed his fingers out over her belly, thinking, as his mind worked and processed and finally caught up. There were worries, of course, worries about money and about Gotham, but those were quiet things that didn’t seem so overwhelming, really, not as much as he’d have expected them to. Money was tight but they weren’t poor, and they’d manage. They wouldn’t go bankrupt and he had steady work, he had benefits, and a lot of cops had wives and kids. As for Gotham, Bruce would understand and Selina would too, she had too; they’d handle that.
But what mattered more than that was the simple fact that this was a baby he would be around for. He’d be there for its birth, to hold it when it was only days old, to see its first steps and hear its first words; all the things he’d missed out on with Gus. Those were the thoughts that were strongest, that made him smile as he watched his fingers. “You’re pregnant,” he repeated, something like awe in his voice. He looked up at her, his smile starting small and growing, a raw, honest thing. “We’re going to have a baby.” And then he laughed, the sound slipping free unbidden. “Don’t be sorry. So what if it wasn’t planned?” He pulled her close and kissed her, then, unthinking and entirely impulsive.
She tried to make sense of the emotions crossing his features. She tried to understand what he was feeling, but she was so nervous and so scared, and she didn't understand what all his silence meant, and she shifted from one foot to the other nervously, already practicing all kinds of new excuses in her mind. The problem was there just weren't many things she could say. They could give the baby up for adoption, or maybe send the baby to Thomas, but she didn't actually want to do either of those things, and she didn't really want to suggest that, not when he might agree with her. She'd never even gotten a chance to hold Gus when he was born, and she hadn't found him again until he was three, and even then it had been almost a year before she'd even managed to touch him.
His fingers, splaying out on her belly, made her look down for a few seconds, and then she carefully reached down, tentative slow, and moved his hand a little to the left. "If you leave it there, you'll feel movement. Kicking, sometimes. Sometimes just fluttering," she said, because she was far enough along for that already, and there'd been a lot of movement in the past week. She didn't look up at his face yet, not yet, though she was pretty sure he didn't sound angry. If she was less scared, she would have realized he didn't sound angry at all, but she wanted him to be okay with this so very, very much that she was afraid her ears were playing tricks on her. She would have kept looking down, but he laughed, and that made her head snap up quickly, wide grey eyes a little feverish, but bright with tears at the corners as well. And she wasn't expecting the kiss or the way he pulled her close, and she was so surprised by it that she almost forgot to kiss him back. She brushed her lips against his at the last minute, and when she tugged back a little it was to scan his face carefully, her voice nearly a whisper. "You really aren't angry?" she asked, hope slipping through and coloring the words.
He let her move his hand to the side, and he listened eagerly as she spoke of movement, of being able to feel the baby kick, a mixture of nerves and excitement swirling in his stomach at the prospect. It reminded him of Christmas, of feeling the other Wren’s child kick and his yearning then to experience the same with his Wren and his child. Not once did it occur to him to be angry. Not once did he think of asking her why she hadn’t told him sooner; it didn’t matter. He knew now, she’d told him instead of running off like she had before, and that mattered. “I’m not angry,” he told her, his smile softening but still lingering. “This is good. I mean, I know it wasn’t planned, but a lot of babies aren’t, and--” He broke off with a shrug. “We’ll be okay.” Financially, mostly, but in other ways too. And they had to tell Gus, he knew they did, but that didn’t need to happen right at that moment and hopefully the little boy would like the idea of having a baby brother or sister.
His hand hadn’t moved from where she’d placed it, and his eyes lit up when he felt something beneath his palm, light, like the flutter she’d described. “Have you been to the doctor yet?” He looked at her, the mention of a fever and not feeling well finally sinking in. “You should. I’ll go with you. I want to,” he added. “I want to be there with you for everything, Wren, all of it.”
She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that he wasn't angry, and that maybe he really did think this was a good thing, but it was hard. After New York, after all that running, she was still so scared that he would say it was okay, but not really mean it. She looked at his face. No, no, she stared, as if by looking she could find out if he was telling her the truth. That sofly lingering smile made her relax the tiniest bit, and she worried her lip a little less. She actually wasn't worried about money just then. Maybe she should have been, but she wasn't. She hadn't actually had doctor's bills or health insurance when Gus was born, and she hadn't even used Luke's insurance to go to the free clinic for the test. That was a part of life she just wasn't used to yet, even now. "You really think it's good?" she asked, a little less skepticism in the question, and a little color returning to her cheeks. "I mean, you aren't just saying that so I won't cry?" she asked, a little jab at herself in the question, because she knew she'd been a little impossible lately, ready to cry at nearly everything. "I cried at the soup this morning," she admitted sheepishly, because she had.
She looked down when she felt the flutter beneath his fingers, and she took his hand and slid it around to her side, where a little foot was kicking against her ribs. "I just went to the free clinic for the test, and they just check to see how far along, you know, to know if it's still okay to get an abortion." She shook her head quickly when he mentioned a real doctor, the room spinning a little and her fingers tightening on his arm. "I don't want to go," she said, and there was fear in that. "I was so sick the last time, and the doctor didn't make anything better. He just made things worse in the end, and I don't want to go."
“I really think it’s good,” he assured her without hesitation. He loved Gus, of course he did, but he’d always lamented missing out on Wren being pregnant and his baby years, and this was like a second chance for them, an opportunity to experience everything they hadn’t with their first child. “I think it’s good, and I’m happy, and I’m not saying either of those things just so you wouldn’t cry.” He couldn’t help a small laugh when she admitted to crying at soup, and pressed an impulsively fond kiss to her forehead afterward. “Hormones. It’s a normal part of being pregnant, I think.” He was far from an expert, though it was likely that he would head out to the bookstore the very next day and buy every single book on pregnancy in sight so he could be fully prepared and properly supportive.
His breath caught in his throat when he felt the baby kick, and he looked up at her, a shaky smile and damp eyes that he tried desperately to blink back into clarity. “That’s amazing,” he whispered. But his attention was averted when she shook her head and her hold on his arm tightened. She had to go to a doctor, that wasn’t even an option, but he knew he had to calm her down and ease her into it; after what she’d gone through with Gus, he didn’t want to push her whatsoever. “It won’t be like last time, baby, I promise. There are vitamins you need and the doctor has to make sure everything’s okay. They won’t make anything worse,” he told her, calm and gentle. “I’ll be right there with you. I swear. Nothing bad is going to happen, because it’ll be different this time. Better. I promise,” he repeated. “I’d never let anything happen to you or the baby.”
That small laugh reassured her that maybe he was telling the truth, and that almost made her cry. The kiss to her forehead a second later, that did make her tear up, and she was rubbing tears away from the corners of her eyes with the backs of her hands. "Evie said she cried all the time," she admitted, because she really didn't remember much of her own pregnancy, not anything good, anyway, and all that came to mind was pain and numbness. But then his breath caught, and all she could do was look at his face and smile. That shaky smile he gave her, along with the dampness he tried to blink away, it took away the last bit of fear she had about him not wanting this, and she pressed a long, slow kiss to his lips, her weight heavy against him as the world tilted and threatened to spin. But still, she smiled as as she held onto him for balance. "I think it'll be around Christmas," she said, before he started making promises, and she really, really wanted to believe him about it not being like last time.
She looked at him, and then she eased away to sit on the bed, that familiar lightheadedness kicking in the longer she stood, exhaustion and malaise, and she knew he was right about needing vitamins and supplements, but she was still terrified of letting anyone officially know, and she was terrified of the doctors. "Can't we just order things online?" she asked, sitting at the edge of the bed and folding her hands in her lap, her face upturned and her expression hopeful. "What if we go to the doctor, and they tell CPS? What if someone says I can't keep the baby? They do that to some of the girls at work. They come take their babies away at the hospital. And what if I get sicker? We can't afford me to get sicker. I'm supposed to start working full time next week," she reminded him, thinking ahead to the long night hours at TAPS.
“I’ll have to ask Will for advice,” he teased, and just then it felt like he’d never stop smiling. He was excited and happy and thrilled, but worry and fear lurked beneath the surface too, the sort of feelings that came with new experiences and being out of his element; he’d figure it out, though, he’d do whatever he needed to do in order to ensure her pregnancy went smoothly and was absolutely nothing like her first. The arm around her waist tightened when she leaned her weight against him, and he responded to the kiss with slow, lingering warmth and a contented rumble against her mouth. “Christmas,” he repeated, sounding pleased at the thought. “That’ll be nice, don’t you think?” It didn’t seem that far away, really, but there was still time to prepare, for baby clothes and a nursery and setting ground rules in Gotham for the next few months; pregnancy didn’t carry over but injuries from that side did and he doubted Selina wanted to be responsible for the loss of a baby.
He watched her pull away and sit, and his expression turned knowingly fond when she asked if they could order things online. “I don’t think that’d work,” he told her. “I don’t know what to buy, do you? We might miss something.” It was the mention of her working full time that made him move, because that was definitely not happening, not now, and he stopped in front of her, knees bumping hers, fingers sliding beneath her jaw as he looked down at her. “No doctor is going to tell CPS, Wren, why would they? There’s no law saying you can’t have another baby,” he assured her. “No one’s going to take our baby away from you. That won’t happen, I promise. Going to the doctor will help. There’s ultrasounds and checkups, and you won’t get sicker, but working full time won’t be healthy. You can’t work all night in a stressful environment like that, it won’t be good for the baby or for you,” he insisted. “Don’t worry about what we can and can’t afford, okay? We’ll be fine.” He wanted to ask if he could tell Jack, but he didn’t think this was the right time; maybe he’d ease into that. Thinking about Jack made him think about moving, though, about getting a bigger place, and now was as good a time as any, wasn’t it? “I was thinking, actually-- Jack mentioned places that discount or comp out to cops, you know, bigger housing and safer neighborhoods, and with the baby, maybe that’s not such a bad idea,” he suggested. “If you want.”
"I think you better ask Evie. She does everything, and Will just kind of paces," she said, responding to the teasing with a hand to his cheek, fingers splayed against his jaw and just still there as she looked at him. She smiled a little, sheepish somehow, but she didn't think he could smile like that and not mean it; he'd always been terrible at lying. "You really, really don't mind?" And she knew she sounded a little like a broken record, but she'd been scared for weeks, and that made her think of bus tickets, which made her worry her lip again. Her fingers moved, slid into his hair and tugged lightly at the ends, just below his ear, once he pulled back from the kiss. "I was so scared. I bought bus tickets every single day and let them all expire," she admitted guiltily, because they couldn't afford that, even inexpensive little one-way tickets. As for Christmas sounding nice, she nodded, and everything was starting to feel more real as he kept talking about it. She wondered if he was doing that on purpose, because it had all felt like something secretive and bad until a few minutes ago, and she was still staring and having trouble believing that he wasn't pacing the room and saying all the reasons this was going to be impossible to do. "Christmas feels really, really soon," she admitted. Then, quickly, "we can't tell MK."
When he stopped in front of her, knees against hers and fingers beneath her chin, she looked up at him. "If I can't have Gus, why would they let me have another baby?" she asked, and the question was a genuine one. She didn't have enough schooling to understand that there might be varying circumstances, and it was a very real fear for her. "Last time, I worked-" She stopped, licked her lips and rephrased. "Women work all the time. Evie worked until the end," she said, though maybe being the CEO of a major hotel wasn't the same kind of work, but it was still work. "And I don't like sleeping at night anyway, not after what happened to MK," which had made sleep an almost nonexistent thing for weeks, because nightmares were completely out of her control, and that fear showed on her face just then, even more than the fear of doctors and CPS. She reached for his hands, and she tugged, wanting him on the bed with her, and then she pushed at his open work shirt, wanting that off. It was easier to breathe when she was touching him, and it was easier not to panic. It always had been, even when they were younger. By the time he mentioned someplace bigger, she was breathing a little more calmly. "They do that?" she asked, looking at him carefully and wanting to be sure he wasn't twisting things a little for her benefit. "We can't pay more than we do here," she reminded him. The neighborhood wasn't very good, but it was what their budget would allow until she started working. "Why would they give us something less expensive?" she asked, not understanding that having police officers living on property was good for property value and was, basically, free security.
He grinned at her, tilting his head to the side when her fingers splayed out along his jaw. “Who says I won’t be pacing too?” On good days he worried more than normal people; with her pregnant, he was bound to go into overdrive. He began to shake his head when she asked if he really didn’t mind, but the mention of bus tickets made his stomach lurch, a painful twist that brought forth memories of the past, of her leaving without warning. “Oh, baby. You didn’t need to be scared,” he told her. “Would you-- would you have used them? The tickets, I mean. You must have thought about it.” He was trying really, really hard not to get angry, and his efforts were working, but it still hurt a little that she hadn’t told him right away after how horribly things had turned out the first time. As for Christmas being soon, he nodded. “I know. But we still have time.” And then she mentioned MK, and he paused, because he was pretty sure they couldn’t hide the baby from her forever; sooner or later she was going to find out. Still, he could understand why she didn’t want to tell her just yet. “Okay,” he agreed. “We won’t say anything to MK, or to Adam either.” He hesitated, then, biting down on his lip. “There really isn’t anyone I want to tell,” he admitted, because it was true. “But-- I mean, can I tell Jack? I won’t if you don’t want me to,” he added. Jack was the one person who would be happy for them, who he could tell without feeling guilty or fearing criticism; aside from Wren, he was really the only person he told things to.
His fingers moved along her skin, a thoughtless touch, as he considered her question. “Gus was different,” he said, finally. “The circumstances were… extreme. It was the kidnapping, Wren, that’s why you weren’t given custody. This baby has nothing to do with the law or the courts. It’s not their concern. And we can work on getting you custody of Gus, too. I still have that letter from Max.” He sighed when she said a lot of women worked, that Evie had too, because it wasn’t the same, not in his mind. “I know they do. But your job isn’t-- it’s a stressful environment, Wren, and it’s not exactly safe, and you’re already not feeling well. I don’t want you getting worse,” he said, but his objections halted when she admitted that she was too scared to sleep at night. He didn’t know how to fix that, really, and he didn’t answer, not right away. When she tugged on his hands he went willingly, sitting on the edge of the bed beside her, and he shrugged off his work shirt before saying anything. “You have to sleep, Wren,” he said quietly. “We can ask the doctor about you working, okay? Please?” He tugged on her fingers, and maybe it wasn’t fair, but he just didn’t like the thought of his pregnant wife working long night hours at a safehouse where angry pimps showed up more often than not. “No, of course not,” he said, of them paying more than they did now. “It’ll be cheaper, not more expensive. See, it’s like-- say a criminal moves into a neighborhood. People find out, no one wants to live there, right? But a cop living somewhere makes the community look good. Makes people feel safer, too, and then property value goes up,” he explained. “It could be good for us, I think.”
The thought of him pacing was kind of adorable, and she smiled, trying to imagine it. She'd never thought about those things when she was pregnant with Gus, for obvious reasons, and she hadn't given herself a chance to think about them now, not when she'd been too scared to really think about this as something that was going to really happen. His reaction to the mention of the bus tickets, something pained that showed on his face, made her look down guiltily. "It just felt safe to have them," she said of the tickets, wondering if he could understand. "Ever since my maman died, I always left places when I got scared. It's like having a security blanket," she admitted of the tickets, which were tucked away in her maman's old trunk at the foot of the bed, alongside hundreds of others from her lifetime. "I couldn't leave you and Gus," she admitted, and that was hard to say, because it was true, and because it was terrifying to not be able to run anymore. It was like having the blanket yanked away, and the only thing left to cling to was him, and he could decide he didn't want her clinging without any warning at all. She lifted her hand to his face, and her fingertips slid along his jaw, trying to soothe the tenseness there with touch. "Are you angry?" she asked, her expression saying she expected him to be. Things were really, really different than they'd been in New York, but she still worried about making him angry sometimes, and this particular conversation brought back all kinds of old fears.
She exhaled gratefully when he agreed that they didn't need to tell MK or Adam, because she really didn't know how she could even pull that off, not really. And she smiled when he asked about Jack. "You don't have to ask me," she said, her smile adoring. "Jack's like family. I'm going ask Evie to save Daisy's things when she outgrows them," she added, because it would save them money, and because she knew Evie wouldn't mind even a little bit.
His fingers on her skin helped soothe her, and she actually listened a little when he said the circumstances with Gus were different. He was a policeman; he would know about custody things, right? And she nodded, indicating that she was listening. Okay, if he said it would be okay, then maybe it would be. "Even if it's bad, you can get custody, right?" she asked hopefully, needing him to say yes. She didn't notice when he didn't answer right away about the nightmares and not sleeping, because she was too caught up in the fact that all of this was finally starting to feel real, and she watched him shrug out of the shirt and join her on the bed. She turned a little, so she could see his face better, and she moved close enough that she had to let one of her knees overlap his, as she sat beside him. She looked down when he tugged on her fingers, and she worried her lip a moment, and then she nodded. "I'll sleep when you're here," she said. She could do that. There wasn't any reason why it didn't count, and she wasn't as scared of the nightmares when he was there. She wanted to argue about the doctor, but even she could tell how warm her fingers were in his, and she finally gave in and nodded about that too. "I'll go to the doctor, and we can ask about work," she said, slowly, slowly, tentatively, and she followed it up with a very quick, "you'll go with me," even though he'd already said he would. As for moving, nothing that he said sounded scary, and she smiled, relieved that it wouldn't cost anything extra. "Okay."
She bit her lip, and she inhaled deeply, reality finally, finally settling in. "We're really going to do this?" she asked, a hint of fear, and a hint of awe; she didn't mean the house.
To give him his due, he tried to understand. But her penchant for running when things got tough was something that, while he could accept and move past, he had difficulty reconciling with. Yeah, he’d taken off too, but only after losing absolutely everything that mattered to him. Running didn’t matter when there was nothing to leave behind. “Oh,” he said, unable to think of anything else, but his expression softened when she admitted that she couldn’t leave. “I’m glad you couldn’t. I’m really, really glad.” He tipped his head to the side when she slid her fingers along his jaw, her touch soothing and causing whatever tension that still remained to ebb away. “No,” he told her. “I’m not angry.” He smiled, as though proving his claim, and leaned forward to kiss her in the hopes that it would get rid of that fearful expression, like she expected him to be as angry as he’d been back in New York.
He ducked his head, sheepish, when she said he didn’t have to ask about Jack. “I just wanted to be sure,” he said, and his expression turned thoughtful when she mentioned asking Evie to put aside some of Daisy’s clothes. It made him think of what they were having, a boy or a girl, and while he didn’t really have a preference part of him thought it might be nice to have a daughter; one of each. “Do you want to know, or wait? About whether it’s a boy or a girl, I mean,” he added. “It’s your choice.” He didn’t mind either way. Whatever she wanted, they would do.
Once, she hadn’t believed much of anything he’d had to say, and he liked knowing that they’d made enough progress for her to listen to him now, listen and believe instead of just humoring him. “Right,” he assured her, “but it won’t be bad. I promise. We’ll be just like any other couple having a baby. No CPS, no judges, nothing.” There were nights, too many of them, when he wasn’t there, but he vowed to change that. He could work more days, more sporadic shifts, so he could be home more often in between work. They’d understand. They had to. It was enough of a concession for him, and he nodded when she said she’d sleep when he was there, mollified for the time being. And there was, admittedly, relief when she didn’t argue about the doctor; he still worried, but knowing that she was going to go eased some of it. “Okay, Good.” He squeezed her fingers again, confirmation, but he said the words just to be sure. “I’ll go with you,” he agreed. “I’ll be with you for all of it, Wren, I promise.” As for moving, he beamed at her when she said okay. “Okay,” he repeated. “We can look at places, or I can, and I’ll let you know?” Maybe he should have been more worried about the CIA thing, but nothing had happened yet and Jack had moved out; besides, the baby overshadowed all of that now.
He laughed. He couldn’t help it; the sound was happy, young, and a mix of nerves and fear. “Yeah, we really are. We’re going to have a baby.” He was careful when he slid his arms around her to pull her closer, and he kissed her again, warmth and emotion wrapped up in the lingering press of lips. “I love you,” he said, the words coming out muffled since he didn’t pull away to say them.
She knew he wasn't like her. He didn't run. They'd had so many problems and so many hard times, and he'd never run. That was her, not him, and she knew he couldn't understand it very much. Once, she'd thought she would lose him over absolutely every little thing. She'd thought he would leave and never come back. But now she knew that he wouldn't. He would stay, even if he was miserable, because that was just who he was. It had scared her when she realized that, because it meant she could hurt him, and he wouldn't go. It meant she felt like she needed to make sure she wasn't making him unhappy, because he wouldn't tell her. But it made her feel safe, too. Safer than she'd ever felt before, and that was scary, too.
She smiled when his expression softened, and she exhaled without thinking, shoulders relaxing when that last bit of tension ebbed away with her fingers on his jaw, and she whimpered into the kiss when he leaned forward. Her fingers twined themselves in his hair, and the kiss tasted of fear and nervousness, and it was a little too hard, a little too desperate. She laughed nervously after, a soft little thing of a laugh, and she hid her face against the crook of his neck for just a minute. "I feel like when you first kissed me," she admitted, muffled against his skin. It was that same kind of thankful, gratefully unbelieving nervousness, like she couldn't exactly understand why this was turning out okay for her. "Like I can't believe it's happening," she admitted, brushing tears away from the corners of her eyes when she finally pulled back again to look at him.
"You're so beautiful, beau," she said when he ducked his head sheepishly, forgetting everything but that for just that one second, and she cupped his cheeks with her hands and kissed him again, slower this time, with a bit of a reluctant sigh as she pulled back. Now it was her turn to be sheepish, and she bit her lip and looked down. "We'll be able to tell if- when we go to the doctor. I'm far enough along," she said, and she was still waiting for him to get really, really angry for not telling him for so long. "I- I think you get to decide," she offered, though there was enough hesitation to make it obvious she did actually have an opinion and was just reluctant to share it. "Evie didn't want to know before, so all her things are neutral." And, really, she couldn't help but feel a little better about everything when he started beaming about the house and the doctor, and she was smiling back by the time she nodded about him finding a place. "You can surprise me," she said, because she thought the idea of him picking something out was adorable.
And his laughter absolutely fixed everything for a few minutes, and her voice was happy and teasing when he tugged her close so carefully. "You aren't going to break me," she promised, even as he started to kiss her. And that I love you, muffled like it was, made her start crying, and she shook her head right away as she brushed her fingers against his damp lips. "It's not bad crying. I promise," she said, sniffling and almost not caring that she felt sick. "Promise you won't stop loving me when I put on more weight?" she teased, because the only way she'd managed to hide it so far was because he was working so many hours, and because she was so very sick. But even that wasn't going to work for very much longer. And she kissed him then, not caring about the tears, and her own, "I love you," was almost unintelligible against his lips.
He didn’t mind the way her fingers wound in his hair, no more than he minded the desperation in her kiss. Where she was fear and nerves he was warmth and reassurance, a solid, steady presence that she could lean on as much and for as long as she needed. Her soft laugh made him smile, and he pressed an impulsive kiss to her temple when she hid her face against his neck. “I remember how nervous I was,” he said quietly, recalling their first real kiss, the one that had started everything. “I thought I’d waited too long. But--” He took in a breath and shook his head. “That was one of the best days of my life, when I finally made a move. I was happy then and I’m happy now. It’s happening. We deserve this,” he told her, tipping his chin down when she pulled back to look up at him. MK and Adam might not agree, but he refused to let their selfish misery drag either of them down.
An inhale, the start of words, was as far as he got when she said he was beautiful. Normally he would insist that he wasn’t, but she kissed him before he could say as much and he wasn’t interested in breaking the kiss just to speak. He leaned his forehead against hers when she looked down, running his fingers along her jaw as she said that he got to decide. “No, baby,” he said gently. “This is a decision we should make together. What do you want? Do you want to know, or do you want to wait?” Knowing was thrilling, but so was waiting; he didn’t mind either way. As for surprising her, he grinned and nodded. “Okay. I’ll wow your socks off,” he teased. Not that he knew anything about properties or houses, but he could check with a realtor or something.
His expression turned sheepish when she told him he wouldn’t break her, because he knew he was being careful and she knew him well enough to be able to practically read his mind. “I know,” he whispered, brushing her tears away with his thumbs; he didn’t worry as much anymore when she cried, at least not when he knew he hadn’t actually done anything to cause it. “I’ll never stop loving you, Wren. I promise. You’ll still be the most beautiful woman in the world no matter how much weight you put on.” He didn’t care that the kiss was wet and tasted of salty tears; he responded with a whimper against her mouth, trying and failing to keep it gentle and chaste. Even when he pulled back, it was only to slide back further on the bed and tug her with him, coaxing her down to lie down, to stretch out beside him, so she could rest.
"I would have waited for you forever," she said, and she meant it. "When I left Seattle that one time, all I thought about was you. Every morning when I woke up, and every night when I went to sleep, and every minute in between." And pathetic as it was, it was every bit the truth. "I decided it was better to see your face every day, even if you didn't like me in the same way, than to never, ever see you again," she confessed, and she wanted so much to believe him when he said they deserved this. She was so accustomed to feeling bad about it lately, to feeling like they shouldn't have what they had, not when other people were unhappy. And it was so easy to forget how hard it had been for them, and how much they'd fought for it. "MK and Adam, they don't even have a year together yet, I don't think," she said, and the guilt at even saying it came across in her voice. "I've wanted this for seven years." It felt like forever, and she felt bad for insinuating that MK and Adam hadn't gone through nearly as much.
The finger along her jaw was distracting, and it took her a few seconds to concentrate on what he was saying. "I don't know what I want," she admitted. "I haven't- I haven't really let myself think it's real. What if we find out and something bad happens?" she asked nervously. "Isn't that worse? If we don't know, it's like it's less real," she theorized, and she pressed her lips together nervously. "A girl would be nice, maybe," she suggested a second later, almost sheepishly. "Since we already have Gus?" And the house, and that grin, it made her smile and stop biting at her lower lip in concern. And it was his sheepish expression that chased all the worry from her face. She ran her fingers over his face, over his cheeks and jaw and temples. She traced his brows, and she shook her head a little when he brushed the tears away with his thumbs. And she believed him a little, even as he kissed her and sneakily coaxed her to lie down. Once upon a time, she would have doubted that she could keep his interest while she was pregnant. And okay, maybe it scared her a little now, but not as much as it would have once.
She blinked sleepy, and she curled up against him. "Also, you're sneakily trying to get me to sleep," she said knowingly, swallowing back a yawn.
“I was stupid,” he said decisively, “for taking so long to figure out what was right in front of me. We could’ve had more time together.” But maybe it was okay, now. They were together, and they had Gus, and now they had another baby on the way. The past was the past. What mattered was here, the present, and what was to come, the future. “We’ve come so far. Forget about MK and Adam,” he coaxed, perfectly willing to be selfish just this once. “We deserve to be happy every bit as much as they do, Wren. We’ve wanted this for so long and we should get to enjoy it, just like every other couple does.” He wasn’t going to let anyone make him feel guilty for looking forward to being a father again, no more than he would let anyone make her feel guilty for being happy at the prospect of being a mother again. And this time they got to do it right, like it should have been with Gus. They deserved that much after all they’d been through.
As much as he didn’t want to think about anything happening to the baby, he had to admit she had a point. Maybe knowing would be worse just in case. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t want to think-- I’ll talk to Selina. Nothing will happen,” he reassured her. “But we can wait. We can go to the doctor, make sure everything is okay and make sure you’re okay, and then we can decide?” Maybe, in the moment, a decision might be easier to make. He looked at her carefully when she said a girl might be nice, chewing at the inside of his lip before he decided to, tentatively, agree. “A girl would be nice,” he said. “So we’d have both. And Gus might like a little sister.” He was, admittedly, pleased with himself for managing to get her to lie down, and he was pretty sure it wouldn’t be long before she drifted off whether she intended to or not. But she needed rest, and he fully intended to see she got everything she needed and more.
When she called him out on it, though, he feigned innocence even as he pulled the sheets up around them and his arms wrapped around her. “I am not,” he said. “I just want to hold you and be close to you, that’s all. And if you do fall asleep, well, I won’t mind.”
He was better at not feeling guilty than she was, and she was willing to let him be stronger about that one thing this once, because she didn't want him to feel guilty, not after everything he'd been through in the five years they spent apart. She kissed his cheek, and there was a soft smile in her voice when she spoke. "I like hearing you say that you're happy," she admitted, because she did. It was all she wanted, really, even more than she wanted him for herself. She just wanted him happy, and maybe just now, maybe just for a few minutes, she believed that he was.
His voice was a lulling thing, and she was pretty sure he didn't even intend it to be, but it was easy to drape an arm over him and close her eyes as he talked, all the hours of sleepless fear and fever hitting her quickly now that she was lying down. "Okay," she agreed about waiting and seeing the doctor first. Procrastinating, that was something she was really, really good at. "We'll see what the doctor says," she agreed, and that was an unthinking thing, sleepy words that she really wasn't thinking through before saying. She smiled, and she made a soft, pleased sound when he said a girl would be nice. A boy would be too, though, and really maybe she didn't care very much. "I just want to be able to hold this one," she said with a yawn, and maybe she wouldn't have said that so plainly if she wasn't warm and safe and falling asleep on him. Him talking to Selina was good, and she was going to tell him, but she forgot it a second later. Instead, she sighed knowingly. "Liar," she said of him only wanting to hold her, but that was sleep slurred, and by the time she was telling him that she loved him the words were almost unintelligible French against the side of his neck.
He made a quiet sound of agreement when she said she liked hearing him say he was happy; he liked being happy. It was sweet in comparison to the bitter, familiar tang of misery. “I’m happy when you’re happy,” he told her, tilting his chin down to look at her as she curled up against him. He knew he didn’t have to do much to get her to fall asleep, and he was counting on exhaustion doing most of the work for him. “We’ll see what the doctor says,” he repeated, a whisper, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head when she said that she just wanted to hold this one. “You will. I promise, you will,” he told her. And he held her closer as her words became sleep slurred, waiting until her breathing evened out and she was quiet. “I love you.” It was a whisper, heartfelt and hitched, and he repeated it again even though she couldn’t hear him as he closed his eyes, listening to the sound of her breathe.