Firefighter Y/N has to go fight the wildfires, leaving behind a pregnant Amanda Rollins and three-year-old Jessie at home. Y/N gets trapped in the fire and makes Maya Bishop (her sister/fellow firefighter) promise to take care of her girls.
The alarm pierced through the Seattle firehouse at the ungodly hour of 4:47 AM, rudely jarring you from the restless sleep you'd been fighting on the narrow bunk. Around you, Station 19 came alive, the familiar chaos of bodies moving with practiced urgency.
"All hands, multiple structure fires spreading fast in the Cascade foothills," Captain Herrera's voice crackled over the intercom. "This is the big one, people. We're looking at a potential entire town evacuation."
Your heart dropped into your stomach as you pulled on your turnout gear with practiced ease, trying to stop your hands from shaking. The wildfires had been a looming threat for weeks, dancing teasingly along the ridgelines like a pack of hungry wolves stalking their prey. Now they had finally descended into the valleys that vast numbers of people called home.
"Hey, Y/N," Maya's voice cut through your spiraling thoughts. Your older sister stood beside you, fully geared, blonde hair pulled back into a tight ponytail as it always was when on calls. "You okay?"
"Amanda's thirty-six weeks," you said quietly, checking your equipment with still slightly shaking hands. "And Jessie... She's still so little... They need me. God, Maya, what if we can't get back? What if—"
"Stop," Maya ordered, grasping your shoulders, her grip firm through the heavy fabric. It helps to ground you, as it always has. "Breathe. We're going to do our job, and we're going to come home to our families. Both of us."
But even as she said it, her eyes were betraying her: you could see the worry flickering in them. She'd been at Jessie's third birthday party just last weekend with her wife, Carina, and their two kids. Maya had watched Amanda's hand as it rested protectively over her swollen belly, laughing at something your little girl had said. You and Maya have always been extremely close, always being each other's rock while growing up in an unstable, troubled household. Your bond has only grown through the years as you both married and had kids, with both of you ending up in houses on the same block.
"You're right. We're going to get out of this. Both of us. We have to," You nodded, attempting to sound confident, "Let's go."
The ride to the fire scene was a blur of radio chatter and the wails of sirens cutting through the darkness of the early morning. At arrival, the scene was worse than anyone had cared to imagine. Flames stretched across the horizon like a burning sunset, and the air was thick enough to taste.
"Team Alpha, you're on evacuation," Herrera shouted, "Beta team, we're on suppression. These houses are still saveable if we move fast."
You found yourself partnered with Maya, working to clear a neighborhood where some stubborn residents still remained. House after house, you aided elderly couples and families with small children load up their most precious belongings into cars and trucks.
It was at the sixth house that everything went wrong.
The Andersons were an elderly couple, both in their mid to late eighties, and Mr. Anderson was insisting he needed to find their wedding photos. You'd managed to get Mrs. Anderson safely to the evacuation zone, but her husband had slipped back inside unnoticed.
"I'm going in," you told Maya, ensuring your mask was secured.
"I'm right behind you," she replied, but even as she said it, you could see the structure was compromised, roof sagging, flames licking at the support beams with an increasing ferocity.
You quickly located Mr. Anderson, collapsed in the hallway, overcome by all the smoke. As you lifted him, you heard the dreaded crack that every firefighter dreads—the sound of a building deciding it has had enough, giving up its fight against gravity and searing hot flames.
"Maya, get out! Go!" you screamed, pushing Mr. Anderson toward the door. "The roof's going!"
She was there in an instant, helping you carry the unconscious man. There was no way she was leaving her baby sister inside the collapsing house alone. You almost made it. The doorway was right there, safety just a few steps away, when the ceiling came crashing down upon you.
The world exploded in heat and sound and pain. You felt the crushing weight of still-burning timber across your back and felt the bite of flames on your neck where your helmet had been knocked sideways. But worse than the physical pain was the sudden image of Amanda's face—the way she'd looked that morning when you'd kissed her goodbye, still half asleep and beautiful with Jessie curled against her side, Franny asleep at the foot of the bed.
"Maya!" you groaned, tasting blood and smoke. Through the haze, you could see her making her way towards you, mildly injured but able to move.
"I'm here," she stated, taking in the terrified look on your face. It's the same one you would wear as a child when your father would go on one of his rages. "I'm okay. Are you—"
"Listen to me. Please," Your voice was hoarse but urgent. The flames were creeping ever closer, and you could feel yourself losing the battle for consciousness, "If I don't make it out of here..."
"Don't you dare—"
"Promise me." You grabbed her wrist, your grip desperate. "Promise me you'll take care of my girls. Amanda. Jessie. The baby. Promise me they'll be okay."
Maya's eyes filled with tears that had nothing to do with the heavy smoke. "No. You're going to take care of them yourself, you stubborn ass. We are getting out of here."
"Maya, please—"
"I got them. I promise," she whispered fiercely, gripping your hand. "But you're going to be just fine. You hear me, Y/N? You're going to walk out of here and go home to your girls."
That was the last thing you remembered before the darkness overtook you.
******
Amanda sighed as she watched the television, not really paying attention to it as Jessie played with some blocks by her feet. She had been on edge all day. Fears of Y/N not making it back had been on her mind despite her best efforts to push them aside. She trusts her wife, and she trusts Station 19 to look out for each other. However, she knows wildfire can be extremely unpredictable. Her phone began to ring.
"Maya? Is she ok!" Amanda asked nervously the second she picked up the phone.
"Hey, Amanda. Yeah, things got pretty bad out there. A roof collapsed. Y/N's going to be fine, though. Some smoke inhalation and burns, but she's fine. We're at the hospital, and I know she'll want to see you when she comes too."
"I'm on my way," Amanda replied.
Hanging up, she hurried to grab Jessie and load her into the car. As she drove to the hospital, she just kept praying that you were, in fact, going to be alright.
******
Your eyes opened, squinting against the bright lights as you took in the steady beeping of monitors and the antiseptic smell of a hospital room. Every inch of your body ached, and there was a particularly sharp pain along your neck and shoulders that made you hiss as you tried to sit up.
"Hey, try not to move too much." Amanda's voice, soft and worried, made you turn your head towards her. She was there in a chair beside your bed, one hand resting on her belly, the other reaching for yours. Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying, but she was smiling softly at you. "You scared the hell out of us."
"Mm... Hi Manda," Your voice came out as a croak. "Are Jessie...The baby—"
"They are just fine. Everyone's fine." She squeezed your hand, hoping to calm you. "How are you feeling?"
"A little crispy and sore, but fine," Y/N shrugged, trying to ease the tension in the room.
"That's not funny, Y/N Y/M/N Bishop. You could have died," Amanda replied, glaring at Y/N.
"Hey, that's Bishop-Rollings to you. And I'm ok. I promise. Now, how long was I out for?" Y/N soothed as she squeezed her wife's hand.
"You've been out for six hours. Maya's been pacing the hallway like a caged animal and snapping at the poor interns when they come to check on you"
As if summoned by her name, Maya popped into the room. She looked pretty banged up and exhausted, with a bandage wrapped around her left arm. But she was alive, in showered and in fresh clothes, and the relief that flooded through you was almost overwhelming. You would never forgive yourself if she had died or gotten severely injured trying to save you.
"You idiot," she said, but tears were pricking her eyes as she moved to your other side. "I thought I was going to have to keep that promise."
"Mr. Anderson?" you managed to ask.
"Alive. Mildly burned, but alive. Stubborn old man is already asking when he can go home to look for that wedding photo." Maya chuckled shakily. "You saved his life."
The door opened again, and Jessie burst in like a tiny tornado, her blonde curls bouncing as she ran toward your bed. Amanda quickly grabbed her before she could launch herself at you, pulling the girl into her lap.
"We have to be careful, baby," Amanda said gently. "Mommy's hurt."
"Mommy gonna be ok?" Jessie's bottom lip trembled, eyes taking in the bandages covering your neck and arms.
"I'm going to be fine, sweetie," you assured her, reaching out to stroke her hair with your good hand. "Just some scratches. Nothing that won't get better."
Later, after the doctors had checked you over and confirmed that your burns were superficial—second degree on your neck and shoulders, first degree on your arms—you found yourself alone with Maya while Amanda took the little whirlwind that is Jessie to the cafeteria.
"Thank you," you whisper.
"For what?"
"For getting us out. For being willing to..." You swallowed. "For making that promise."
Maya was quiet for a while, staring out the window at the city lights. "I meant it, you know. If something had happened to you, I would have taken care of them. Carina too. Amanda and Jessie, and the baby—they're our family too."
"I know. You, Carina, and the kids are ours too." You reached for her hand. "That's why I asked."
"But don't you ever go scaring me like that again," she said fiercely. "Amanda needs her wife. Those girls need their mommy. And I need my sister."
Amanda returned then with Jessie in tow, chocolate smeared on her face and a juice box clutched in her hand. As your little family settled around your hospital bed—Amanda's hand warm in yours, Jessie chattering about her day at preschool, Maya making terrible jokes to hide her worry—you felt yourself settle, a wave of calm crashing over you for the first time today.
You'd walked through fire, both literally and figuratively, and faced the possibility of losing everything that mattered to you. But now, you were here, very much alive, and you were going home.
Burns and cuts would heal. The nightmares would fade into obscurity. And every morning for the rest of your life, you'd wake up, even more grateful for the chance to love these special people who made up your entire world.
Some promises are made to be broken, and you can confidently say that you were glad this one was broken.
I have been listening to this over and over again ever since I've added it to my playlist, and all I can picture is Reader inviting everyone to the club where she surprises everyone by performing this song and everyone being surprised that she can sing. But she's singing this for whoever she is with. (I hope this all makes sense)
summary — you can ask the flowers, i sit for hours. telling all the bluebirds, the bill and coo birds. pretty little baby, i’m so in love with you.
warning(s) — medical examiner, detective, canon typical content discussions, pregnancy, single parents, blended family, medical jargon, diagnosis, and complications, child birth, parenting, kissing, public affection, domestic bliss, comfort/fluff
short series — amanda’s pregnant, you’ve never known love a day in your life, but three kids and a pretty blonde detective with a southern accent suddenly feels like a perfect happy ending
summary — cause baby if you’re love is in trouble, there’s no hope for the rest of us; you and amanda take things a step further
warning(s) — budding relationship, mutual feelings, flirting, medical field career, workaholic tendencies, mentions of one night stands, morning sickness, pregnancy symptoms, preeclampsia, and childbirth, single parents, tantrums, kid shit, domestic fluff, pregnancy, asking out, kissing, public affection, amanda’s southern accent
authors note — part two to the grace of southern charm. can be read independently! enjoy :)
Before you'd moved to New York City as a wide-eyed and bushy-tailed teenager, pushing toward a seemingly far off career in the medical field, you'd thought a lot about what your adulthood would look like. You'd never felt like you had all the answers about where life would take you, but that hadn't ever scared you enough to not live your days spontaneously and fully.
You walked the straight and narrow path for the majority of your higher education experience. You didn't attend campus frat parties or sorority mixers, you skipped out on invitations to the club from friends you don't even know how you made your junior year, and you never missed a lecture even when the stomach bug caught up to you — not even senior year when all you had left to take was painfully easy electives that had you desperate for a real academic challenge.
After you'd graduated from Icahn with a 3.9 GPA (only off from perfect by a single .1 because of a technical error your professor had spitefully held against you) , you'd skipped the gap year all of your peers seemed to take and dove right into med school at Weill Cornell, working toward your MD with calculated focus and persistence. You were awarded the paperwork and certificate of honors four years later when you graduated with a perfect GPA and your medical license, but that wasn't enough to state your desires for more because everything you envisioned for your adulthood had panned out, and somehow you'd still felt empty at the time. You had your sky rise apartment, your medical license, a great job at Mercy General in Manhattan, but there was a loneliness in the halls in the middle of the night that you'd thought could be cured with another degree and title. That, and you'd found a real passion for forensics after taking a class with a phenomenal professor that retired the year after you graduated.
So, after you graduated from Weill Cornell Graduate School of Medical Sciences, and had secured a head position amongst the staff at Mercy General, you went back to the bottom of the food chain willingly, deciding to take up a residency in pathology instead of diving straight into what you'd already set up for yourself with the knowledge you had.
That turned into the best decision of your life. You'd thrived in college and in med school, beneath the challenge and the time constraint of balancing classes, coursework, and a full time job, but you'd truly flourished during the length of your residency. And, that year long detour down the road of pathology had led you into a bar downtown on Halloween the day before your Board certification with ABPath, A month later, you'd been unable to make it into your appointment with the New York licensing due to crippling nausea that eventually dwindled down to nothing. You'd noticed slight changes in your body in the weeks leading up to the first bout of what you'd quickly learned was morning sickness; tender breasts, increased urination, enhanced smell, but you hadn't put the pieces together, in denial that you're reckless and entirely out of character one night stand had led to an entire pregnancy when you were just at the start of your career.
The news had immobilized you for two days, it probably would've kept you bedridden for weeks, but you'd found out on a Friday, and you'd already rescheduled your licensing meeting for that following Monday, so you'd put a time frame on your pity party and weighed over the options you had, which weren't many. In your daydreams as a child, you'd always told yourself that you'd be a mother, and you'd be a damn good one too to make up for all the times nobody had stepped up for you as a child. You wanted it desperately, but you had never considered that it would come so early on in your career, even if you weren't necessarily a spring chicken anymore and a child at your age was perfectly normal and encouraged. You would never get rid of it, not through an abortion, not through an adoption — open or closed. But, it was still a lot to come to terms with when you'd finally begun to feel like you were filling all the empty holes in your life.
You'd gotten to work in the lab for eight months before you were hospitalized with severe preeclampsia, your maternity leave beginning two weeks earlier than you'd been planning much to your dismay. You'd come to terms with the pregnancy, you'd begun to yearn for your daughter and the moment you just got to hold her and know her in the slightest, there was not a single part of you that feared what this would do to your lifestyle, but it still came as no easy pill to swallow to have to give it all up prematurely for something you couldn't control as a Doctor yourself.
You'd made it to term with your baby, your little girl, but that had come with the price of spending three weeks bedridden and tilted at an angle that was ever so slightly increasing or decreasing. It didn't matter, because the moment she was placed on your chest, covered in blood and uterine fluid and vernix, you realized you'd been wrong about every single thing in your life. The job didn't matter. The hours never would've satisfied you. All you needed was her, your little girl that you affectionately named Loretta Louise — Etta Lou most often.
Etta had been your entire world for four years. The sixty hours you worked a week had been very quickly negotiated down to thirty (though you still logged at least 40 hours most weeks because your truly a creature of habit and thankfully Loretta loves daycare), the office you'd dutifully put together and constructed to your perfect liking had been moved into the smallest room in your four bedroom apartment, and almost every surface that you'd once kept meticulous spotless was riddled with some kind of stain, smudge, or thing. But, you think that's changing, expanding, as you explore something you've never had before; what feels like a happy ending.
"No!" Loretta shrieked at the very top of her lungs, little hands balled up into fists at her side as she stomped her feet on the hardwood. She was really letting you know what was on her mind right now, but no matter how red her face got, or how many times she shouted no and batted your hands away from her, you weren't going to be backing down. "No, no, no, no!"
"Yes." You said simply, because arguing with a four-year-old was not something that was going to be happening when you had such a fun day ahead of you. In truth, you'd already argued with her. Twice. You'd thought you'd won both times too, but every time you walked over the bench by the front door, her body went rigid and she fled to the corner like that was going to change her predicament. "We need shoes for the park."
"My rain boots!" She bellows, and if steam could be coming out of her ears, you're certain that she'd be billowing like a freight train in front of you. The pink tutu around her waist does little to dismantle the picture of a devil she's currently portraying, not fooling you for even a second even if it's painfully adorable and not yet stained by dirt or paint that's not as washable as it claims. "I. Want. My. Rain. Boots!" She wails, and you're barely holding it together anymore because at this point, it's been twenty minutes of pterodactyl screaming and getting absolutely nowhere.
"Your rain boots don't fit anymore." You explain, sitting down on the bench and pulling her into your embrace with guiding hands on her sides. She's sniffling and hiccuping like this is the end of the world, but you consider that this might just be the worst moment of her life so far. She's getting to an age where she knows what she likes, where she has favorite books, and comfort movies, and preferences for dipping sauce at diner, and you've always done your best to appease her when it's possible, but now you can't, and she doesn't understand why. Your heart breaks, and while this had always been your dream, even the meltdowns and the drool, you hadn't anticipated it hurting so much to watch someone learn about life. "Your feet got bigger, so you need new ones that are bigger too. We don't have another pair for you right now, Etta Lou."
"But I want them!" She dives head first into your chest, grappling to climb your limbs until you help her out halfway, your hands under her armpits and lifting her into your lap. She fits like a perfect puzzle piece, but somehow you'd thought the same thing in the newborn days. "P-Please?" She hiccups, her little hands wiping the tears from her cheeks as she takes a deep breath, attempting to calm herself down without your guidance. You're doing something right here.
You sigh, because some things just need to be learned the hard way, and crane your body to reach for the blue dinosaur rain boots that have entirely derailed your morning. "They're not going to be comfy." You forewarn her, but she's unaware of the consequences that await her little heels. You almost feel bad for shoving her feet into the plastic shoes, but Loretta doesn't even wince when you have to slap the bottom of your shoe with your palm to get it on over her polkadot socks all the way. Surprisingly, those hadn't been a fight this morning.
"Okay." She shrugs, grinning like a bandit at you when you finish your work on her shoes and set her on her feet by the door. "Let's go now Mommy." She smiles so cheerily you'd have forgotten all about the earlier waterworks if it weren't for the red flush still twinging her cheeks.
"Mommy has to change her shirt. You got boogies all over it." You tell her amusedly, stalking close enough to grab the back of her head before you grab the hem of your t-shirt, wiping it across her cheeks and nose to clear the evidence of her breakdown because it's already in need of a wash and dry, you can't be bothered wasting anymore tissues that you already do in allergy season with a four-year-old.
"But I want to go now!" She whines, and you frown, because none tantrum is excusable for a child her age, but two is entirely out of character.
"Can you tell me what your belly feels like?" You ask instead of losing your temper, because you'd been in her position as a child, and overlooking emotions was not something you were going to incorporate into your dynamic with Loretta.
"Butterflies, Mommy! And they want to go down the slides!" She's practically bouncing on her toes now, her little fingers that are painted baby blue curling into the fabric of her yellow top adorned with rainbows and love hearts. There's purple shorts sticking out from beneath her pink tutu, and you have the momentary thought that maybe you should've insisted on picking her outfit this morning.
"Sometimes it's hard to be patient when we're excited." You hum, and Loretta nods, agreeing with you even if she really cannot conceptualize what you're telling her beyond recognizing the word patient. "Excited is when there's butterflies in your belly and they just want to be all crazy and silly. Are you feeling crazy and silly?" You ask, your hands slotted on your hips, feigning disbelief although you're absolutely certain your downstairs neighbors are one jump away from filing a noise complaint.
"Yes!" Loretta explodes, her arms flailing at her sides as she jumps and twists and spins. Still you act like you're not convinced, craning your head to the side as your finger comes up to tap at your chin dramatically.
"Are you sure? You don't look very silly to me." You sigh, your shoulders shrugging, disappointment clouding your features. The corners of your lips downturn, but only because you're desperately trying to fight a smile as you watch your daughter radiate nothing but light and positivity.
"Look!" Loretta challenges, her fingers pulling at her lips until they're taut, her tongue poking out and her eyes rolling until she'd trained on the tip of her nose. "This is silly!" She tells you, her words slurred and intercepted by her fingers and tongue that refuses to dip back into her mouth to talk correctly. You can't help but laugh, chuckling beneath your breath as you shake your head.
"I'm going to change my shirt and then when I come back, where are we going?" You question, and this time Loretta doesn't dwell on the fact that she's still not getting any closer to the park.
"To see Ms. Amanda 'n Jesse!" She grins with excitement, eagerly anticipating her first play date with Jesse, Amanda's daughter who had very recently turned four, bridging the age gap that had once divided her and Loretta. "And to feed the duckies."
"That's right. So, you stay there, and I'll be back." You tell her, a smile on your lips as you turn and retreat back down the hallway that's scattered with stuffed animals and books.
You've been seeing Amanda for a month now, nothing too serious although you'd very quickly advanced to the talking every day about absolutely anything stage, and this is the next step before either of you would think to make anything official — getting Loretta and Jesse together. You've gone out for coffee a couple of times on your breaks, now that you've accidentally managed to link them after an unfortunate string of deaths you'd eventually classified as accidental drug overdoses, all potentially the same batch of laced heroin, and Amanda had been tied up with one of the victims who you'd reported as being sexually assaulted hours before her death. And you'd asked Mrs. Jefferson two floors down to babysit twice so that you could sneak out to a quiet, kidless dinner with Amanda.
She was probably the sweetest woman you'd ever met, even with the cards life had dealt at her. You'd heard all about her currently (and stably) reformed gambling addiction, her little sister from potentially hell, and the pathetic men that had strung her along and left her stranded and vulnerable like a piece of garbage. You still can't figure out how someone so pure, so genuinely kind it makes your stomach churn, has led a life of pain and betrayal every corner. How somebody that, sure, has their faults, but is so genuinely forthcoming and genuine has been left behind like she's not an anomaly among men. When she looks at you, it's like the only people in the world that matter are the two of you and your girls, even when they're not around, because up until today, they haven't been around. Amanda's only had the pleasure of encountering Loretta once, and you've never been introduced to Jesse — even when she wakes up in the middle of the night when you're on the phone with Amanda. You just sit quietly on mute until she's done consoling whatever problem woke the child to start.
You never thought you'd meet somebody who cares about your child like she's their own flesh and blood, but Amanda's been concerned and attentive about and regarding Loretta since she'd given you her number in the 16th Precinct's break room. She wants to know about the crafts she comes home with at preschool, and how much of dinner actually ended up in her mouth. She asks about her every day, even when you don't bring her up at all. Seeing her fall in love with Loretta without ever really having a conversation with her might be better than feeling her fall into whatever it is this thing is.
She tells you about Jesse in return, though usually prompted by your asking, because you're very much into knowing who the tiny blonde is just as much as she wants to know Loretta. She's a funny kid. She loves music, hates ravioli, and occasionally beats the crap out of Amanda and calls it 'wrestling'. You hadn't expected anything less. Amanda's the epitome of southern charm if it was a living breathing person, but she's rough around the edges in a way that backs up the years of trauma and backstabbing too, and you know she can hold her own in a fight just by the job she shows up for every day. It's only right that Jesse be just as much a spunky firecracker.
You change into the top that you'd initially picked out for the day's affairs but had talked yourself out of at the last minute. It's a tighter fitting top, with thin straps and a ribbed material that isn't as flimsy. There's nothing special about the day's activities, you know it's a little much to be going to the park in, but the reality is that you have no better time to wear it than right now. It's not dressy enough for any of your after work dates, and you certainly can't wear it to work, but hopefully Loretta's preoccupied with Jesse if things go well, so you won't have to risk any accidental slippage or persistent rising with physical exertion. So again, this truly is the most ideal time to guarantee you wear it at least once this season.
You throw a pair of sneakers in the backpack too, because you know she's not going to want to walk back to the apartment in the rain boots, and she's getting too heavy to carry all the way through the city, before you meet her at the front door, pleased to find that she'd actually remained still for once and hadn't return apart the living room — which was the only fully tidy room in the house anymore.
You're running late, which isn't something that happens often, but you try not to dwell too much on how every minute seems to fly by and simultaneously drop on eternally. One minute you glance down at your watch, and the time hasn't moved, and you're frustrated with the pace of foot traffic on the street because even Loretta's pace seems to be stifled and impaired, and the next five minutes have flown by and the park isn't even in sight.
"Mommy?" Loretta pipes up, swinging your hands as you're both forced to freeze at the corner of the road, the flashing red hand a sign that your daughter takes very seriously much to your dutiful repetition of safety rules.
"Yes, Etta?" You answer, giving her as much of your attention as you can without letting your guard too much in the crowd of people around you. Nobody seems to be paying any attention to your conversation, but you can never be too careful. You'd known that your entire life, but Amanda was making it her mission to remind you at every opportunity. She ends every morning conversation with 'be safe', if you can't meet for coffee on your break, she checks in if you don't get to your phone first, and while she gets home from work later, she goes to sleep before you, and always tells you to make sure all the doors are locked. It's such an easy thing to overlook in your daily movements and routines, but Amanda remembers every day, and you chose to see the simple beauty in that rather than the engraved trauma from her line of work.
"I like strawberry lollipops." She grins like that's the best news ever, and you can't fight your own smile as you nod your head.
"You do like strawberry lollipops." You hum in agreement, sweeping her up onto your hip as you cross the street, feeling particularly claustrophobic in this particularly bustling crowd. Elbows jab your ribs as you pass paused traffic, businessmen and aspiring actors ramming into you without remorse.
"Does Jesse like strawberry lollipops?" She asks considerately, and your smile melts even more if at all possible, not at all reflective of the bubbling annoyance in your stomach when an elbow jabs your rib, narrowly avoiding Etta's little body on your hip; clinging like a monkey even though you have her fully supported without the assistance.
"I don't know, you'll have to ask her." You laugh softly, able to breathe a sigh of relief when you can see the park just ahead, children gathered on every inch of the equipment though that was pretty typical for a Spring day as beautiful as this one. "Do you remember what Ms. Amanda looks like?"
"Yes!" Etta nods brightly, kicking her feet at your sides innocently. "She has blonde hair like Cinderella, and blue eyes like Santa Claus!"
"Santa does have blue eyes, I guess." You're inclined to agree with her synopsis of Amanda's appearance because she's not technically wrong, even if you would've picked somebody else to attribute her light eyes to. Cinderella fits, you'll happily call Rollins your Cinderella any day. "That's her Mommy! Look! Look!" Etta gasps, straining in your arms when her eyes find Amanda in the greenery, sitting on a picnic blanket that you hadn't even thought to bring along.
"It is her! And look, there's Jesse." You point out the little girl that's running laps around Amanda, seemingly laughing if her tilted head is any indication. "Do you want to walk?" You ask, a gentle hand rubbing her back. She's a social butterfly, perhaps at the worst of times, but she's been known to have a shy streak, and you want this to work, so you're pulling out every trick in the book to get her in the best mood possible, even if you think Amanda would be entirely understanding if meltdown number two happened right here and now.
"Walk!" Loretta bubbles, and you set her down on her feet with easy compliance, fixing the strap of her princess backpack over your shoulder when it begins to slip down. She grabs your hand eagerly, leading you over to Amanda with more effort than needed.
"Hi, sorry we're late." You greet the blonde bashfully just as Loretta let's go of your hand, taking it upon herself to join in on Jesse's game of chase the shadow without missing a beat. Both you and Amanda take a minute to pause, almost unsettled by how your kids hadn't even been phased by each other or offered up a name as a greeting. "We had a little moment, but we have shoes on, on we're here." Just by the inflection in your tone Amanda knows that this morning had been eventful, and she smiles brightly.
After four weeks of stolen lunch dates and texting, there wasn't much awkward silence left to have. When you sat down beside Amanda on the blanket, she reached over, pulling you into a hug without hesitation. You sighed contently as your arms looped around her waist in return, your head falling to her shoulder before you detached yourself, glancing at Jesse and Loretta who whirl past you with giggles.
"We only just got here." Amanda brushed off your unnecessary apology. "I got conned into dropping our library books off on the way here."
"I like a punctual girl." You grin, encouraging Jesse's antics much to Amanda's amusement and equal exasperation. Her cheeks flush, and you hope it's the subtle leading in your words that's to blame, not the brightly shining sun. "Mine has rain boots on that are about two sizes too small. I should've thrown them out a week ago when we discovered they didn't fit anymore the first time."
"She pick out her outfit too?" Amanda laughs softly, but there's no ounce of mockery or teasing in her question, just simple admiration for the mind of a child. You nod, unconsciously scotting closer to her. Not enough for your thighs to touch, but it's a start. "Jesse let me pick hers out because it's 'too hard to pick a favorite shirt'."
It takes you a minute to fully recognize that Jesse's wearing denim shorts and a yellow t-shirt, but when your eyes trail to find her and Loretta, it dawns on you that she and Amanda are matching. "Let me guess, you couldn't pick so you went with what you already decided on."
"Guilty." Amanda blushes, and you think that she moved closer this time, or maybe it was you again, but your hands brush, and her pinky dares to link with yours overtop of the picnic blanket that's surprisingly lightweight.
"Hi, Ms. Amanda!" Loretta grins, suddenly barreling into Amanda who hadn't been expecting the sudden impact. She concealed the shock well, a smile pulling at her lips as she wrapped her arms around your daughter, her pinky leaving yours.
"Well hi, Ms. Etta." Amanda giggles, and your daughter swipes a palm across her face, sweat already racing down her cheeks as glimmering droplets.
You search through the backpack you've discarded on the grass, pulling out her water bottle that you've filled with a minimal amount of ice.
"Mama, can we go to the playground?" Jesse asked, coming to a haunting stop in front of you and Amanda. She doesn't so much as glance at you, but you don't take offense, amused with her one track focus as she bounces, eagerly awaiting a response.
"You can, but Etta needs to ask her Mommy." Amanda explained slowly, glancing down at your daughter who had yet to move away from her embrace, cheekily eating up all of the cuddles she was getting from Amanda. You know she gets all the affection she could possibly need from her teachers at daycare, but a part of you feels like a failure for keeping your lives so closed off to interaction. This is probably one of the first times anyone's ever held Etta besides you on the weekend. Even your parents, who you kept in touch with for formalities, hadn't ever made a trip up to the city to see you, or meet their granddaughter.
"Three sips." You counter, and Etta, thankfully, doesn't protest, taking the cup from you appreciatively. She's sucking down more than you can count, which satisfies you immensely, and Amanda's eyes light up.
"Hey, she has the same cup as you. Doesn't she, Jess?" Amanda grins, finding a way to incorporate her daughter, though Jesse hadn't looked all that left out as she looked at the rolling clouds above with a smile.
Jesse's attention snaps down to the cup that Loretta's sucking dry, and while hydration is key, you know she's going to have to pee within the hour and the bathrooms are halfway across the park. That's an entire ordeal and a half just trying to get there, let alone back. "Yes! Mine, Mama! Where's mines?"
"It's in the black bag, baby." Amanda points, and you recognize the opportunity to work on color recognition with the toddler, something you never would've spent a second analyzing up until you had your daughter and suddenly it was your responsibility to make sure this tiny person thrived in all conditions. There's a twang on the last word she utters, and your mind goes fuzzy around the edges as you listen to it.
Amanda's southern accent is your favorite thing about her. Not her eyes, you don't need to have yours open to know that hers are full of stars and warmth anytime she looks at you. Not her smile, even though it lights up your day. It's her accent. It's the way her words twist and curl into each other; sweet and strong, just like her. You could listen to it forever, with your eyes closed or open, it didn't matter so long as it washed over you.
Jesse and Etta fit together like a perfect puzzle piece, the fastest friends you've ever seen made and you're still not certain they've even properly greeted each other after they run off to the metal epitment, their hands locked together and Amanda's instruction to stay together evidently very serious in their minds as they marched and skipped in tandem.
Jesse's taller than your daughter despite being nearly a year younger than her, Loretta's fifth birthday just a couple weeks off your radar now. Amanda's taller than you, not by much, but still enough for it to count when she leans over to hug you before going back to work. You wonder how long it'll take this new baby to catch up with Jesse and Loretta; if you'll even still be around to see that far into Amanda's future with two daughters.
Your hand falls onto her bump instinctively, and Amanda glances to her left with a soft glow on her cheeks as she memorizes you tenderly. She'd asked you if you wanted to feel the baby kicking for the first time two weeks ago. She'd popped, but at the time she'd been only twenty weeks along, now she's pushing twenty-two. She's gotten bigger since then, her belly rounder, her belly button officially popped. You know her feet are swelling more often, she tells you how uncomfortable her shoes are frequently, and her back is almost always in a state of dull aching with the baby growing to over a pound inside of her womb, big enough to start breathing in the womb and tasting flavors through Amanda's amniotic fluid. You wonder if she knows any of that. There's milestones for every day, and you'd been concerned enough to read every book and revisit your old med school notes to assure without a doubt that you were informed at all corners about what to expect.
You don't have to ask anymore to touch her belly, that's a boundary she's waved already, but every time your palm touches her bump she looks surprised. "Did you know that baby's developing her tastebuds right now. She can taste your snacks and your morning half decaf now."
"She likes coffee." Amanda tells you, humming thoughtfully as she takes in the information you've given her. Your eyes search for two yellow shirts, and two shades of blue. Jesse's denim blends right into the sea of jeans and overalls that overcrowd the part, but your blue rain boots are a rarity amongst the full coverage sandals and crocs other children are wearing; Jesse included. You're over by the sandbox, Jesse still holding your hand. "Jesse was always most active in the morning. But this one does flips after my coffee."
"Feels like she's doing flips right now." You giggle when a little foot kicks at Amanda's womb, dragging along the skin of her belly and pressing into the weight of your hand. You miss the sensation of baby kicks, even if they get uncomfortable after the third trimester and every one is a potential accident waiting to happen because your pelvic floor is all out of tune.
"I think she likes your voice." Amanada admits bashfully, and your cheeks flame, but there's a warmth in your belly that's never felt so comforting. "She's been a chill little bean in there all day. She always seems to be throwing herself around in there when you're around."
You smile fondly, your thumb stroking Amanda's bump. It feels easy to sit with her out here, neither of you weighed down or uncomfortable. You fill the silence when you feel so compelled to, but for the better majority of two hours, your girls entertain themselves by the slides and the sandbox, never letting go of the others hands even when Amanda figures it'd be easier to climb the stairs if they weren't wobbling and falling into each other.
It was two and a half hours and three strawberries later for Amanda later when you noticed Loretta bouncing on her toes by the swings, definitely needing the bathroom though she was too engaged with whatever game she and Jesse were playing to come back and find you.
"Etta's gonna explode pretty soon. I should go rescue her." You hum, though you make no effort to move and Amanda laughs brightly, boldly leaning in to kiss the side of your head. Both of you pause for a minute, wanting to see how the other reacted to this new step, this extended level of vulnerability and affection. When you don't protest, and Amanda doesn't apologize for acting impulsively, you smile shyly, forgetting about the pee-pee dance crisis that's happening feet away.
"Jesse probably needs to go too." Amanda concluded with a single glance down at her watch, and you hummed dutifully, already clamoring to your feet so that she didn't have to.
"I'll take them." You assure her, and Amanda smiles gratefully, watching you walk away, the sun reflecting off of your skin that's not covered by any kind of material. The color looks good on you. It makes you look tan, even if most of your sunny spring days are spent downstairs in the morgue and out of reach of powerful UV.
Taking Jesse and Loretta to the bathroom turns into a half an hour affair. Loretta dillydallies as usual, and Jesse's apparently just as much of a scatterbrain when she wants to be, both of them getting distracted by the water fountain in the bathroom, and then the automatic soap dispenser that you'd almost certain Jesse emptied into her palm when you'd been on your knees untangling purple shorts from pink tulle. But, neither one of them had an accident, hands were washed with only minimal complaints that the water was freezing cold, and you managed to get them back to the blanket with you instead of the jungle gym equipment, pulling out the container of strawberries form your bag that Amanda had already broken into.
Snacks are dished out and so is another round of water. Both you and Amanda packed lunches for your girls, something you knew they would eat, but they both decided to play you like fools and decide they're not hungry for sandwiches, just strawberries and pretzel sticks. You lose the battle, but at least they got some fruit and water in their bellies before they bolted off again, their faces flush and their palms clammy and coated in dirt and mulch chunks.
Another two hours elapse before you make another bathroom run, this time while Amanada folds up the blanket and packs both of your backpacks that have been emptied by your children. Your bubble wand ends up in Jesse's backpack, Jesse's pink socks end up in your backpack, and their water bottles are effectively mixed up forever by the time you return with a kid on either hip, looking like you've mastered the role of mom of two even if this is your first attempt at seeing if the shoe even fit.
Jesse refused to be carried by Amanda when it came time to leave the slides and swings behind for the day, but your daughter was more than happy to skip down the streets of Manhattan holding onto Amanda's hand whilst you made quiet conversation with Jesse who was finally warming up to your presence. She was soft spoken where your daughter was not, and you could only smile thinking that Amanda's mornings are filled with quiet chattering and pointing. Jesse's pointed out every building on the street, and now she's moved on to asking you about every sign she sees. You read them all dutifully, even if a newly turned four-year-old has no idea what soliciting is nor does she ask.
You'd planned on taking the girls for pizza weeks ago, but you'd been wanting to see how things with with Amanda before you dragged anybody's kid into it. You don't know why you waited so long now as Amanda holds the door open for you and Jesse, Loretta holding open teh second set of doors as she takes on Amanda's shining example.
"Thank you." You kiss her cheek quickly, when little eyes are distracted by the quarter machines in the corner, and walk past her body that's buzzing with warmth. "And thank you, goosebumps." You grin at your daughter, and she beams a proud smile, catapulting herself into yours legs until her arms wrap around your thighs.
"Why don't you go find a good seat and I'll get us some pizza and garlic knots." Amanda addresses Loretta, because Jesse is undoubtedly worn out from the five hours you've spent at the park, and her head is lulling onto your shoulder before she picks it up, realizing that she'd been falling asleep. Etta is on her way to crashing, you know the signs of exhaustion in her now, and this energy that she's pretending to uphold is going to dwindle down to nothing the second you get her confined to the booth.
"Okay! Can Jesse sit by me?!" Her big eyes are looking up at Amanda with nothing but hope, and even if Amanda had wanted to sit by Jesse throughout your shared dinner, you know she's not going to be doing that now. She stands no chance against Loretta. She thinks your kid is the depiction of sunshine, and she's said as much to you over the phone while you relive stories of her first birthday and second easter and last fourth of july when she finally overcame her fear of fireworks.
"If she wants to." Amanda nodded her head, and Loretta smiled wide, evidently not panicked for a second that Jesse would decide against sharing one side of a booth with her. You laughed, taking your daughter's hand, and turning her away, leading both girls toward the booths along the wall. There's only one empty one in the entire establishment, so you let go of Loretta's hand, telling her to go get it.
Jesse squirms to be put down with her, and you happily oblige, your arms more than a little sore from carrying her all the way from the park. It breaks your heart that babies get bigger. That she was once a little six pound newborn that was easy to tote around like an accessory.
They slide into the booth, giggling and looking drowned by the size of the seat. You take the other side, sliding as close to the wall as you can before your eyes glance to where Amanda is still talking to the cashier, pointing to a pie on display beside her.
"My feet hurt Mommy." Loretta whimpers randomly, and you have to applaud that she'd survived in those tiny rain boots far longer than you'd expected her too. You unzip the backpack that you've squished between your body and the wall, pulling out the water cup and the sneakers you'd thankfully thought to throw in. "My light up shoes!" She beams at you like you hadn't shown her these exact shoes this morning and been screamed at profusely in return.
"I want my water." Jesse bubbles quietly at Loretta's side, looking somewhat hesitant to tell you that she wanted something. Amanda still had the backpack on her shoulders, but considering you'd seen them lick the same pole one after the other on the playground, you don't think germs are that big a worry anymore and slide Etta's cup into her hands while your daughter struggles to change her shoes by herself, but god forbid you offer her any assistance. "Thank you!" Jesse chirps, and she eagerly sucks down what's left in the cup, much to your amusement.
Thankfully, Amanda comes back with a large plain pie and a pitcher of lemonade before your daughter can realize her water is gone. She sets it down in the middle of the table, but then she tells you she'll be back, and you laugh when you realize the garlic knots are still sitting on the counter by the register and Loretta's looking at them longingly with two fingers shoved beneath the tongue of her sneaker.
Jesse's asleep on the table when you return with two chocolate chip cookies, and you laugh softly as Amanda shakes her head. Loretta isn't in any better of a condition, swaying side to side as her eyes flutter heavily. You don't know what's happened in the ten minutes it's taken you to throw the garbage out and get the cookies from the cashier, but the inevitable crash you'd been anticipating seems to have struck fully.
Amanda picks Jesse up, settling her weight on the top of her bump. You're slightly envious, but you would rather struggle to keep your four-year-old from slipping than carry her and the water weight of pregnancy and a stuffed full backpack. She's superwoman you're sure, because after so many hours in the sun, she should be exhausted but she's not, she's looking at you with that soft smile again, with a glint in her eyes and a flush on her cheeks. Jesse curled up into her chest and the prominent bump beneath her yellow shirt further softens her appearance, and pieces of your heart twist and pulse.
The air is slightly colder outside now, the sun falling slowly behind the trees, another two hours somehow having elapsed since you stepped inside the familiar pizzeria. It's nearly seven o'clock, and the endless blue you'd seen all day has grown far lighter as it threatens to reveal streaks of pink and orange as the sun plays peekaboo with skyscrapers. Manhattan is still bustling, but it's quiet all around you as Amanda begins to guide the way home, your apartments only three blocks separate.
Loretta is passed out against your shoulder, the strap of your tank top held taught in her fist. The other hand holds her cookie, but there's not a single bite taken out of it and so you turn to Amanda when you get a quiet spot beside an alleyway.
"Will you take that?" You ask softly, because you don't want it to fall and have her wake up and be devastated — if she even remembers — but you also don't have the ability to take it yourself. Amanda smiles, stepping closer. She keeps one hand around Jesse, but uses the other hand to take the cookie for Loretta. Her pinky digs into the side pocket of your shorts where you've folded up the wrapper, and the softest part of her fingertip grazes your side that's exposed from Loretta wrinkling your top.
"Here you go." Amanda whispers, her voice breathy and soft as it floats to you.
You smile, your head dropping, "Thanks." You whisper, turning around so that she can unzip the small pocket of Loretta's backpack and put it away, where Jesse resides too, though neither of you are going to go through the trouble of fishing it out before you go your separate ways. Thankfully, she hadn't been awake to know about the cookie at all.
At some point, you each drop an arm from around your child, your fingers lacing together. Your bicep burns, it aches to be relieved on its current job, but you ignore it for the feeling of Amanda on your skin instead.
It's quiet the farther uptown you get, and when you reach the street corner that divides your path, there's only a few people around to watch her keep you from turning left, her bottom lip bitten nervously. "Jesse had a good time today. I did too." She tells you softly, and you smile, because you and Loretta had a good time too, the best time.
"Well, this one certainly had a blast." You smile, your cheeks flaming. "I did too."
"I know... I know we said that we'd see what happened after the girls met, and we haven't even gotten home yet so this might be a little forward, but would you... would you want to make this official? I mean... or we could at l-least get the girls together more, you know. We're both busy, it's... it'll be so good for them to have each other,"
You would've let her keep rambling, you were intent to when she first started, but the longer she talked the more impatient you got to say yes. "Can I talk?" You giggle, squeezing her fingers between yours, bouncing Etta just slightly when she began to slip.
"What? Oh, yeah." Amanda, if it was possible, seemed to get even redder, her teeth biting down harder on her bottom lip until you considered she was getting close to drawing blood.
"I'd like to make this official. Because if I'm being honest, I've really wanted to kiss you all day." You blush, and the words are like a whisper rolling off of your lips. You're never this forward. The last time you'd been his forward, alcohol had been involved and a month later you'd found out you were expecting a little Leo.
"I've wanted to kiss you since you met me for dinner in that red dress." She admits, and you laugh softly, shaking your head with a bashful radiance to your face."I don't know what I was waiting for."
"How about you stop waiting any more time then?"You suggest, because you can't be the one to make the first move. You can't initiate it, because if it all crashes and burns, you've ruined three people's lives, and she's only ruined two.
Amanda leans in, and you can smell the garlic and lemon on her breath, but it doesn't dissuade you from leaning in too, using the one hand that wasn't supporting Etta to cup her cheek when your lips brushed softly. Everything that you thought you knew about Amanda and these budding feelings were confirmed in an instance, butterflies and fireworks and confetti cannons shooting off somewhere in the distance as you finally got a taste of her.
When she pulled away, it was all too soon, but you appreciated the chance to see her eyes, to witness how they seemed to lighten with unimaginable affection.
"I really should get this one home, but coffee on Monday? Dinner at my place after work?" She asks, and you've never heard a better plan in your life.
"We'll be there." You assure, shifting Loretta once again when she turned in your arms, curling her face into your neck when the ebbing beams of sunlight stroked against her face.
She disappears down the street too soon, but it encourages you to keep trekking toward the skyrise apartment you call home. Etta stirs when you get into the elevator, her head raising off of her shoulders as she rubs her eyes.
"I'm sleepy." She whimpers pitifully, looking up at you with tears glimmering in her eyes.
"I know, goose. We're almost home." You assure, watching the numbers flash on the screen before you get to the second floor from the top, the one your unit is placed on.
There's two apartments in the hallway, yours on one side, and Jennifer Kent on the other. She's a kind enough woman and a quiet neighbor, but your paths haven't crossed much in the years you've been living across the hall from each other. She's coming out when you step off the elevator though, and you smile politely, wondering if this was a coincidence or evidence that Amanda's presence in your life was for the better in all regards.
"We can see Ms. Amanda and Jesse soon?" Loretta yawns when you get inside, letting you pry off her sneakers and her socks before you cart her through the apartment and to her bedroom where past you had thought ahead and already laid out clean pajamas.
"How about Monday after school?" You test the waters, and you're relieved when she grins, perking up just the slightest bit as she bobs her head. "It's bedtime now though. So let's go brush your teeth, and tomorrow you can tell me about how much fun you had with Jesse. Okay?"
summary — maybe the instance you fell in love with amanda rollins was the first time your daughters name rolled off her lips dripping with southern charm
warning(s) — single parent, medical examiner, mention of death, mention of assault, canon-typical content/dialogue, brief episode reference, southern accent, certified milf, pregnant amanda rollins, playful banter, flirting, oblivious reader, pregnancy, alludes to c-section delivery, ICE mentioned, consoling, cravings, mood swings (kinda), mentions/alludes to adoption, generally just cute domestic fluff
authors note — down bad for kelli giddish. once again not edited, nothing ever is here. enjoy :)
“The park isn’t this way.”
The New York skyline had evolved since you’d moved to New York. It had lost a couple of buildings, gained a couple more. It was different, but beautiful. Your life looked different too. All those years ago when you’d stepped foot in the city with a suitcase and an acceptance letter to Icahn School of Medicine at Mount Sinai. Everything had felt so big back then. The twin towns had reflected the sunlight down on you, Billionaire’s Row hadn’t seen a crowded expansion, Hudson Yards hadn’t grown so much. You’d have never anticipated the city to look the way it does now, but it had come to feel like home whether you missed the old New York City at night or not.
“We have to stop by Mommy’s job, remember?” Your voice is patient, more patient than it should be while wandering the streets of New York, but your daughter already softens your exterior and makes you vulnerable, that’s just the sad reality of the society you’re bringing her up in.
When you’d moved to New York City, before the World Trade Center had needed to be rebuilt, it had been just you. You didn’t have a roommate your freshman year due to widespread last minute unenrollment, and being a creature of habit, you’d chosen a single your sophomore year too. There had never been a roommate to mold with, schedules to memorize or sync together. You’d always been able to do your own thing whenever you wanted to, though you hadn’t taken advantage of that, spending most of your nights holed up with a highlighter and a textbook. The point was that you could have if you wanted to, but you hadn’t, and now you certainly cannot.
”All the bad guys are dead?” Your daughter pauses on the sidewalk, her little head craning to the left curiously — a trait you think she’s absorbed from watching too much Dora. You wished it was that simple, that her theory was ever at all possible, but it wasn’t. So long as there was somebody good in this world, there would be somebody downright despicable to even it out.
“Not quite, goosebumps.” You smiled sympathetically, wishing that you could lie to her about this like you did about Santa Claus and the ice cream truck being for kids five and older on week days unless explicitly stated otherwise on the light up sign by the door. Your kid is smart, painfully so, but she’s not smart enough to know how to read yet, and that has saved you immensely in the four years that you’ve been watching her glow. You can’t lie about this though, because as much as it’s your job to be the parent now, to let her be a blissfully unaware kid while she still has a chance, you can’t let her be ignorant, because you’re not around all the time, and you’ve seen the end of life come from far smaller things than gun violence or suffocation. ”One of the good guys had an accident. I have to tell my friend Ms. Olivia about it. That’s why we stopped to get the papers, so that she can read them.”
”Oh, okay.” She nodded, a look of genuine pondering on her tiny face. “I can be like a mermaid all the way to the stop sign!” She proclaimed in the next minute, and you know in an instance what that means.
”We’re not going to be mermaids right now. We need to be humans and walk nicely on our feet.” You attempt to remind her, to reel her back into your control, but she’s a spritely little creature with persistently sticky hands, and you’ve lost the battle before you could even put up a fight. Her little body jumps and thrashes at your side, her little feet pretend glued together to make a mermaid tail. It’s adorable, truly it is, but you don’t have time for her tiny little jumps because her legs aren’t even half the length of yours yet. “Etta Lou, we’re walking right now.”
“You’re no fun, Mommy.” She tells you honestly, and you know that she probably means that as sincerely as she can comprehend. Regardless of her disheartened opinion, she does stop hopping at your side, walking at a snail's pace beside you, but it’s still faster than whatever her mermaid pace is.
“Mommy only has to be fun when we get to the park.“ You reasoned, earning yourself a deadpanned glare from the four-year-old. She doesn’t understand sarcasm in this stage of life, but she is a harsh critic with taunting jokes whenever her mood is soured; which it currently is. You don’t budge at her pouting, swinging her up onto your hip when you reach a cross walk, waiting for the red hand to stop flashing. “What number is that?” You redirect, pointing toward the blinking signal sign across the street.
“Seven!” Loretta grins, her feet kicking at your sides as she watches the seconds tick by, distracted from her abruptly cut-off game of walk the mermaid. “Now it says four!”
”I think I know somebody whose four.” You hum, looking hasilty to your left before you cross the street, Loretta seated on your hip contently, tiny hands balling up the fabric of your t-shirt. It’s purple, a light lilac, and it has the name of Loretta’s dance company on the front, a fundraiser from last year's recital — the first one you’d gotten to attend as a mother. It still maintains a spot in your weekly rotation, perfect for days at the park. “Is Daniel from your class four?”
“No, Mommy! I’m four!” She tells you, beaming brightly, her tiny hands on your cheeks, pulling your attention to her when she’s displeased to realize you’re actually paying attention to where you’re walking instead of her eyes that you still can’t believe you made.
”Oh, Charleigh’s four!” You feigned a look of realization, nodding your head in understanding that had your daughter shrieking, shaking her head and giggling manically, the sun tinting her cheeks pink even with the layer of sunscreen you lathered her in before you left the apartment.
“No! Etta’s four! Charleigh’s… how old’s Charleigh, Mommy?” She questioned, and you smiled, kissing her forehead as you climbed the stairs to the precinct, hoping you can keep her distracted until you get inside, knowing how much she’s being loving to tackle the stairs by herself and you don’t have time to painstakingly take each and every one if you stand a chance of getting to the park before the ice cream truck. You have the route memorized. It shows up at one-thirty, bells and whistles ringing, and if there’s nobody left in line for precisely three minutes, he pulls away and another one doesn’t come back until eleven the next day, which you think is actually so obscure considering that’s before most people have lunch ready for their kids.
“Charleigh’s five. We went to her birthday party at the aquarium, remember?” You brushed a hand down her hair, returning her to her feet when she strained, realizing that you’d entered a building she’d never gotten to explore before. “If I let go of your hand, do you run away?”
“No.” Loretta answered, shaking her head like she was shocked you’d think she’d run away from you. You scoff, but oblige, because one day the concepts of trust and consequences are going to click and your life is going to be exponentially easier for establishing these boundaries in any capacity right now.
You let her lead, staying three steps ahead of you because she’s come to learn that she can go that far without you beckoning her back to your side. She takes her independence seriously, but when she reaches the end of the main hallway and doesn’t know where she’s going, she freezes, standing still like a statue in the middle of the path as she looks at you for directions.
“Find the picture of a big angel.” You tell her helpfully, because left and right is still amongst the mountain of things left unlearned. It’s so easy to forget that everything in life is learned until you tell a kid to do something and they take you so literally that you can’t even be mad, or they just stare at you wide eyed until you give more explanation.
“Okay!” She giggles, spinning around, looking right, and then left. You think she missed it, didn’t catch it on the wall in the Sex Crimes hub, but then she points with one tiny little finger painted yellow, and she bolts off like a bolt of lightning, your pre discussed and established rules flying out of her head like they were never there at all. You have to admit that she’d done well, but you don’t say that as you chase after her.
“Etta!” You call, catching up to her when she pauses to closely analyze the picture of the angel, her little hands clasped in front of her as she swings on her feet, forward and backward repetitively.
“Was that a real life angel, Mommy?” She asks, not recognizing the look of exasperation on your face as you stand beside her, fixing the strap of her backpack over your shoulder. The files are zipped away inside, between a bottle of bubbles and two peanut butter sandwiches, no jelly. The change of clothes and spare pull-up in case of emergency keeps it from moving around, but you can only hope that nothing’s pressed or wrinkled a corner in any way.
”Some people think so. Ms. Kathy at school thinks so.” You hum, leading her farther into the precinct, Olivia’s door in sight. You’re about to park her at a bench down the hallway, in your line of sight from the office but out of the way of foot traffic when she gasps and bolts off again, her tiny hands knocking into colorful plastic before you can stop her. You sigh when tiny pieces crash to the floor, her little hands flying up near her head in alarm. “I’m so sorry!” You rush toward Amanda, trying to pull Loretta into your chest and away from the blonde’s desk, but she’s already sinking to the floor and letting her little fingers grip the pieces. You recognize it now. It’s a lego duplo set you’d gotten her for Christmas and have since accompanied and watched be rebuilt at least seventeen times.
“I can fix it!” She beamed, not phased by the embarrassment that flushes your cheeks, or the way you apologize to Amanda for her curiosity and lack of control.
“She has this set at home. It’s one of her favorites.” You explain before you bend down, “We can’t touch other people’s things without asking, Etta. Can you say sorry to Ms. Amanda?”
“Sorry for touchin’, Ms. Amanda.” Loretta frowns, because she knows you’re upset with her now. Apologies are an automatic trigger for tears right now, you hate this bashful, just barely self-aware stage. She knows enough to realize that she did something wrong, and you know she doesn’t understand what embarrassment feels like. but you assume that’s what’s coursing through her as she blushes, shyly raising her head to look at Amanda while she presses close to you.
“Well, that’s alright now.” Amanda brushed it off, because there was no way she could even be slightly annoyed when you were squatting beside her desk looking so horrified even she hoped the floor would open up beneath you and swallow you whole. “My little girl made that for me. Her name’s Jesse.”
“My names Etta Lou!” She grins, and you smile too, because there’s no way you can remain stone faced when she looks so proud of herself for getting it right.
“Loretta Louise, right, goosebumps?” You encourage, trying to drill it into her head that despite calling her Etta every day of her life since she’d first been pulled from your womb by forceps and gloved hands, her legal name was Loretta, and people had every right to call her such so she had to at least recognize it.
“Yeah! Loretta Louise, and this is my Mommy.” She points to you, and you laugh, standing up now. Loretta remains on the floor, still holding onto pieces of the scattered duplo.
“I’ve met your Mommy before, she’s very nice.” Amanda winks at you, and your thankful that your cheeks have maintained their warmth, not giving away how that single action makes your stomach flip.
“Yeah, Mommy’s nice. She plays fishies good.” Loretta nodded, looking down at the lego, piecing it together with ease. You need to look into getting her some more sets, you figure she must be growing bored of this one at home if she can put it together without even looking at the picture book you lay out next to her and flip through when she demands.
“How do you play fishies?” Amanda asks intrigued, leaning closer to Loretta, her hands on forearms on her knees as leverage.
Loretta’s head shoots up from the pile of legos, and she puckers her lips, framing two hands on either side of her mouth until she’s certain they look just like gills. “Like this!” She mumbles between puckered lips, and Amanda laughs. “Do it Mommy!”
“Mommy has to talk to Ms. Olivia.” You remind her, and Loretta pouts, putting the final piece back on the duplo. She holds it up to Amanda proudly, clearly pleased that her conscience was now free of guilt she couldn’t recognize without your help. “Say bye-bye to Ms. Amanda.”
”You can leave her here.” Amanda smiles, and you falter, not expecting her kindness. You’d done this all on your own for the last four years, and you mean that literally. When your daughter is not at school, she’s with you. You’ve changed every diaper, made every bottle, multi-tasked through every single day and overcompensated just to be Mom, Dad, Boss, and co-worker at the same time. It’s an odd feeling to have someone offer to watch Loretta for you, even if it’s only for five minutes when you’re across the room. “We can hang out while Mommy talks to Ms. Olivia, right?”
Loretta nodded enthusiastically, and you sighed, relenting because if this was the only break you got from constantly being ‘on’ all weekend with Loretta, you’d appreciate every second spent not putting on a mask of happiness and innocence.
“Be good for, Ms. Amanda.” You kiss Loretta's head before you stand up, the backpack still over your shoulder, and you’re almost certain Amanda’s snickering into her palm as she takes in the sight of you stalking toward Benson’s office with a plethora of Disney princesses on your back surrounded by a solid background of pink.
You’d known her for months now, seeing her anytime someone crawled down to the lab for an analysis or update. It wasn’t often Amanda was the one who came down to grovel and beg for you to find a way to get things done faster, but she’d been in enough times for this to feel like healthy, friendly conversation, if not the slightest bit more.
She’d never seen you out of professional attire, and she thinks the black biker shorts and purple company t-shirt is so amusing given the circumstances. You don’t know it, but whatever she’s saying about you has Loretta giggling into her palm, clamoring up into Amanda’s lap with no semblance of stranger danger.
“Cap?” You peak your head into the office, smiling at Olivia who sets her glasses down to give you her attention. “I just got the report back for the Davis case. As of right now, I’m ruling it a homicide. I’m still waiting for the DNA under her fingernails to come back. But the semen found in her underwear is a match to your perp.”
“You’re thinking multiple assailants.” Olivia mused, dropping the documents, now fully intrigued with your medical examination of the body and injuries attained.
“The marks on her neck are only possible if her attacker was behind her, but the lacerations on her belly were made from the front. Like she was pulled into the blade. There had to be at least two people there.” You conclude, because you finally have enough lab testing back to rule conclusively that foul play was involved by at least two suspects.
Olivia sighed, “Thank you.” Her eyebrows raised when you turned the backpack so that you could reach into the big pocket, pulling out the medical file that was thankfully in pristine condition. “You have the day?”
“Yup. I promised someone a trip to the park and a break from preschool. Apparently having someone map out your entire day is exhausting and she needed a break.” You nod out the window, toward the desks where you can see Amanda and your daughter. She’s curled up in the blonde’s lap, both of them with their backs toward you, looking at something on Rollins’ computer that you’re not close enough to decipher.
“Well, I certainly don’t want to keep you.” Benson’s eyes twinkled, and you know she misses these years with Noah even if they hadn’t been that long ago. Her eyes trail to the framed picture on her desk, one from Noah’s sixth birthday, and you only know that because it was her phones background and you’d seen it down at the lab last month when she’d dropped by with Fin.
“The second set of DNA should be back by next week. The labs backed up, and before you tell me to rush it, I already did. The original send back date was three weeks out.” You tell Olivia, and she nods thankfully, before you leave, stalking back toward Amanda and Loretta who aren’t aware of your soft footsteps.
“That’s Jesse’s first birthday party. She had a strawberry cake.” Amanda tells your daughter, and you can finally make out that they’re looking at pictures of her daughter, bright blue eyes and blonde hair evidence of their direct relation.
“Mommy likes strawbaby cake.” Loretta tells her, and you laugh, giving away your presence behind them. She spins around, grinning brightly at you.
“Mommy, that’s Jesse. Ms. Amanda said she’s three! That’s as many as Daisy.” She tells you proudly, and you can tell that although Amanda has no clue who Daisy is, she understands the sentiment of what you’re trying to get across. “Ms. Amanda’s gonna bring her to the park to play bubbles.”
“I think Ms. Amanda still has a lot of work to do. She’s super important, they’d have to close down the park if she went home because she keeps it safe. Jesse can’t come today, goosebumps.” You tell your daughter, and Amanda is surprised at how easily you cover for her, because she absolutely would’ve agreed if you didn’t fill the silence before she had a chance. Damned if she was still on the clock, it had been far too long since Jesse had a playmate who wasn’t a spoiled brat or Noah, and she didn’t think Benson quite had the looks you do, but she didn’t say that part out loud.
“Do you keep the banana store safe too?” Loretta asks, and you smile softly, taking her into your arms when she least expects you to just pluck her up. She hums, surprised, but settles into your embrace comfortably.
“The grocery store. They have more than just bananas, Etta.” You remind her, and she makes a look of realization, nodding her head.
Amanda didn’t miss a beat, reaching out to tickle Loretta’s belly. “I do keep the grocery store safe. I practically keep all of New York safe.”
”Even Mommy and me and Jesse?” She asks, eyes wide. You smile, wondering what your life would be like if you didn’t have her to see the world through. You can’t remember what it was like to be amazed by every little thing and see the world as something kind and ever giving, but Loretta is living in that moment, and she’s showing you thinks that as an adult you’ve become blind to.
“Even Mommy, and you, and Jesse.” Amanda smiles, “Now, I think you and Mommy have somewhere to be. The parks waiting!”
“Bye-bye, Ms. Amanda!” Your daughter needs no further guidance, waving dutifully at Amanda before she wraps her arms around your neck, apparently deeming her legs out of commission for the time being.
“Bye-bye, Etta Lou.” There’s always an underlying twang of southern hospitality in Amanda’s charming tone, but there’s something utterly delectable in the way your daughters name rolls off her tongue so smoothly and sweetly. There’s a rhythmic pattern in the way the two names fall off her tongue, sounding so perfectly cohesive it remind you of why you’d given her this name four years ago. You’d liked the way it sounded then, but it feels like you’re hearing it in a whole new way right now.
“Thank you.” You say again, because you’ll never be able to express enough how much it’s meant to you for her to show Loretta so much kindness and patience even when she’d come in like a bulldozer.
“She’s a cute kid.” Amanda tells you, and you think that’ll get a reaction out of your daughter, she’s ever the ham, drawn to compliments as if you’d deprived her of them her entire life, but she’s otherwise absorbed with waving to Olivia through the window, and you can only assume Olivia’s waving back because Loretta changes her strategy, pulling some kind of funny face as she stretches out her lips.
“She’s free.” You tease, and Amanda knows that’s all that it is. Even if she hadn’t known about your daughter before this moment, never having a reason to bring it up before or even begin to think you had anyone at home or specifically who it was, but now that she had seen you with Loretta, she knows you love her with your entire being.
“Oh, I’m good with two.” Amanda laughs, dropping her hands to her belly, and that’s when you take in her rounded tummy and swollen knuckles. There’s an undeniable water weight to her face, her nose just slightly contorted to where it’s noticeable if you know what you’re looking for. That’s why she hasn’t been down to the lab. She’s playing her cards right and getting literally anyone else to go down for her.
“Congratulations.” You coo, your head tilting, melting at her admission. There’s no ring on her finger, you don’t even know why you’re looking, but it’s an automatic response and you don’t recognize your doing it until you breathe a sigh of relief at the empty search. “Ms. Amanda has a baby in her belly.” You tell Loretta, who finally looked away from the window and turned her attention back to you and Amanda.
“Is it a girl baby?” Loretta asks, because her obsession is girl babies, not boy babies. She’d come home saying she doesn’t like boy babies a month ago, and after a very confused conversation with her teacher, you’d come to find out another little girl in her class is expecting a baby brother, and it was about the end of the world when she found out it was not going to be a sister the Sunday before school resumed after easter break. You’d been trying to work that out of her head since, but apparently this girl and her unborn baby brother have enough tension to still be a conversational point weeks later.
“It is a girl.” Amanda smiles, and Loretta nods.
“Park now Mommy.” She whines, evidently bored with the conversation now that it didn’t revolve around cake flavors or the lego duplo sets Amanda has back at the apartment for Jesse.
You say goodbye to Amanda, hoping that you can find another reason to stop by the precinct sometime soon.
A week and a half later, you have the second set of DNA results back, and just as you’d expected to be the case, the results were not a match to the suspect already in custody. There was good news attached to your break in the case however, and that good news came in the form of his name already being in the system for petty crime at nineteen.
You manage through the precinct a lot quicker without your daughter, but it feels like something’s missing as you trek through the halls holding onto the manila folder containing your lab reports. You’d come straight from the lab, a crossbody bag slung over your shoulder and your professional attire dampening your radiant personality.
Your eyes sought to find Amanda, but she didn’t turn up at her desk or anywhere in sight as you walked to Olivia’s office. You didn’t want to say you were disappointed, but you’d be lying if you said a twang of disappointment didn’t shoot through you at her absence. For a moment, you wondered if everything was okay with the baby, and with Jesse, but then you remembered that you don’t know her well enough to be concerning yourself with her personal affairs even if she had spared five minutes of her day to show your child kindness and that was more than anyone had done for you in a long time.
“Here’s the other report.” You tell Olivia, and she hums. Her energy is depleted, her tired eyes looking up from yet another pile of documents that you’re sure need her immediate attention because everything in these lines of work do. “That second set of DNA is to Forrest McClain.”
“Thank you, really. You didn’t have to walk these over.” Olivia couldn’t express her gratitude effectively enough, but you wave her off regardless.
“It’s no problem. It would’ve been another handful of hours, and your case is getting colder the longer you waste time. Is everything okay though? The mood in here is kind of… more suffocating than usual.” You were closet with Benson, that’s just what came with the territory given you were the Lead ME and she was the Captain. You worked together often, either at the scene or through emails from your lab. It wasn’t abnormal for you to be checking in.
“Rough case with ICE and Amanda.” Olivia sighed, “She’s taking it… not well.” Olivia grimaces and you sympathize, knowing that any case emotional enough to rattle Benson is never a good sign, but there’s something that you can recognize that Olivia can’t — raging emotions while pregnant. You’d never pin it against the Captain, but she can’t even begin to understand what it feels like to have your world turned upside down when you already feel like all your emotions are one sneeze from shooting out of your popped and swollen belly button.
“She still around?” You asked, and Olivia smiled, nodding her head and informing you that Amanda was attempting to sulk her sadness away in the break room.
You stopped by the vending machine before you found the break room down the hall, exactly where Olivia had told you it would be across from the main interrogation room. You knocked on the doorframe before entering, watching Amanda with careful eyes.
She sat hunched over the table, her head in her hands, tears evident on her cheeks even though she tried to hide any evidence of her emotional state with her hands, the apples of her cheeks concealed by swollen fingers. She’s wearing a blazer, black, and slacks of the same shade. The monotone outfit is surprise from her, but it makes her figure pop, the definition in her bump undeniable even if the sleek outfit does it’s best to slim her down when shadows hit her right.
“I heard you’re having a rough time.” You start,and Amanda laughs humorlessly, scrubbing the evidence of her meltdown off of her cheeks to instead glance at you curiously. “Mind if I join you? Thursdays are storytime days at daycare, Etta won’t mind getting another hour of Hansel and Gretel.”
Amanda nodded, motioning to the chair at her side. You smile softly, stalking near enough to drop the snacks you’d purchased in front of her before you grabbed the back of the chair, pulling it out just enough to get your body into it.
“My cravings with Etta were insane. I was eating all the time, from the first trimester to the last. Fritos were an unexpected delicacy, and you need something sweet to finish up, so I grabbed some donuts. You don’t strike me as a chocolate person.”
Amanda smiled, reaching for the bag of Fritos. She pulled it open like she hadn’t eaten at all that day, and you grinned. “Not a chocolate person.” She confirms, and you hum, knowing you were correct but glad to have solid confirmation. “I was gonna take her. I would’ve. ICE… Stone made a deal, somehow. He got her back with her mother, but if that didn’t happen, I would’ve taken her.” Amanda rambles, and you’re still at a loss for most of the details, but you have enough information to see the full picture. Your heart breaks for her a little bit, but you know that most of her let down has to do with the fact that she’s months away from meeting her baby and at this state, everything feels colossal. That doesn’t negate her want to open her home. You’re sure that whether she was pregnant or not she would’ve wanted to help however she could, but the current state of her womb doesn’t help matters.
“What happened to two being enough for you?” You tease, because you take Amanda for the type to rely on humor in dark times, and it doesn’t fail you. Her shoulders jump with her inhale, a breathy sound floating off of her tongue that’s not quite a genuine laugh, but does something to lighten her mood at least.
“No, I… I’d be okay with three. I’ve thought about three more this week than I have in my life, and I’d be okay with it.” She breathes out, and her eyes flicker up to yours. You think there’s something more there, in her unspoken words, but you’re not sure.
“And there will be plenty of time for three. But, this girl has a Mom. It may not be what you want to hear, but it’s a good thing when too many people have the best thing of a child at heart. It’s a good thing that you care enough to have yourself all worked up in a break room. You impacted that girls life, Amanda. You know how I know that? Because Etta spent a fraction of the time with you and you’re all she wants to talk about. What’s Ms. Amanda’s favorite color? Does Ms. Amanda let Jesse have ice cream on Saturday? Ms. Amanda has legos on her desk, Mommy, you can put legos on yours! So, thank you for that. You’re the reason there’s astronaut legos crowding my already minimal desk space now.” You tease, and Amanda smiles wide, finally beginning to crack, to come down from the high of overwhelming sadness.
“I’ve never… in all of my years on this job, I’ve never met a kid I connected with like that. It scared me. It scares me to think that there’s so little keeping that from being Jesse, Etta, this baby. One wrong move, and who do they have? You have somebody at home?” Amanda asks with tears gleaming in her eyes.
“No.” You shake your head, breathing deeply, because if you hadn’t had the same panicked fear rush through you a million times, you’d be somebody else. “No, it’s just me and Etta. It’s always been just me and Etta.”
“It’s just me and Jesse.. or, it’s just me, Jesse, and this baby.” Amanda’s hand falls to her bump, and you frown.
“Well, then how about we change that?” You perked up, reaching a hand out toward her. “Give me your phone.”
“Why?” Amanda frowns, but she complies with your request regardless, reaching into her back pocket and pulling out her phone, swiping it open past a picture of her and Jesse on Halloween.
“If your girls need someone and you’re not around, my contract hours end at four unless I’m on call and needed at a scene.” You tell her simply, taking her phone and putting your number into it’s contacts, feeling bold, uncharacteristically so. “It’s good if you need anything too, you know. Maybe some pickles. Pickles were what I craved most.”
”God, pickles sound good.” Amanda grounds and you giggle, glad to see that you’ve roused her from her fit at least temporarily. “Here, give me your phone. Maybe we can get the girls together for pizza one night.”
”Loretta’s only stipulation will be that we order garlic bread too.” You tell her, because it’s easier to say yes if you use your child as a buffer, and Amanda laughs wetly at your flushed state. You hand your phone over the second after, giggling when Amanda makes a sound of awe at your home screen, a picture from two years ago with Etta passed out in her laundry basket.
“I’m not…I’m not reaching if I ask you to dinner without the girls, am I?” Amanda asked after a beat, her hands still holding her phone, like she’s trying to delay giving it back and letting the conversation end.
You smile timidly, your bottom lip bitten as you glance down at the table, feeling your stomach churn with butterflies at her proposition. “No… no you wouldn’t be reaching.” You admitted, and Amanada nodded, smiling fondly.
”Good. Okay.” Amanda smiled, nodding her head a bit dumbly. You giggled, taking your phone back and sliding it into your pocket.
“Okay.” You mimicked, and Amanda’s eyes rolled fondly, her cheeks tinting pink. “I’ll text you later?”
“I’ll be waiting.” She sang, and you laughed, shaking your head as you stood up from the table, beginning to back out of the squad room with one last glance at the donuts and fritos you left on the table for her. “Bye, Amanda.”
Amanda waved, her mouth full of the curved and salty chips. You laughed softly, backing out of the room without another word, because you’re sure if you said anything else, like that Amanda looks good with her hair falling around her face, not contained by a hair tie, she’d have kept you in that squad room forever and neither one of you ever wouldn’t gotten back to your girls.
At eight o’clock, after an eventful dinner time and bath time, you’d finally gotten Loretta down for the night. You reached for your phone after you’d cleared the dishes and prepared her lunchbox for the morning, eager to text Amanda, but she’d apparently texted you first, a notification lighting up your home screen.
You grinned at the simple text that said ‘Home’, but what really made your lips pull was the selfie she’d taken with Jesse over dinner, which looked to be spaghetti and meatballs. Jesse was splatted with tomato sauce, her blonde hair twinged pink from where little fingers had rubbed saunders into thin strands. She’s probably fighting a losing battle in the bath with the toddle right now, but you text back anyways, a selfie of yourself in front of the three sippy cups you’d washed the daycare requires two cups of water for all children at the start of the day, and Etta had a specific cup in mind for dinner tonight.
Amanda doesn’t get back to you until almost ten o’clock, telling you that Jesse had decided to find a second wind somewhere between bath time and the third book they’d read, so she’d been spending the last hour and a half trying to redo their entire bedtime routine. It wasn’t fully formed yet, but the start of something new was upon you after years of no change.
summary — your brother may never recognize the depth of your relationship with amanda, but you’re certain you’re going to marry her one day soon
warning(s) — established relationship, gunshot wound, blood and injury, hospitalization, stitches, existing scars, implied violence, implied past child abuse, implied past domestic abuse, heavy on the daddy issues, mommy issues, slight glass child syndrome, slight panic and description of panic, slight hurt/angst elements, comfort, fluff, mentions of engagement, longterm partners, plans for marriage, lesbians in love, healing (in more ways than one), recovery, found family elements, pet names, mentioned southern accent (your welcome), amaro being an absolute asshole like always
authors note — amanda rollins returns! enjoy :)
It wasn’t abnormal for Manhattan to conform to a traditional spring even before the official start of May, but it was slightly peculiar that the sky hadn’t opened up in a gloomy downpour lately. The slight reprieve from grey skies was a blessing, and the sunshowers that caught Amanda off guard were another unlikely positive. She got home from work after you. Usually right around seven if she was coming from the precinct on a typical day, and you waited somewhere by the door with questions. Sometimes, you checked the weather, saw a blimp of rain in the radar that hadn’t been there when Amanda left for work, and you know she hadn’t had time to see change between interrogations and well… general detective work that eluded you specifically. What Amanda didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, but it would wound you if she ever stopped coming home damp and frizzy, a pout on her lips as she dodged your kisses proclaiming she didn’t want you getting wet too. You always won. Her efforts weren’t ever strong enough to dissuade yours. You never wanted to, not really. It was a sickening battle of affection that came from the sun showers you don’t remember being this frequent last Spring.
You’d gotten out of work earlier than usual. Not because you’d wanted the hours to yourself before Amanda came home, but because the weather had turned just about everyone away from your quie boutique. People gathered in the squares, in the parks and on the corners. A fire hydrant or two might’ve been weeping into the street, but you weren’t at liberty to confirm or deny, suddenly not too sure which side streets they’d been down. Amanda always laughed at your taunting. It was like you remembered at moments that she wasn’t just yours. That everyone in Manhattan rightful deserved a piece of her, and she was just as obligated to uphold their needs as yours. In short, you remembered your girlfriend was a detective, and when you did, you really dug your claws into Amanda. Sometimes she let it go on for a while too. She nodded, her chin perched on her fist. Her eyelashes batted at you, her attention channeled, bouncing off of you and against you. She let it go on until you she just didn’t feel like it anymore, and sometimes she pulled you in by the waist, shut you up with a kiss, or she just hummed and enchanted you with that blue stare she knows makes your head spin in any condition. Sometimes though, she’s not as inclined to play your game and recognize the divide that has to exist between you at points. Sometimes, that makes her feel like the worst partner in the world, that sometimes, the things that you say can’t stay between the two of you even if you’d not have the slightest idea it was incriminating. You understood the implications of what it means to peak Amanda’s interest with your stories, and Amanda thinks you should hate her for needing to be so cautious, but you’d known who she was when you’d met, and you’d accepted her readily then.
There wasn’t anything on your schedule when you’d been given the afternoon off, so you’d stuck around and helped clean up, tidying shelves and mopping the floors because despite how perfect this spring season has seemed, pollen is still a national enemy. You try not to gag when you dump the mop water, the green hue to the suds a direct cause of the dirt and grime tracked in on shoes and paws. Your boss had laughed at you, giggling into her palm. She reminded you that you’d been the one to wear her down about the pet and animal rule when a stray tabby had taken a liking to your doorstep, and you’d grimaced, cursing beneath your breath about how you hate everyone in this city. It wasn’t true. You’d moved here at eighteen years old with a dream and a boatload of stupidity to keep you moving. You’d nearly failed out of NYU before you’d managed to really get your shit together by some miracle — in reality, you’d ditched your contacts from home and decided — irrationally — that you’d see as many productions as you could in one night until the only thing you could think about was never hearing another show tune again. Your pockets had hurt after that, and Pretty Woman was the straw to break your back, but at least you’d gone back to your dorm and poured your heart into a biology midterm because at least nobody had used a bunson burner in any of the productions and writing about it sparked no traumatic memory.
You’d basically accepted being alone after that. Your brother and you had an estranged relationship, you hadn’t heard from him in years and even when you’d had his number saved in your phone, his anger had divided you more times than it didn’t. He was in New York, somewhere, but it never really crossed your mind as to where, nor did your paths ever tangled, until you met Amanda. Until she quite literally ran into you in the pursuit of a suspect and she’d returned to your boutique the next day with an apology coffee and her business card.
You’d sat on the temptation to call her for three days. It wasn’t a decision you made lightly, even though you’d craved connection since you’d let every tie you had unravel. When you did call her, she’d asked you out, told you to meet her at the 16th precinct and you could both take a walk to a bar she frequented. When you’d stumbled inside, wearing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt because she hadn’t explicitly said the vibe, but if she was coming straight from work, you figured it was a step up from casual, you’d come face to face with brown eyes that you hadn’t seen in years. You faltered, derailed in your path for a moment, before you’d started walking again because even if you wanted to pretend that it felt good to see him, that it was a relief to know he wasn’t dead like you worried, he was a stranger. You know it, he knows it. Everyone in the precinct assumed it because you’re certain he’s never brought you up, and that weighs heavily on your heart, reminds you why you’d been hesitant to call Amanda back.
Everyone you’d ever let yourself love had burned you in some way. Sure, you’d been the one to set fire to every bridge that had remained standing in the wake of tiny arsons that burned, but they’d all been the ones to push you to that point first.
Amaro had tried to grab your elbow when you walked by, but Amanda had called out for you, standing in the doorway of Benson’s office, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Nick tried to explain, he tried to tell Amanda that you were his sister, his little sister that had no business being involved with a detective, and well, she’d basically sealed the fate of a feud continuously existing between them. You couldn’t say you cared. While it had been a few years, you and Nick still hadn’t patched out your problems, or really spoken about them at all. You saw Zara when he needed a babysitter and couldn’t abuse your mother’s willingness anymore, and you had found peace with that arrangement even if it meant dealing with your niece crying because ‘Daddy always has to leave’.
When you’d left the boutique, it dawned on you that Amanda hadn’t texted you about leaving the precinct, so you thought about getting ice cream for the both of you. She never left without telling you, never put it to chance that the last thing she said to you was some rushed confession of adoration before she headed out the door. It gave you comfort, more than Nick had ever been willing to provide even before he went undercover for years. He still can’t grasp why you’re mad, why you’re so reluctant to forgive and forget and let him in because ‘he’s your big brother for christ sake’. Amanda understands why you don’t. Amanda speaks up for you when he corners you in the precinct, telling him to back down.
Somehow they let themselves get along on the clock. They’re good partners, even if you are reluctant to give him any kind of praise.
You stalk into the precinct with a brown takeout bag held to your chest, two medium ice creams packed away complete with napkins and plastic spoons. You know they have some in the break room, but you crave the experience of a long spoon curved just right for a bite of ice cream, toppings included. You didn’t need to text Amanda to know that she wanted rocky road with peanuts, so you’d decided to leave your visit a surprise.
You smiled at Fin when you walked into the Sex Crimes hub, your eyes scanning for Amanda. Olivia approached you, a hand finding the center of your back. You thought nothing of her gesture, having become familiarized to her warm affection. “What are you doing here?” She gasps, her words light, concerned.
Your eyebrows draw together. “What do you mean?” You look around, noticing that despite your efforts, Amanda isn’t anywhere amongst her colleagues or fellow officers. “Where’s Amanda?” Your voice raises, your pitch high. Your breath is caught in your chest, and in a moment Olivia knows that nobody has told you what happened; where your girlfriend is.
“Alright, honey, Amanda was shot this morning. She’s down at St. Martin’s.” Olivia nods her head, forcing you to accept what she’s saying even though your head wants to adamantly deny that in any capacity. It’s hard to deny what she’s saying when she’s visible confirming it, and a gasp tumbles off of your lips. Your hand trembles, threatening to drop your melting ice cream.
Your brother appears suddenly, down the hall, a smile stretched across his face. The second he sees you, he freezes, and you can see guilt overcome him in a second. He was supposed to tell you. You’re sure he insisted that he be the one to tell you, and he didn't, because years later, he still disapproves of you and Amanda. He still thinks he has any decision on who you make a home with.
He comes close. He wants to apologize, you know that he does, but you can’t give him the chance and try to manipulate you with false sincerity right now. He never means what he says. If he did, he never would’ve accepted an undercover job and never texted you again all those years ago. It’s been a long time. You’ve had time to move on, but it still hurts, and you let him know that.
“Don’t ask me to watch Zara next week.” Your voice wavers, it cuts through the room. There’s so much being implicated in that single utterance, and even Olivia bristles at what you’re alluding to, but right now, it’s doesn’t even dawn on you that you’ve just told your brother to fuck off. That you’ve just waved the white flag and relinquished your niece in doing so. He’d gone too far. At some point, he had to recognize that you’re an adult and his opinion rolls off your back easily. “And, put this in for freezer, for fuck sake!” You practically throw the ice cream at him, shoving it into his chest. You don’t even make sure he had a hold on the bag before you turn away, stomping toward the door in an angered panic.
Somebody would’ve called you if Amanda wasn’t okay. Even if Nick had told them that he would take care of it, if Amanda wasn’t more than fine, you know your phone would be ringing off the hook because everyone except your brother can understand that she’s it for you, and you’re it for her. You suppose it comforts you slightly to know that she will recover from this, but it weighs on you that she’s been alone for hours when she hadn’t needed to be.
This is all a part of her job description, you know this, you’ve been around this for years, but it feels so much realer now that it’s Amanda on the bed; Amanda being held together by stitches and bloodied cotton rounds. You’ve had something to do with your hands for all this time, but now that the ice cream has been taken away, your palms are thawing without its weight and you’re aware of how much you can truly feel against your skin at the same time. The air of Manhattan has never felt so thick as you push through it toward Mercy General.
Before you’d met Amanda, you didn’t know these streets well. Sure, you and Nick had grown up in New York, but you’d had a one track mind for the first eighteen years, just trying to keep your head above water and survive at any and all odds, and afterward, you’d thrived in Chelsea. There hadn’t been much reason to leave when farmers markers filled the gaps that your dining haul couldn’t satisfy and no connection to anything outside of campus pulled your interest. Broadway had been the most you’d ventured through Manhattan since days of your childhood that you can specifically recall, but none of those shows had led you to the 16th precinct of Mercy General Hospital from said ‘cop shop’ as Amanda had a habit of calling it on her days off.
You stumble up to the front desk at the emergency room entrance, because you can think enough to find the main entrance from the side street you’d stumbled up at. You’re hands tremble, but they search to find your license anyway.
It feels redundant to have one in this city most days. You’ve had the same car since you turned nineteen and you’ve put ten-thousand miles on it since, but it’s a relief in this moment because it keeps you from having to spell out your name as you hand it to the receptionist. “Amanda Rollins.” Your voice croaks. A hand wipes across your cheek harshly. “I’m her girlfriend.”
The woman seems to blanch, like she knows who you’re referring to. It gives you no sense of peace, but her lack of urgency in directing you toward Amanda’s room must count for something. Surely there’d be at least a hint of urgency in her fingers as they clattered against the keypad until she hummed. “Room 21. Floor 6.” She tells you, and then hands back your license and a sticker. It had a photo copy of your license and your government name on it. You shudder as you press it into the fabric of your t-shirt, knowing that Amanda’s going to have a lot to say,
She’s never called you by your name. Even when she’d only just met you, the very first night you’d given her a chance, she’d refused to call you by your first name. She tells you that she likes her names better, but you think hearing it reminds her of the first night she’d realized you were Nick’s sister. You’d flinched, and gone pale; you hadn’t looked like yourself. She told tell you, but it creeps up on you sometimes regardless.
You choose the stairs over the elevator. The thought of being confined to such a small space is this headspace is sickening, and you know better than to test your luck even if you regret finding the winding dingy staircase by the third set of sixteen. When you get to the top, your panting, slightly lightheaded from the workout you hadn’t been expecting, but your head was clear of panic. The physical exertion had basically forced the ability to panic from your head, and it only dawned on you again when you found the numbers outside of her room.
Blonde hair was the first thing you found when your eyes swept across the room, and a smile coiled within the frown settled onto your lips until you smiled wryly. A chuckle escaped you, raw and emotional. Your eyes sting with unbridled tears, but Amanda matches that expression without missing a beat, not leaving you on an island of whatever this feeling is alone. Her head inclines, just slightly, just enough to know that you’re breaking her heart. She pats the bed, one hand, a hand that doesn’t have a ring on it yet, but it will soon, because you’re getting tired of waiting for her to ask, you’re getting ready to just pop the question yourself because every day you spend falling harder and harder just reminds you how much you want a permanently intertwined forever.
“Come here, baby.” There are moments where you don’t notice that southern drawl, where it’s evident that she’s spent the last handful of years in New York City and far removed from Atlanta and its southern culture, but then there’s seconds like these, where you can’t deny for a second that she’s the personification of a perfectly ripe peach.
Amanda’s eyes sparkle as you step closer to her, and you can’t help that a tear falls from your waterline as you lean in to hold her cheek, only now realizing that her eyes are red from crying. You can imagine her howling in pain, clutching her abdomen, probably hyper aware of how slippery blood can become. It haunts you even if you hadn’t been there to see it yourself.
“I’m okay.” She promises you, leaning up until you get the hint to give her a kiss. It’s sweet and slow, just enough to state her until it doesn’t hurt just to breathe through her nose. “Promise, I’m okay, sweet girl. I’ve had worse.” You know she means to elicit a laugh from you, but even if you affectionately run your fingers over every scar on her body on nights when you have all of her, you wouldn’t choose to love them if you had a choice to spare her the pain at all.
”I would’ve been here sooner if my damn brother actually told me what happened.” You seethed, dropping your forehead against Amanda’s. She smiled softly as she reached up to cup your face, only one arm attempting to follow through the action. You figure the gunshot wound must be on her right side, because every action she makes it with her left. “I told him to find somewhere else for Zara to go. I’m done, ‘Mands. I don’t know what else it’s going to take for him to realize I’m not a kid anymore — that I love you!”
Amanda, bless her, doesn’t so much as blink beneath the weight of your meltdown. She just smiles, because she knows it’s taken so much of her unwavering love and commitment over the years to get you to a point where you so openly express your affection for her, and grips your cheek harder. “When are you gonna stop thinking I care about what your brother thinks?” She asks, and you manage a giggle because she must be tired of assuring the same thing over and over. “He’s just trying to look out for you though.”
You sigh when she suddenly decides to see the situation from your brother's perspective, and you pull away from her grumpily. Amanda smiles at your reserve. “Come on, don’t give me that look before you hear me out. It’s bad luck!” She reminds you, and if she wasn’t freshly stitched together, you know she would’ve crawled out of that hospital bed and crept towards you until she captured you in a bear hug.
“I don’t want to hear you out when you take his side!” Even if you’re both adults, Amanda thinks it’s evident that Nick is the older brother and you're the dutiful whiny little sister. She defends your reluctance to let him in without missing a beat, yes, but that does not stop her from chuckling into her hand at all the small moments you chose to be overly annoyed with Nick just looking out for you.
“Baby, this job can take me away from you at any time. We’ve gotten lucky so far. Only a couple of bangs and bruises. I know you think Amaro has no right to contribute his opinion when he hurt you first, but… he’s still your big brother, who spent the first eighteen years of your life doing what he thought was the only way to keep you as safe as possible. I’m not mad that he didn’t call you, so I don’t want you bein’ all prissy and mad either, hear me? And, I especially don’t want you taking none of this out on Zara.” A pang shoots through you at the mention of your niece. Now that you’ve had time to cool off, now that you’ve seen Amanda and assured she’s not in the process of dying, you regret ever saying that Nick needed to find someone else for her. You wouldn’t be your father. You wouldn’t flee when things got hard. Sure, you’d left your mother behind, but it was a mutual lack of effort. Zara didn’t deserve to see people walking in and out of her life like you had. You’d be better for her.
You’d built a life for yourself outside of what your father had destroyed of your mother and your childhood. You’d gotten past Nick’s absence with the military and his undercover stint. But, you could make room in your life for Zara — you would make room in your life for her. You’d had to learn the hard way that blood and water felt the same with your eyes closed, but she would never had to wonder like you did if you have a say.
“I’ll talk to him next week.” You huff, stalking closer to her again, your fingers running up and down her arm. “He needs to sit in this for a little while, at least.”
“I have no arguments with that.” Amanda sighed, but that deep exhale quickly became a cough and every muscle in her body tensed before she groaned. You grimaced sympathetically, guiding a cup of water up to her lips.
“Here, baby.” You coach her through taking a couple of sips, only pulling the cup away when you were satisfied she wasn’t so dry mouthed anymore. “On a scale of one to ten, how bad does it hurt?”
“Seven.” Amanda wheezed because she’d never lie to you, and you honor that small commitment to keeping intact what she could of honesty between you when deception was weaved so seamlessly into the bounds of her job and the law.
“Okay.” You smile, because you can work with that, you can work with a seven because at least its not a ten, and you have room to move from here in both ways. You prop her head up on a pillow, and she groans at first, her teeth clenched, but then she relaxes, the position taking pressure off of her stitches. “How’s that? A little better?”
Amanda hums, and she pats around, reaching for an IV button that’s dangling over the railing of the bed. It’s a morphine drip, and you grin wryly in sympathy. You reach forward instead of her, pressing the button twice. “Yeah.” Amanda huffs, and that’s enough for right now.
“What am I going to do with you, Amanda Rollins?” You hum with humor, your eyes bright as you watch ether affectionately. The gown is stained with blood around where the gunshot wound resides, but you don’t think its still bleeding, just transferring every time the thin material presses into the bandages protecting the fresh stitches. You can only imagine how much pain she’s in, but Amanda never likes to address her suffering. That’s a commonality between all the detective’s you’ve met.
“You could kiss me again for a start.” She hummed, and you couldn’t deny the request, leaning in close until your nose brushed hers, and only when you knew she was just impatient enough, you leaned down to capture her lips fully, taking whatever was left of her breath away until you broke the kiss and left her panting, cheeks flush. “I love you.” She reminds, and its your turn to blush, sinking into the chair by her bedside.
“I love you more.” You settle, and for right now, she lets you have it because she knows she’s put you through enough already.
summary — you and amanda take the girls to jersey for a day, and somewhere along the lines you’d forgotten this was the entire point
warning(s) — established relationship, marriage, adorable blonde children, fluff, domestic bliss, amanda’s southern accent, love drunk idiots, that’s it
authors note — amanda rollins, my love. welcome to the madness.
When you and Amanda had brought Billie home, your bedroom had felt packed full of too many things. You’d put her bassinet on your side of the bed, away from the windows to diminish the risk of sunlight waking her even with the blackout curtains temporarily hung over your more permanent arrangement. For months, you’d needed to tread carefully to avoid something — a forgotten bottle that rolled off the nightstand a midnight, a dirty diaper that Amanda threw in the hamper at three am instead of the diaper genie and then got moved on laundry day and forgotten about when somebody needed a snack, or a hug, or a kiss, or their butt wiped. Your dresser was too tall to change a baby, and the one that housed all your clothes was far too sentimental to strip your baby down on and get into blowout control. So, you’d added another piece, and it had stuck out farther than the dresser on your chosen staple wall, and the entire room looked stupid because of it.
It had unsettled you for months, seven to be exact, but Amanda had accepted the quirks and the changes with ease. She’d laugh when she found the nipple of a bottle you’d been missing for weeks, or the scoop to the formula that Jesse somehow got her hands on and put with the plastic utensils in her kitchen. Amanda took everything easily and readily, and motherhood hadn’t been anything different.
There wasn’t a day that went by where Amanda didn’t feel entirely content as a family of four. She told you every morning that this was your number, four was the perfect number for the family you’d built together, and every morning — or at least the ones where Billie crying shattered any ability to create a fairytale out of your life — you told her it better be, because three car seats won’t fit in the backseat and though you don’t find a need to drive often, only when you cart both kids to the pediatrician for checkups and wellness visits that never end, so maybe you do drive the car often, regardless, you’re too attached to the heated seats and double sunroof to have another baby and trade it in for something accommodating and bulky. You would not be a minivan wife, and Amanda agreed, because she was in love with your little girl gang and adding a boy sounded scary, daunting, probably her luck if you decided to try again. She was ridiculous, but the kind of ridiculous that had you nodded with a laugh and shaking your head when you thought she was distracted with the girls.
“And what are we doing down here? Causing mischief? Stealing bottles?” Your voice carried through the kitchen softly but brightly. Your smile was radiant, refreshed from a full night of sleep thanks to Billie who had finally mastered the concept of consecutive sleep. Amanda had rolled out of bed with her a little over an hour ago, but she’d told you to stay put, to either go back to sleep or get yourself ready.
You’d been on kid duty as of late. Her hours at the precinct had been the most unpredictable they had been in a while, and you were lucky enough to work a job that bent without much persuasion, and it helped that you’d already spoken with your boss and built your schedule around the kids. You love Amanda, and she loves your girls, but the both of you are aware enough parents and partners to know that you can’t take her word when she says she’ll be home if you’re not, so, you’re just always here when the kids are, and if you can't be, you have two babysitters you rotate between to give everyone a break. Jesse is cute, adorable though you may be biased, but she’s mean when she’s hungry and she’s mean when she’s tired, and you know she only has about three good hours in her before she starts terrorizing people that aren’t Amanda. Billie’s your angel, your second kid that probably should’ve been the first with her chilled demeanor, but she’s a crier, more so than Amanda when you get her drunk, and if you didn’t love her to death, you’d probably have no shame in telling her that her squealing cries cut through you like nails on a chalkboard. Your kids have their flaws, not only are they human, they’re your humans, yours and Amandas, there was never a shot in hell they were coming out normal, but you loved them, and you had a village who loved them, even if they could only see them in moderation without questioning whether kids were truly the devil reincarnate.
Amanda is standing at the counter with Billie in her arms, the baby seated between her forearm and bicep as she uses her chest to keep her steady. It’s a hold you’ve seen her master over the years, but one that still drives you crazy. You can’t resist the need to step into her little bubble with Billie. Your daughter is gnawing on her tiny toes, blue eyes wide but calm as they take in everything around her. She’s seven months old now. She sits up unsupported, holds her bottle by herself if she’s in a good mood, and she claps when Jesse prompts her, though she’s stubborn enough to still never take Amanda’s lead. The sight is so domestic it makes you wonder if you’ve stumbled into a bad Colleen Hoover book, but then you remember that there’s baby poo smeared into the pajamas she hasn’t changed out of yet, and you realize this moment isn’t actually perfect, it's just perfect to you. You’d forgotten that was the entire point.
Your arms wrap around Amanda’s waist, tight and protective. One hand splays across her toned stomach, and even though she carried both of your daughters for nearly ten months, the elasticity of her skin is competitive and serious. The faint stretch marks that you know are there, just hidden, are the only real evidence that she’d been the one to protect your girls before they’d even seen your faces. It creeps up on you sometimes, reminds you of how strong and capable she is. How she sacrificed her body just to give the both of you closure in this messy little life. One of your hands grabs Billie’s little foot, letting yourself feel how small it is between your palm while it still is this small and wriggly. She tries to kick, confused about what’s wrapped around her toes, but you unintentionally keep her trapped in your grasp, and she lets out a sound that you’ve only ever heard Jesse’s chest rumble with when you piss her off at bedtime by brushing her hair in the wrong direction.
“Hey, you.” You scold gently, leaning around Amanda until you could find your daughters bright blue eyes. Both of them looked like Amanda, little clones of her natural blonde hair and sharp blue eyes that you think must’ve been as soft as Jesse’s when she was little. “Your sister's sleeping, and she will not be happy with you if you wake her up. She gets that from Mommy.”
“Oh, does she?” Amanda cocked an eyebrow, on board with your explaining until that last sentence. Her eyebrows had raised comically fast, her cheeks flushing with a tint of something skeptical. There’s that twinge in her tone, the Georgia backroads still having a grip around her heart, even if she’s been in this city for years now, even if she says she hates every part of home that still exists. You love it. You love how it gets thicker when she talks to the kids, like she can’t help but channel that love she was shown by her mother before everything fell apart. You know she was loved, you see it in the way she loves your girls, it's like it's inherently part of her, but you also know she loves them so hard because at some point, all the people who loved her stopped. You hate to think of her sisters, a woman who’d had so much potential, who Amanda had tried to help over and over again. You hadn’t seen her in years. She’d never met Jesse, and she doesn’t even know about Billie. You know Amanda thinks this is her second chance, but you think she doesn’t have to try again at something that was never her responsibility in the first place.
“Yes.” You don’t back down, because somebody needs to humble Amanada, and who better than you, the person that’s subjected to her irrational early morning fussiness that usually results in you kissing her lips until she smiles because seeing her so angry at the coffee pot for not brewing fast enough is kind of sad. “And I love you both dearly, anyways.” You tacked on and Amanda hummed, nodding.
“Good save.” She mused, focusing on the bottle again. The kettle whistled, ready to sing, scream actually, it was unnecessarily loud, and somehow louder when Jesse was sleeping, but before it could wake up the toddler who you were so impatiently waiting on, Amanda pulled it off the burner. “Will you go make sure the laundry dried? I told Jesse she could wear her pink tutu today if she went to bed and I’m trying to avoid a meltdown before we get in the car.”
“Stooping to bribery now?” You teased, because you know that bedtime with Jesse is like pulling teeth. Every move has to be calculated, precise, but most of the time, it still hurts for whoever drew the short end of the stick. You love her dearly, but you think three-year-olds should be detained until they know how to be nice and not yell at you for putting their left arm in their shirt before their right. Apparently there’s a natural order to things that you’d never been aware of, but Jesse’s always quick to correct your mistakes. You hope she keeps that assuredness. You hope the world is ready for the confident woman you and Amanda are going through hell trying to raise and keep sharp. “I should probably wake her up too. If we want any chance at parking, we’re gonna need to get moving.”
Amanda grimaced slightly, but she knew it was true. The Jersey Shore was an easy little day trip getaway, yes, but factoring in a three-year-old and a seven-month-old meant factoring in at least an hour dedicated to pottying stops and diaper changes, snack demands and tantrums about the harness being too tight even though it’s perfect and Amanda can get her fingertip between it and Jesse’s armpits comfortably. She just likes to complain, and you think you’re definitely the one who encouraged that. After all, Amanda asked you out on a second date because you’d complained the first night wasn’t long enough.
“Breakfast on the road or are we sacrificing the last two waffles and hoping she eats them?” Amanda asked, turning around in your arms until Billie was flush between both of your chests. The baby held her body in her chubby little hands, her face a mess of milk and slobber as she guzzled down what was her second bottle since she’d woken Amanda. You consider that she’s growing, maybe cutting teeth or growing inches, but she’s been a little eating machine, and you can’t wait to let her have a little lick of ice cream tonight with Jesse. You’d started solids two months ago, when she had enough head control to not scare the piss out of you, and while the sweetest thing you’d ever let her try was a perfectly ripe strawberry, ice cream in the summer was a staple, and one lick wouldn’t kill her when Jesse’s first lick turned into her trying to escape Amanda’s grip and face plant into the cone you’d held in front of her mouth watchfully.
“Breakfast on the road.” You hummed, because you’d done the dishes last night whilst she’d disinfected the counters, and the sparkling granite countertops looked too good to disturb with syrup and melted butter combined with whatever concoctions toddler fingers found before they got to the island. “Here, let me take her. I’ll set her up in the bouncer while I get the princess ready. You can take a shower.” You decided last minute, seeing as Billie was content and in a good mood, though you know that can turn in a second, but for right now, there’s nothing preventing you from taking on both kids and letting Amanda have a little time to herself before you drag both kids kids hours south to Seaside Heights.
She kissed you thankfully, sweet and soft, and you would’ve taken the time to deepen it had Billie not stuck her hand between your lips curiously, pulling at Amanda’s lip until the blonde winced, trying to lean toward the strong grip to ease the pain. You grinned softly, grabbing Billie’s wrist, bending it forward just slightly until her grip broke and her little hand dropped onto her bottle, tipping her head back again and going back to town.
“How many ounces has she had?” You question softly, wanting to at least keep some kind of list in case she decides to go on a bottle strike tonight. You’d be comforted to know she got what she needed when she was interested in drinking if that ended up happening, which with Billie, who knows if it will.
“She already had seven, that one’s four.” Amanda sighed softly, drawing her hand over the baby’s fluffy hair that hadn’t crown past her ears yet. Little tufts of blonde stuck up from her head in all directions, and though a bow looked adorable, it never did smooth out any of the wild strands she was always rubbing her hands against chaotically.
“Big girl, you’ve got a belly like your sissy, huh? You and her are going to be dangerous with fruit.” You hum, beginning to walk away, toward where the laundry room is combined with the mud room that also doubles as holiday storage because for as much as you pay in rent, this damn apartment somehow keeps getting smaller and smaller. The spot where their easter baskets belong is empty, and you make a mental note to grab them from Jesse’s room sometime this week and put them away. “Well, that’s a good thing.” You tell the baby when you pull the pink tutu out of the drying, sighing in relief to find that it's not warm, but also not damp. The cycle had probably ended sometime last night, and Amanda had definitely neglected to check it. You couldn’t say anything, you’d been the one to start this project two days ago. “Alright, let’s go wake up sister.”
Billie just blinked up at you with a wide smile around the nipple of the bottle, and you smiled, content with her cute little face staring up at you even if you couldn’t wait for the day she joined Jesse talking a mile a minute at the dinner table. It was still a game trying to guess what your toddler was saying, but it was fun, and you loved seeing her little personality and hearing about what she thought was the most important thing that happened in the day. It was so insightful, so rewarding to know that the color of a straw had the potential to change her day around.
You make sure to grab the bouncer before you go into Jesse’s room, and you lay it on the floor by the windows so it's out of the way of falling stuffed animals. Billie coos when you put her down, but she doesn’t cry, and you take that as a win. Waters running somewhere else in the apartment, Amanda beneath the shower head, probably thinking about how she’s going to convince you to let her drive this way she’s not on baby crying duty trying to pull random things out of your bag until Jesse stops whining and something holds Billie’s attention.
Jesse, by some miracle, is ready to wake up when you gently brush your hand down her cheek and call her name. She springs upright, crawls into your lap, lays her head down on her chest, lets you rock her for a while, and she asks sir she can still wear her tutu. You laugh, jotting down that tutu bribes are apparently the way to ensure a happy and cooperative Jesse whenever you had plans. You get her dressed with ease, because half the outfit is already picked out, and then you worry about hair. She convinces you that braided pigtails with bows will look the best, and you agree because that means its up and out of her face, and there cant possibly be any meltdowns on rides later if this is the path you take now.
When you stumble out of Jesse’s bedroom, one baby on your hip and the other one holding onto your hand, its into the bathroom that Amanda’s just left, and you giggle slightly at how your paths are so horizontally run that things like this just work because they do and they can. Jesse only whines when you accidentally jab the toothbrush into her cheek, and you’d think that was a fair thing to whine about had she not been making it exponentially harder by wiggling around and trying to flush the toilet from the counter all while you held Billie on your hip, having one hand and one hand only to spare as you tried to finish up the getting ready process.
Thankfully, Amanda came in when the waterworks stated, and although Jesse thought she was going to be saved from your ministrations, Amanda cocked an eyebrow at the little girl and told her to ‘be nice’. You’d be rich if someone gave you or Amanda a dollar every time you told Jesse that. You hadn’t even recognized that her tiny hand had batted a giants your thigh, thinking she’d just brushed against you, but Amanda had seen the full intent of the action, and although she was Jesse’s mother, and so were you, she did get annoyed when she witness the girls trying to hurt you. It was cute, how she pouted and told Jesse not to hit you even when you were just playing, because you were her girl, her wife, her best friend, and it makes her sad when you have owies. Unfortunately, Jesse’s always been as unfazed as Amanda, and your gentle game of pat the head turned into her smacking you straight across the face with a blank expression. Yeah, her teenage years are going to be fun. And you mean that whole heartedly.
It takes you another thirty minutes to get out the door, because Amanda didn’t factor in the argument over shoes. Jesse, bless her, had gotten new snow boots in December, and although its almost eighty degrees today, last week it had still been dipping into the low thirties, and she’d gotten away with wearing them again. That wasn’t going to be happening anymore, and the meltdown was unexpected. After you convinced her to wear sandals like you were, this way you can match, you’d put Billie in the shoulder and had to grab as many snacks as you could because Jesse doesn’t understand the concept of going to breakfast. She just knows shes hungry and you’re not giving her food, so snacks and half eaten pancakes are better than no pancakes left and a hungry little Amanda to chase.
After getting everything, including the baby wrap that you’d almost left abandoned on the couch, you turned to Amanda, a sheen already tinting your cheeks and you hadn’t even stepped outside. “Ready?”
“I’m ready for anything with you.” She teased, pecking your cheek, knowing that if somebody didn’t crack a joke soon your stress was going to explode from within you.
“Cute, but you’re still not driving.” You mused, grabbing the keys from her hand, and directing Jesse out, leaving Amanda to glare at your retreating frame and push the stroller. “Tell Mommy she’s pretty.” You encouraged Jesse once you got outside, standing by the car as you wait for Amanda who was trailing behind, pointing out different murals in the parking garage with Billie.
“Mommy you’re pretty!” Jesse yelled, giggling into her hand when Amanda’s head snapped upward at the call of her name and then smiled.
“Yeah, Mommy! You’re pretty!” You call too, and that sends Jesse even farther over the edge. Her giggles ripple through the echoing garage, and every meltdown that’s already happened gets scrubbed from your mind. That’s how it always is, how it's supposed to be. You wouldn’t trade it, them, this. Not for anything.
