Chapter Text
Heather Collins pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead and counted to five.
Then ten.
Then fifteen.
It didn’t make the nausea go away. It didn’t make the room stop tilting just slightly off-center, the fluorescent hospital lights already too sharp at the edges of her vision. She hated that she was sweating through her scrubs again. She hated that she knew — deep in her gut, in her bones — that this wasn’t just the stress of intern year.
Stress didn’t come with a missed period.
Stress didn’t come with two pink lines on a cheap pharmacy test, shaky hands clenched around the plastic strip in a public restroom stall.
Stress didn’t come with the heavy, aching knowledge that she was almost ten weeks pregnant.
Pregnant.
With his child.
She gagged, barely catching herself against the counter of the attending’s lounge sink.
Not that she had any business being in the attending’s lounge, but it was 3:00 a.m., and this place — tucked in the back corner of the fourth floor — was the only place she could find five minutes to breathe.
Or maybe throw up again.
Heather closed her eyes. Her fingers dug into the counter. She tried to think clinically, the way she was taught to think during emergencies.
Step one: Breathe. Step two: Assess. Step three: Act.
But no textbook could prepare her for this.
Her whole body buzzed with panic, shame, and something that scared her even more — hope .
The door creaked open. She stiffened, straightened fast, wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her jacket, and slapped on the most neutral face she could manage.
"Hey," Robby’s voice cut through the static in her chest.
Oh God, no, not now.
"Hey," she said back, voice a little too thin, a little too bright.
He stepped inside and let the door fall shut behind him.
The moment the latch clicked, something in her chest seized tight.
It always did when it was just the two of them.
There he was in his familiar fatigues — worn cargo pants, scrub top under his signature hoodie — and he looked unfairly good for someone pushing fifty. Hair messy, sleeves shoved to his elbows, lines carved into his face deeper than ever.
Heather swallowed hard. Her hand dropped from the counter.
"You okay?" Robby asked.
Soft. Careful. Watching her with that laser focus that had once terrified her as an intern and now made her feel...seen.
"I'm fine," she lied instantly.
He didn't look convinced. His gaze lingered — too knowing, too close to the truth.
Heather shifted on her feet, crossing her arms over her chest.
"I was just...long shift," she said, voice shrugging off the words. "Too much cafeteria coffee. It’s nothing."
He didn’t push, bless him. Robby just nodded slowly, eyes dark, thumb scraping absently against the hem of his t-shirt.
"I get it," he murmured, and his mouth quirked into that half-smile that used to wreck her when they were still playing at keeping it casual. "You're not the only one pulling double shifts for pennies and ulcers."
She managed a breathy laugh. Barely.
"You should get some rest," he added after a beat, voice dropping lower, almost tender. "You look...you look tired."
Heather looked away. She couldn’t stand the way he was looking at her — like she was something fragile, something worth worrying about.
Because if she looked back at him too long, she'd tell him.
She'd spill it all right here, with her heart hammering so loud she could barely think:
I'm pregnant. With your baby. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know if I can do this.
I’m scared out of my goddamn mind.
Instead, she forced another smile. The kind she gave patients right before sticking them with a needle.
"I'm fine, Robby. Seriously."
He hesitated, watching her like he could pull the truth out of her skin if he stared hard enough.
Then — mercifully — he let it go.
"Alright," he said finally, hands slipping into his cargo pockets. "But if you need anything...you know where to find me."
Heather nodded, throat thick.
He lingered a second longer like he didn’t want to leave.
Then he ducked his head and slipped out the door, leaving her alone with the buzzing lights and the sinking weight in her belly.
As soon as he was gone, Heather sagged against the counter.
Her hand drifted to her stomach — tentative, barely there.
The faintest swell under her palm, almost nothing yet.
Almost.
Tears stung her eyes, hot and fast.
She had no idea how she was going to tell him.
No idea how she was going to survive the fallout when she did.
No idea what this meant for her career, for everything she’d bled to earn.
But in the deepest part of her heart — the part she didn’t even know existed until tonight — Heather already knew:
She wanted this baby.
And she wanted him.
Even if it meant crossing every line she’d ever sworn she'd never cross.