Chapter Text
“Like a cage?” Abby repeated softly, her throat working around the words.
Your stomach dropped. You shook your head quickly, tears already pricking at your eyes. “Fuck—no, god, I didn’t mean it like that. I just…” Your voice broke, and you swiped at your cheeks uselessly. “I’m sorry. I love our home, I do. I love what we’ve made here. I just—” You let out a strangled laugh, wet with frustration. “God, I’m fucking bored.”
Abby’s shoulders eased, the sharpness in her eyes dimming into something softer, heavier. She crossed the paint-smeared room in two strides and caught your face in her hands.
“Hey,” she whispered, thumbs brushing the tears off your cheeks. “Don’t apologize for how you feel. You’ve been stuck inside for weeks, sick, tired… and I’ve been at base more than I’ve been here. I should’ve seen it.”
Your lip quivered, breath hitching as you tried to get yourself under control.
“I don’t want this house to feel like a cage to you,” Abby murmured, voice low, thick. “I built it for you to feel safe. For us. For the baby.”
You pressed your forehead against hers, whispering, “I do feel safe. That’s the problem. I feel safe and I don’t do anything else. I just… I don’t feel like me anymore.”
Her arms slid around you, pulling you tight against her chest, her breath warm in your hair.
Abby nodded against your temple, her voice low and steady. “You’re pregnant, Joan. You told me you wanted this. You agreed.”
You scoffed, looking away, cheeks still hot. “I know, I just—”
She stopped you with a hand on your chin, guiding your eyes back to hers. “I will not take you on patrol. No way. Don’t even try to ask again.” Her tone was iron, but the worry etched in her brow softened it. “But if you want… Friday, I’ll be at base all day. You can come with me.”
Your eyes widened, searching hers for any hint of a trick. “Really?”
She nodded once. “Really. No running around, no lifting boxes, no getting in the way. You sit with me. You see people. You’ll feel less—” she exhaled through her nose, “—caged.”
The word stung, but in her mouth it didn’t feel like judgment—just acknowledgment.
Your lips twitched in a weak smile. “Deal.”
Abby’s shoulders eased at last, the lines in her face softening. “Good. Now come here before you stress me out even more.”
She pulled you into her arms, paint and all, and for the first time that day the tightness in your chest loosened.
The tension slowly bled from the room, though the smell of paint still hung sharp in the air. Abby brushed her thumb across your cheek one last time before pulling back.
“Alright,” she muttered, glancing at the mess around you both. “Let’s fix this disaster before it dries.”
You sniffled, rubbing your nose with the back of your hand. “It’s not that bad.”
Abby arched a brow, looking at the splattered wall, the streak across her arm, and the broken chair leg lying on the floor. “Joan, it looks like a murder scene if the weapon was paint.”
A small laugh slipped out of you, even through the leftover sting of tears. “That’s dramatic.”
She bent, gathering the shards of the broken chair leg, testing the splintered wood. “This is going straight into the fire pile. Lev’s not getting this back.”
You crouched down automatically to help, but Abby’s sharp look froze you in place. “Don’t even think about it. Go grab the rags. I’ll handle this.”
You handed Abby the rags upstairs, then padded down to the living room, peeking out the window. Lev and Mara were making their way up the path, shadows stretching long in the evening light. Lev’s gait was stiff, shoulders rolled high, his free hand twitching like he couldn’t decide whether to clench it into a fist or shove it in his pocket. Mara walked close, nudging him every few steps, whispering something you couldn’t hear. He gave short, jerky nods but didn’t slow down.
“Abby!” you called, your voice sharp with warning. “Heads up—Lev and Mara are back.”
From upstairs came the sound of the rag hitting the bucket, followed by Abby’s huff. “Great. He’s gonna be so pissed his chair broke.”
You bit your lip hard. She wasn’t wrong.
The door creaked open, the smell of brine and iron sweeping in with Lev. He carried a bucket of fish, already gutted and descaled, his forearms flecked with scales that glittered faintly in the light. Mara stepped in just behind him, her wide eyes flicking nervously from you to the stairs, like she expected a trap.
Lev set the bucket down harder than necessary, the thud echoing across the floorboards. He didn’t look at you, didn’t look anywhere but straight ahead.
Mara reached out, brushing his elbow gently, and whispered something that you caught only the tail of: “…just say it.”
His jaw flexed. He forced the words out, low and strained. “I’m sorry for how I acted.”
The apology was clipped, his voice almost cracking over it. He still wouldn’t look at you.
From the stairwell came the solid rhythm of boots, each step slow and deliberate. Abby appeared, her arms crossed over her chest, shoulders squared. She looked every inch the soldier, even streaked with green paint. Her eyes cut to Lev, and she didn’t give him a second to breathe.
“Oh good,” she said flatly, her voice like a blade. “Why don’t you cook that for us then.”
Lev’s head jerked toward her, eyes flashing with something caught between anger and disbelief. His throat bobbed as he swallowed it down, his teeth gritting so hard you could see the muscle working in his jaw. “I was going to,” he muttered, voice tight enough to snap.
Abby gave a single nod, unbothered, like she’d expected nothing less. She shifted her weight, leaning her shoulder into the railing of the stairs. “You could paint the nursery too, as punishment.”
The silence that followed pressed down like a weight.
Lev’s nostrils flared; his whole body went rigid, chest rising in slow, deliberate breaths. He stared at the floor for a long moment, his hands balled into fists so tight the knuckles whitened. Mara glanced at him, worry etched across her face, her lips parting like she wanted to speak but thought better of it.
Lev’s voice, when it came, was low and shaking with restrained fury. “Are you serious?”
Abby didn’t blink. “Dead serious.”
The air between them was electric, charged, like any wrong word might send it all crashing down.
Lev’s fists slowly loosened at his sides, and he let out a breath sharp enough to sting the air. He didn’t argue further. He just bent, lifted the bucket of fish with a grunt, and stalked toward the kitchen.
“Come on,” he muttered to Mara, his voice still tight, but softer when it reached her.
Mara hesitated, looking between Abby’s stern posture and your nervous expression, but then nodded quickly, slipping in behind Lev. The sound of pans clattering and water running followed soon after.
The silence left in the living room felt unbearable. Abby pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering something under her breath you couldn’t quite catch. You hugged yourself, chewing the inside of your cheek, wishing the tension would break but knowing it wouldn’t—not tonight.
“Let’s go upstairs,” Abby said finally, her voice quieter, heavier. She didn’t wait for you to answer, just turned and headed up the steps.
You trailed after her, Norman padding loyally at your heels. Upstairs, the faint smell of frying fish and onions drifted up, mixing with the paint fumes still lingering from earlier.
Abby sat down on the edge of the bed, elbows on her knees, rubbing her palms over her face. “This is a mess,” she muttered.
You stood in the doorway, arms wrapped around your middle, feeling the awkward weight of it all pressing into your chest. “At least they’re cooking,” you offered, but it sounded weak even to your own ears.
Downstairs, Lev and Mara’s voices rose and fell in quiet conversation, the scrape of a knife against a cutting board punctuating their rhythm. It was domestic, almost peaceful, and yet the two of you sat upstairs in heavy silence, waiting.
Abby rubbed the back of her neck, listening to the faint clatter from the kitchen. “Think we can get him to do the dishes from now on?”
You chuckled, settling beside her. “Maybe. He owes us after today.”
She huffed a little laugh, then lay down fully, closing her eyes like she was finally letting herself rest.
You took a deep breath, shifting closer until your forehead brushed her shoulder. “I’m gonna be so fat soon.”
Her eyes opened just a crack, and she let out a surprised laugh. “What? Where is this coming from?”
You sighed, cheeks warm. “I’ve just been thinking about it. Clothes barely fit now. Soon I’ll look like a balloon rolling around this house.”
Abby rolled onto her side, propping herself on her elbow so she could look at you. “I don’t care about that. Not at all.” She slid her palm gently over the soft curve of your stomach. Her voice dropped to a quiet, steady murmur. “What I do care about is you seeing the doctor at base on Friday.”
You blinked, the words settling like a stone in your chest. You hadn’t seen a doctor since realizing you were pregnant. Part of you had been pretending you didn’t need to—that your body would just know what to do. But now your pulse quickened. Were you supposed to? What if something was wrong?
You pressed your lips together, staring at her hand over your belly. “I… haven’t seen anyone yet.”
Abby nodded, serious but gentle. “Then it’s time. Just a checkup. Make sure you’re okay. Make sure the baby’s okay.”
The reassurance didn’t fully calm your nerves, but the way she said we’ll see the doctor made your throat ache with something close to relief.
Abby’s thumb traced a slow circle over your belly, but her face was tight, her eyes far away. “I can’t believe I didn’t make you see one sooner,” she muttered, almost to herself.
You frowned, startled by the sharpness in her tone. “Abby—”
She shook her head quickly, jaw clenched. “No. I should’ve been on top of this from the start. You’ve been sick for weeks, and I just… I let it slip out of my mind.” She let out a frustrated laugh, short and bitter. “Me, of all people. I don’t forget things like that.”
Her hand slid from your stomach to her forehead, pressing against her temple as if she could squeeze the guilt out. “I was so focused on base, on Rachel, on keeping everything running smooth that I—” She cut herself off, her throat tight. “That’s not an excuse. You and the baby should’ve been first.”
You sat up a little, your heart twisting at the sight of her shoulders hunched, her strong hands trembling slightly as she pulled them into her lap. She looked like she’d failed some unspoken duty.
“Abby,” you whispered, reaching for her hand. “It’s okay. We didn’t know what we were doing—neither of us.”
But she shook her head again, gripping your fingers hard. “That doesn’t matter. I swore I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, and here I am, realizing I haven’t even made sure you’ve had a proper checkup.” Her voice cracked, raw with frustration at herself.
“God,” Abby breathed, her voice low and unsteady. “I wish my dad was here.”
You turned your head, watching the way her eyes fixed on the ceiling, like she could will him back through sheer force.
“He was a good doctor,” she murmured, her throat tight. “He would’ve… he would’ve known what to do. He’d have answers. He wouldn’t let me—” She broke off, clenching her jaw hard, as if the thought itself was dangerous.
You swallowed, the ache in her words settling deep in your chest. Slowly, you reached up and cupped her cheek, coaxing her to look at you. Her skin was warm under your palm, her lashes damp.
“It’s okay,” you whispered, pressing close as you lay beside her. “It’ll be okay.”
For a long moment she just held your gaze, her expression raw and almost childlike in its grief. Then she exhaled shakily, closing her eyes and leaning into your touch, her hand covering yours against her cheek.
The house was quiet except for the faint hiss of the oil pan downstairs, Lev and Mara’s muffled voices drifting up. The contrast between their normal chatter and the heaviness in Abby’s chest made the moment sharper.
She kissed your palm softly, then whispered, “I just don’t want to fail you.”
Your thumb brushed along her cheekbone, wiping away the faint dampness at the corner of her eye. “You’re not failing me,” you whispered, voice steady even though your own chest ached. “You’ve done nothing but take care of me—more than I probably deserve some days.”
Abby let out a shaky laugh at that, her lips twitching, though her brow stayed furrowed.
You shifted closer, pressing your forehead against hers. “You don’t have to be your dad. You don’t have to know every answer. You’re here, and that’s enough for me.”
Her hand tightened around yours, her breathing uneven but easing as she listened.
“I love our life,” you went on, softer now. “Even when I’m crying about paint or yelling about stew or feeling like a balloon—I love it. Because it’s with you.”
Her chest hitched, and for the first time all night you saw her eyes lighten, a tear slipping free not from grief but from release.
She kissed you then, gentle and lingering, her lips brushing against yours like a promise. When she pulled back, her voice was barely more than a whisper. “I don’t deserve you.”
You smiled faintly, stroking her jaw. “Yeah, you do. We deserve each other.”
The two of you lay there in the soft hush of the room, your foreheads still touching, the world outside your embrace fading into nothing. Abby’s breathing had steadied, the lines at her brow finally softening.
Then, from downstairs, Lev’s voice carried up the stairwell, sharp and half-muffled:
“Dinner’s ready!”
You and Abby both startled a little, pulling apart just enough to glance at each other. A smile tugged at your lips, hers following a beat later.
“Guess the punishment worked,” you teased gently.
Abby rolled her eyes, exhaling through her nose. “Yeah, for now.”
Norman perked his head up at the foot of the bed, tail thumping against the blanket as if to say food was the real priority.
Abby kissed your temple once more before standing, offering you her hand. “C’mon. Before he eats it all himself.”
You took her hand, letting her steady you as you rose. Together, you headed toward the stairs, the smell of fried fish and onions drifting stronger as Lev’s laughter and Mara’s voice floated up from the kitchen.
For the first time all day, the house felt almost normal again.