His head fell against your collarbone, hot breath searing your skin as he clung to you.
“Shit—don’t—”, his voice broke into a groan. “Don’t stop, baby. Please. Don’t stop”.
The grip on your waist turned desperate. You rocked against him harder, every grind pulling a new sound from his throat. Your hand threaded into his hair, tugging just enough to keep his face buried against your skin, his stubble scraping your collarbone as he groaned again.
Every grind and every drag of his cock pushing you closer. You could feel your body tightening around him with every roll of your hips.
“Fuck—”, Dean choked out, his head tipping back against the couch, jaw slack and eyes screwed shut. His throat bared wide for you, his pulse pounding just beneath the skin.
You leaned in and let your lips part over that spot, sucking hard. His whole body jolted, a ragged moan tearing out of him.
“Baby—shit, baby, I’m gonna—”. His words broke into a growl as you clenched down around him harder.
You grabbed a clean towel from the drawer and pressed it gently to the wound, ignoring the sharp hiss that punched from his throat. “Christ”, you muttered and shaking your head. “You walk around like this and think you can bluff me with a joke?”.
His jaw tightened, eyes locking on yours. “I was trying not to scare her”.
You pressed the towel a little firmer. “She thinks it’s a costume. That’s how close you came to scaring her anyway”.
Dean swallowed, the tease gone, his voice rougher now. “I know”.
You didn’t give him the chance to talk his way out of it. The towel in your hand was already blooming red. “Sit still”, you ordered and reached for the first-aid kit you kept under the sink.
Dean let out a long breath through his nose but didn’t argue. He shifted enough to give you space, wincing as his shoulder pulled.
You worked quickly, your hands steady even though your heart wasn’t. He flinched when the alcohol touched raw skin, biting back a curse, but stayed silent. Your fingers were careful but firm as you smoothed the last piece of tape flat.
Dean’s breath came out rough, almost a laugh, but not quite. “Feels familiar”, he muttered.
You paused, not trusting yourself to look at him. “What?”.
“The last time you patched me up like this”, he said. “That smelly motel outside Tulsa. Sam was snoring like a freight train in the other bed”.
Your stomach dropped. You remembered. God, did you remember.
Summary: A crying baby, rising pain and a tumor that won’t stop. Mark´s running out of time and all that’s left is love, heartbreak and a fragile bit of hope.
-requested-
Pairing: Mark x Reader
Warnings: Language, Angst
Word Count: 6015
DISCLAIMER: Everything is purely fiction. I do not intend to attack or hurt anyone. The story is, of course, entirely made up and meant for entertainment purposes.
The next day, Mark went to his neurologist. You didn’t press him about it that morning, he’d already been white-knuckling his way through the pain for weeks, and pushing him harder felt like throwing weight on a man who was barely standing. But when he kissed your temple before leaving, there was something in his eyes that told you he wasn’t expecting good news.
When he came back, he didn’t say much. Just dropped his keys in the bowl by the door and made his way toward the nursery.
You were already in there, kneeling beside the changing mat in a careful, slow way you had to move these days. Ally was wide awake, blinking up at the soft glow of her mobile while you spoke to her in that low, sweet voice she always responded to. “Okay, little bear”, you murmured, easing her arm into a fresh sleeve. “Let’s try not to pee on Mommy this time, huh?”. She let out a tiny coo, legs kicking lazily.
Mark stepped into the doorway, watching quietly. His heart ached at the sight. Your careful, tired hands and her bright little eyes scanning your face like you were the only thing that made sense in her whole world. He cleared his throat. “Hey”, he said softly, voice rough. The headache still pulsed behind his eyes. It was barely louder than a whisper.
But Ally startled. Her whole body jerked, arms flailing in that newborn startle reflex, eyes suddenly wide. She didn’t cry, but her lower lip trembled, and she let out a soft, confused whimper.
And Mark froze. He hadn’t moved any closer, hadn’t raised his voice. He hadn’t done anything wrong. But the way she jolted, the fear in her tiny body, the way her eyes flicked to you for reassurance, it was enough. It was more than enough. His chest tightened, breath catching like something had stabbed between his ribs.
You looked up immediately, already smoothing your hand over Ally’s belly, soothing her with that instinctive gentleness he would never stop being in awe of. “It’s okay”, you whispered to her, glancing at Mark quickly. “Daddy’s just saying hi”.
But Mark didn’t step forward. He didn’t say anything else. He just nodded quick and turned on his heel. Seconds later, you heard the soft thud of the bedroom door shutting.
You exhaled quietly and looked down at Ally, who was already calming, her little fingers curling around the edge of her blanket like nothing had happened.
But you felt the space he left behind. The guilt bleeding out of him. He thought he’d scared her. Again.
You waited a few minutes. Long enough for Ally to settle, long enough to finish snapping her onesie and kiss her forehead, long enough to let the silence stretch without chasing after him too quickly.
Then you stood, your body still stiff, and made your way down the hall with Ally cradled against your shoulder. You headed to the kitchen, more out of habit than thought. Time to warm her bottle, the rhythm of it familiar now, something close to routine in the chaos.
That’s when you saw the orange bottle sitting in the middle of the counter like he’d thrown it there without thinking, or maybe thinking too much. You stared at it for a long moment.
The dosage listed beneath his name. Increased to 100mg twice daily.
You swallowed hard, your free hand brushing over the cap. It wasn’t just the dose that changed. It was what it meant. The pain’s worse. The doctors know it. He knows it. And now you do, too.
He hadn’t said a word when he came home. Just walked in, saw you and Ally, and tried to say hello like a father should, like a husband should. And it still ended with him walking away. Because she flinched. Not because he was loud, or angry, or harsh. Because she didn’t know yet how soft he could be.
You heard a soft sound escape your throat, half a sigh, half ache, and started preparing her bottle, setting it in the warmer with one hand while cradling her with the other.
Your body hurt. Your heart ached. And all you could think about was how he’d left that bottle there. Like it didn’t matter. Like he didn’t.
You reached for it again, thumb brushing over the label like it might give you answers it didn’t hold. You knew this wasn’t just about the medication. It was about everything he hadn’t said. Everything he wouldn’t say until you pulled it from him, piece by piece.
After Ally was fed, burped and swaddled in the soft moon-patterned blanket your mom had sent last week. She lay asleep in her bassinet like nothing in the world could hurt her. Her small fists tucked close to her cheeks. You stood there for a minute, watching her chest rise and fall, the low hum of the white noise machine in the corner filling the nursery.
Eventually you turned and made your way to the bedroom.
Mark was sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, head down. He hadn’t moved. Probably not in the full hour since he walked out of the nursery. His hands were slack between his legs. His posture screamed defeat.
You stood in the doorway for a moment, watching him — your soldier, your stubborn, damaged husband — sitting in silence like the weight of the world had finally won.
He didn’t look up when you walked in. Didn’t move when you crossed the room and sat down beside him with the baby monitor resting in your lap. You didn’t speak at first. Just sat close, letting your arm press against his.
“She’s asleep”, you said softly.
He gave a slow, hollow nod, still staring at the floor. “I shouldn’t have said anything”, he muttered after a moment. “Should’ve just kept my mouth shut and walked past. I didn’t even do anything and she still—she still looked scared”.
“She didn’t look scared”, you said quietly. “She startled. That’s all”.
He finally looked at you, and it broke your heart all over again. “You saw her face”.
“I also saw her fall asleep in five minutes. Because she felt safe again”. You reached for his hand, resting yours over it. “That doesn’t happen if she’s afraid of you, Mark”.
He looked down at your fingers intertwined with his, but he didn’t squeeze back.
You held his hand quietly for a moment, letting the silence sit between you like something sacred, not something heavy. You didn’t need to rush him. But you also couldn’t keep pretending like everything was fine. Not with the prescription bottle sitting out there.
You turned slightly, speaking gently, “They upped your dose”.
His shoulders tensed slightly. Barely enough to notice, unless you knew him. And you did. You knew every flicker, every shift, every silent tell.
“Yeah”, he said after a pause. Still staring at the floor.
“They wouldn’t do that unless something changed”, you murmured, just enough of a question in your voice to give him room to answer, or not.
Mark swallowed. Then, after a long, dragging silence, he finally said, “It grew”. The words dropped like concrete between you. He kept his eyes fixed on a spot on the carpet, like if he looked at you, it would make it more real. “They did a scan this morning”. He exhaled through his nose, shaky. “It’s grown. Not a lot, but enough. Enough to explain the growing headaches. The tension. Why it doesn’t let up”. Your breath caught.
He kept going, flat and clinical, like if he stripped the emotion from it, it would hurt less. “They’re adjusting the medication to try and keep the swelling down, manage the symptoms. But it’s not just stress or sleep or… whatever I was pretending it was”. He finally looked at you. “It’s the tumor. It’s active”.
You nodded slowly, your throat tight, eyes stinging, but you held it together. For him.
“They told me while I was still sitting in that damn exam chair. Like it was just another Tuesday”.
You reached up and touched his face gently, fingers brushing along his jaw. “You should’ve told me right away”.
“I didn’t want to drop that on you”, he said, voice cracking at the edges. “You’ve got enough to carry without this too”.
“You are not a burden”, you whispered. “This isn’t something you go through alone”.
He looked at you like he didn’t know how to believe that. Like he wanted to, but didn’t trust the ground beneath his feet enough to stand on it.
“I didn’t want to see your face when I said it”, he admitted quietly. “Didn’t want to see the fear. The way you’d start doing the math. How many good days are left. What comes next”.
You swallowed hard, your throat burning.
“And now that you’ve said it”, you whispered, “you don’t have to carry it by yourself”.
Mark closed his eyes, shoulders curling forward, like the truth weighed more than he expected it to. You wrapped your arm around his back, hand flat against the scarred line between his shoulder blades.
“Still”, he hissed, barely audible, like the words were scraping their way out of his chest, “I won’t see her grow up”.
You froze. The baby monitor in your lap gave a quiet crackle, Ally shifting softly in her sleep. But you… you didn’t move. Not at first.
Because you’d heard those words in your head before. Late at night when he was curled around you, jaw tight with pain he swore he could handle. You’d thought them, feared them, buried them deep beneath diapers and feedings and pills and quiet hope.
But he said them now. Out loud. And it broke you.
You hadn’t cried in weeks. Not through the sleepless nights, the postpartum aches, the hospital visits. Not through the helplessness. Not even when he’d flinched from your touch, lost in a storm his body couldn’t quiet.
But this? This cracked you open. Tears streaked down your cheeks without warning, without sound. Your throat clenched, but you didn’t make a noise. You just sat there, hand still resting on his back, as your heart broke in real time.
Because he was right. He wouldn’t see her first day of school. Or teach her how to ride a bike. Or threaten the first boy who broke her heart.
He wouldn’t be there for the long days, the lazy weekends, the years you always pictured stretched out in front of you like a promise.
And you wouldn’t get to grow old with him. You wouldn’t grow anything with him, except this fragile moment and the memories that would never be enough.
Mark turned, his brow furrowed, his mouth parting like he was going to apologize, or take it back, or fix it somehow. But he saw your face, saw the tears, and he didn’t speak.
He just reached for you. And you let him. You folded into his arms like you’d been waiting to fall apart in them. His grip was tight, desperate, like he needed you just as much as you needed him, and for a long time, neither of you said anything. Just breathing. Just hurting. Together.
“I’m sorry”, he whispered eventually. “I didn’t mean to say it like that”.
“You’re right”, you choked out. “You’re right and I hate it. I hate that I can’t stop this. That you’re in pain all the time. That we’re counting months when we should have had decades”.
Mark held you tighter, his forehead pressed to the side of your head. “I wanted forever with you”, he whispered. “I still do”. His lips brushed against your temple. “I love you”, he whispered.
-
Three weeks later, the world had kept moving.
Your body had finally caught up, mostly. You could stand without wincing, bend without holding your breath, walk without gripping the wall. Healing had come slow, slower than you wanted, but it had come. Even though rest was never really an option, not with a newborn, not with him hurting too.
Mark had gone back to work at the LAPD. You’d fought him on it, gently, then not so gently, but he’d made his case the way he always did. Quiet conviction, stubborn logic, eyes that said please don’t take this from me.
The new dosage helped. Enough to make the pain manageable. Enough that he could function again, carry a badge, wear the holster. Enough to pretend.
And so today, with Ally strapped in her car seat, dressed in a little onesie that said “Daddy’s Backup”, you decided to visit the station.
You wanted to make memories. As many as you could. Any that would stay. For her. For you. For him.
You walked through those familiar glass doors with a tired smile and a baby bag slung over your shoulder, and right away, you spotted Nyla and Angela, leaning over their desks, mid-argument about something judging by their faces.
But the second they saw you, everything stopped.
“Oh my God”, Angela lit up, walking over with that easy warmth that had always made you feel at home. “Look who’s here!”.
Nyla followed, grinning. “If it isn’t our favorite rookie mom”.
You laughed, shifting Ally higher. “She demanded a field trip”.
“She already looks like him”, Nyla said, peeking at Ally with the kind of gentle smile she didn’t show often. “But prettier”.
“Don’t tell him that”, you whispered.
Angela hugged you one-armed, careful not to jostle the baby. “You look good, hon. Tired… but good”.
You nodded, smiling, and tried to pretend that didn’t sting. Because it was true. You were tired. Beyond tired. Not just the kind that came from midnight feedings and napless afternoons. It was in your bones, your blood. You hadn’t slept a full night in weeks. And every time Mark rubbed his temple or went too quiet for too long, it added another crack.
But you smiled anyway. Because that was the job now.
Mark appeared a few seconds later, coming down the hall with a case file in one hand and his badge clipped to his belt. His eyes lit up when he saw you, not just surface level. Lit up.
“There’s my girls”, he said softly, sliding the folder onto a desk and walking toward you.
Angela and Nyla watched the scene unfold with the kind of subtle suspicion only seasoned detectives could manage. Quiet and sharp, tucked behind polite smiles and soft voices. But you caught it anyway.
Because Mark leaned in and kissed your temple, a soft, affectionate press of lips like always, but he didn’t touch Ally. Didn’t reach for her. Didn’t even try. He just stood beside you with his hands in his jacket pockets, smiling like everything was fine. And maybe most people wouldn’t notice. But Nyla? Angela? They clocked it in an instant.
Angela’s gaze dipped from your face to the baby, then flicked to Mark. Nyla tilted her head, subtle but precise, taking in the way he kept an inch too much distance between himself and his daughter, as if proximity might somehow crack her open.
You adjusted Ally in your arm, hoping they wouldn’t ask. Hoping they’d just chalk it up to awkward first-month nerves or exhaustion or something less true. Something less painful.
Mark glanced down at Ally, not moving, not even lifting a hand. And then, with his voice softer than you’d heard it all morning, he looked at you instead and asked, “How are you holding up?”.
Just like that. Not just the small talk kind of how are you, not the “are you getting sleep?” version that people throw around without really meaning it. He meant it. It was in his tone, low and cracked at the edges, the one he used late at night when your hands shook while sterilizing bottles, when you winced trying to get out of bed, when the weight of everything you both carried hovered too close to breaking.
You opened your mouth to answer, something gentle, something brushed-over and functional, but then Ally reacted. She kicked her little feet excitedly, her socked toes twitching against you. Her head turned slightly toward his voice, just enough to make your heart leap, and the corners of her mouth curved. Not a full smile, not even really intentional maybe, but it was there. That little flutter of expression babies do when they hear something they like. Someone they know.
Mark froze. You felt his whole body still next to you, his posture stiffen, his breath catch in his throat. Ally made a soft cooing sound and blinked up at him, wide-eyed, content.
Just then, the hallway phone rang, slicing through the quiet moment like a warning. Angela turned first, already reaching for her belt radio. Nyla followed, expression shifting instantly from soft to sharp, like a light switch had flipped.
“That’s us”, Nyla said, already moving. “Captain wants us in the briefing room five minutes ago”.
Angela glanced back at you mid-step, her expression apologetic. “Don’t go anywhere. I want more baby cuddles”.
“We’ll catch up”, Nyla added quickly, eyes flicking between you and Mark with something deeper behind them.
Then they were gone, leaving the three of you standing in the echo of their absence.
It was quiet again. Still. And fragile.
You looked up at Mark, and he was already watching you. But not just watching, pleading.
Not with words. Not even with body language. Just his eyes. Wide and uncertain and nearly begging. Begging you to tell him what to do. Begging for a sign he hadn’t already ruined it.
Begging for permission to keep trying.
For a moment, you just held his gaze. You didn’t say anything. Instead, you shifted Ally ever so slightly, turned her toward him more fully, and gently rested your free hand over his, guiding it again, like you had that first night in the nursery. The night everything cracked and began healing all at once. “She wants you”, you whispered.
Mark’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, eyes flicking back to Ally.
“She smiled at you”, you said again, voice barely a breath now. “Don’t let one mistake… one moment… steal the rest of them from you”.
Mark looked down at Ally, really looked. Her little eyes were blinking slow now, her body beginning to curl into you like she was thinking about sleep again, soothed by the sound of his voice, the rhythm of your arms.
“She doesn’t remember”, you whispered. “But you will. You’ll remember every time you didn’t try”.
His jaw clenched. You saw the war playing out in his mind, fear versus love, guilt versus longing.
And finally, he reached for her. Both hands out, palms open, the way someone might approach a sacred thing. You passed her into his arms carefully, your heart thudding loud in your chest.
He held her stiffly at first, but she only blinked at the movement, yawned once, then settled against his chest like she belonged there. Because she did.
Mark stood there, arms full of his daughter for the first time in three weeks, and you saw it in his face, the release, the terror, the awe.
“She’s so light”, he murmured. “I forgot how light she is”.
You stepped closer, hand resting at the small of his back. “Don’t forget again”, you said gently. “Please, Mark. Don’t let this time slip past you. We don’t know how much of it we have”.
He didn’t answer. But his arms tightened just a little around her. And that was enough.
That day changed something. Something quiet shifted back into place. And you saw it as soon as he walked through the front door that evening. Mark barely got the keys onto the hook before his eyes landed on you, Ally nestled in your arms, still drowsy from her late afternoon nap.
He didn’t say a word. He just crossed the room in long strides, gently slipped her from your hold, and pulled her tight to his chest like he’d been holding his breath all day just to do this. She didn’t even fuss. She just blinked sleepily up at him, made a soft sound, that little sigh she always made when she was exactly where she wanted to be.
And he didn’t let her go. Not for hours.
You tried, gently at first. "Dinner’s almost ready, let me take her while you eat". But he just shook his head, barely glancing up from where he sat on the couch, Ally curled against his shoulder, her tiny hand fisted in his shirt. “Nope”, he said, quiet but firm. “I’ve got her”.
You made plates. You sat beside him. You even offered dessert. Nothing.
He kept one arm around her, the other absently running along her back.
You watched him talk to her, low, steady murmurs. Stories, maybe. Confessions. Things she couldn’t understand yet but would sink into her bones anyway.
At one point, you asked if he wanted a break.
He only shook his head. “I missed enough already”.
So you let him have this.
-
It had been a good week. Better than the ones before, at least.
Mark had been steady, still tired, still worn thin at the edges, but present. He was holding Ally more, feeding her, changing her. He even insisted on doing the bedtime routine most nights, saying it helped his head somehow, “like white noise with a heartbeat”, he’d joked once, holding her while she babbled up at the ceiling fan.
You’d watched the pieces of him slowly click back into place, one by one. Quiet smiles. Late-night stories. Even sleep, sometimes.
But it never lasted.
The tumor had its own rhythm. And that night, it struck back hard.
You heard the water running before you heard the silence, the kind of silence that makes your gut clench. The kind that feels wrong.
You were just finishing up cleaning bottles in the kitchen when something changed. The soft splashing stopped. No babble. No Mark talking in that low, steady voice he used during bath time. Then a thud. Not loud. Just enough.
You dropped the bottle brush in the sink and moved fast, wiping your hands on your pants as you rushed down the hallway, heart already in your throat.
You pushed open the bathroom door. He was crouched over the tub, one hand gripping the edge of it like he was trying to hold up the house. His other arm was still wrapped around Ally’s slippery body, soaked and pink and wriggling, but safe. Barely.
He was frozen there, face pale and jaw locked.
You didn’t speak at first. You also didn’t move too fast. Didn’t panic and didn’t shout.
Because you knew Mark. You knew that if you rushed him, if you reached too suddenly or said the wrong thing, he might try to push through the pain instead of surrendering to it. And pushing through it tonight might mean losing his grip.
And Ally was still in the water. Still wide awake. Still kicking her little legs in lazy circles, sending ripples across the tub, completely unaware that her father was fighting a war behind his eyes.
But you’d be lying if you said your heart wasn’t hammering in your chest. Because she could slip. Because he was that close.
You knelt slowly beside him, your voice low and steady, the way you used to speak to him when he came home after the long, violent cases. The ones that left him trembling under the surface. “Hey”, you said gently. “You’re doing great. You’ve got her. Just breathe”.
His jaw was clenched so tight it looked like it hurt to keep his teeth together. His eyes were glassy and bloodshot, locked on the space just above the water, not quite focused.
“I can’t see straight”, he ground out, barely a whisper. “It hit so fast, I didn’t… I didn’t feel it coming this time”.
You moved closer, hand brushing his forearm. “I’m gonna take her now, okay? You’re okay. She’s okay. Just let me help”.
For one terrifying second, he didn’t move. Then, carefully, so carefully, he shifted back just enough to let you reach under Ally’s arms and lift her from the tub. Her little body was slick, warm, and wiggling, but she was safe. Your arms were steady. You tucked her against your chest, her towel already waiting.
Mark finally sat back on his heels, one hand pressed to the tile wall like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
You watched his face. The pain was carved into it now, raw and deep, drawn in the heavy crease between his brows, the paleness under his skin, the way sweat had started to bead along his hairline.
You wrapped Ally in her towel, rubbing her gently, then glanced back at him. “I’m gonna finish her up and get her down”, you said softly. “Then we’re going to bed. You’re going to bed”.
He didn’t argue. He didn’t nod either. He just lowered his head for a second, breath stuttering like he couldn’t get enough air. Then finally whispered, “I almost dropped her”.
“You didn’t”.
“But I could’ve”.
You knelt beside him again, Ally now mostly dry and swaddled against your shoulder, and brushed his hair back with your fingers.
Mark’s breathing was shallow now, almost silent, his shoulders hunched, head still dipped low like the weight of what almost happened, or what could’ve, had finally caved in on him.
“Mark”, you said quietly, your hand still resting at the back of his neck. “Look at me”.
He did, eventually. Slowly. His eyes were glassy and rimmed red, not from tears, from shame.
“She’s fine”, you said. “You are fine”.
He looked down at Ally, tucked peacefully into your chest now, her damp hair curling at her forehead, one tiny fist clutching the edge of the towel like she had no idea the last few minutes had ever been anything but ordinary.
“I shouldn’t be holding her during bath time”, he said. “If it can hit like that—”.
“No”, you cut in, sharper than you meant to. But you didn’t back off. “You don’t get to do that. Not right now”.
His eyes flicked up to yours, startled by the edge in your voice.
“You’re giving yourself not nearly enough credit”, you said, softer this time, but steady. “Mark, you’re still cleared for field duty. You drive a squad car. You carry a badge, a gun. You’re not walking around like a damn liability. You’re not fragile. You’re not a—what? A potato? You’re not useless”.
He blinked, caught off guard. “A… potato?”.
“Yes”, you snapped, but it made him crack the faintest hint of a smile. “Exactly. You’re not helpless. You’re not a ticking time bomb. You’re a man dealing with something hard, and doing it better than most people ever could. You didn’t freeze tonight, Mark. You responded. That’s what matters”.
He opened his mouth, probably to deflect or self-blame again, but you shook your head and leaned in closer, eyes locked on his.
“You knew something was wrong. And you didn’t hesitate. That’s not failing. That’s exactly what you’d do for anyone you were trying to protect — and tonight it was your daughter”.
His shoulders slumped, something in him softening. “She’s just so… small”, he murmured.
“She is. And you still didn’t drop her”.
Mark rubbed at his temple, wincing slightly. “It felt like the floor dropped out from under me”.
“But you held on”, you said. “That’s the part you’re not letting yourself see. You’re so busy tearing yourself apart over what could’ve happened, you’re ignoring what did. Which is that you made the right call. And she’s okay”.
He looked at Ally again. Her eyelids were drooping now, content and warm in your arms, her hand still loosely curled against your collarbone. “She doesn’t even know”, he whispered.
“Nope”, you said, brushing her cheek with your thumb. “All she knows is she had a warm bath and both her parents were there”.
He nodded slowly, the weight on his chest easing just slightly, even if it didn’t go away entirely. It never really did.
“You’re not broken, Mark”, you said gently. “You’re tired. You’re in pain. And you’re scared. But you are not weak. And you are not out of time yet”.
You shifted Ally slightly in your arms, her head tucking instinctively into the crook of your neck, her breath warm and even. You looked back at Mark, still crouched against the tile wall, the pain written plain on his face, but so was the need. That quiet, steady need to still be her dad, even if everything in him ached.
You reached down with your free hand, gently touching his wrist. “Do you want to go lie down?”, you asked softly. “Or do you want to help get her ready for bed?”.
He hesitated. You could see the war flicker behind his eyes again. The pounding in his head wasn’t gone, you knew that. He was pale, still breathing a little shallow. But he was fighting to stay in it. Fighting for her. For you.
Mark glanced at Ally, at the way her hand was fisted gently into the edge of your shirt, then back up at you. His voice was rough, but steady. “I want to help get her ready”.
You gave him a small smile, nodding. “Okay”, you said. “We’ll go slow”.
He started to shift, bracing one hand on the tub edge as he got to his feet. You stayed right beside him, close enough to catch him if he wobbled, though you didn’t reach out unless he asked.
Mark straightened, wincing once, hand automatically going to his temple before he forced it down again. He didn’t want her to see him in pain, even if she wouldn’t remember, even if she couldn’t understand. It mattered to him.
“Will you stay close?”, he asked as you stepped into the nursery, voice barely audible now.
“Always”, you said. And you meant it.
You handed her to him slowly, carefully, watching how his hands instinctively adjusted under her weight, how his shoulders squared despite the ache. And how her body molded to his without hesitation.
She made a soft, happy little noise, not quite awake, not quite asleep, and Mark breathed in deep through his nose like the sound alone grounded him.
“Okay”, he whispered to her, brushing a kiss against her damp hair. “Let’s get you into pajamas, troublemaker”.
You sat on the edge of the rocker nearby, watching as he gently laid her on the changing pad. He didn’t rush or fumble. Every movement was deliberate.
His pain hadn’t left. You could still see it. But right now, he was her dad. And nothing could take that from him.
You watched from the rocker, and your heart cracked. Not from sadness, but from everything in between. The way he looked at her, like she was a miracle he still wasn’t sure he deserved. Like she was the most fragile and fierce thing in the world.
You knew he loved her. Just like you knew he loved you.
But love didn’t always show up in grand gestures. Not when his body was at war with itself. Not when the tumor had carved out quiet corners in his mind where he got stuck more and more often, even on the good days. Especially on the good days.
Because those were the ones where he felt the weight of what he might lose.
He fastened the last snap on her onesie and scooped her up again, resting her against his chest, her cheek smushed into the crook of his neck. Her tiny fist curled against his collarbone like she was holding on for dear life, even in her sleep.
Mark closed his eyes for a second. And you saw the way his jaw tightened, the way he breathed her in like she was the only thing anchoring him to the present.
He sat down beside you on the edge of the bed, Ally still nestled in his arms, and stared at nothing for a long moment.
Then, quietly, like the words had been living inside his chest for too long, he spoke.
“I know I’m failing you”.
You blinked, your throat tightening. “What?”.
He didn’t look at you. Just kept his eyes on the baby monitor’s soft blue light across the room. “I don’t mean with this”, he said, adjusting Ally gently in his arms. “Not just this. I mean you. The way I’ve been. I’m not—”. He sighed. “I’m not really here, even when I’m here. I’m not showing up for you like I should. Not as your husband. Not as your person”.
You sat forward, placing a hand over his thigh, grounding him. “Mark—”.
“I feel it”, he cut in, voice quieter now. “I know when I pull away. When I don’t touch you the way I used to. When I don’t ask how you really are. When I sleep too far on the edge of the bed. I feel myself going… somewhere else. And I hate it”.
Your heart broke for him in that moment, not from pity. From recognition. Because you’d felt it too. The nights where he was beside you in body but not in soul. The distance that wasn’t physical. The way he’d hold Ally like she was the sun and then sit in silence for an hour, unreachable.
You squeezed his leg gently. “You’re not failing me”.
“I am”. He finally looked at you, eyes raw, like saying it out loud cost him something deep. “I don’t know how to be a dad and a patient and your husband all at once. I don’t even feel like a man some days. Just… this thing walking around trying not to fall apart”.
You moved closer, resting your head on his shoulder, hand curling over his arm where Ally slept. “You’re not a thing”, you said softly. “You’re him. You’re mine. And you’re hers. And you’re doing so much more right than you think”.
He let out a long breath, eyes fluttering shut as he leaned his cheek gently against the top of your head. “I want to be better for you”, he whispered. “Not just show up. Be there. Really there. For all of it”.
“You are here”, you said. “Maybe not the way we used to know it. But you’re still fighting. Still loving. Still holding us together in the ways that matter”.
His grip on Ally tightened just slightly. She snuggled deeper into his chest.
“I’m scared”, he admitted, voice cracking.
Hi, Lou! Btw, HUGE FAN, love your fanfics. I was wondering if you can write a prequel to your soldier boy fanfic, “fucking brats”, I REALLY need to know how the fuck did Ben and Y/N meet, did they date when she was 17, or started seeing each other at 18 and got knocked up within that year, I have so many questions about them as a couple, please and thank you!
Hello Love 💙
thank you so so so much! 💙💙💙 And yes!
I finally finished the 8-part prequel "Before".
it covers how ben and y/n met, the slow burn, all the tension and how they eventually got together. (I don´t want to spoiler too much)
Hopefully you’ll enjoy the series!
I´ll post the first chapter in a few days. (After „Beekeeper“ & after the last chapter of „The hardest thing“)
