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wobblingjello · 2 months ago

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Operation Lover Boy: Declassified

Summary: BAU’s resident genius hid something from the team. As #1 Office Informant, Penelope Garcia swore she would get the truth out of him. Or Spencer had a secret girlfriend, and the team was about to find out.

Genre: Humor (kind of) with a dash of fluff

Pairing: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2638

Warnings: Mention of Spencer got shot, but he was fine, and it was kind of important to the plot.

Author Notes: This one is so much fun to write!!! The majority of this fanfic was written from Garcia’s POV, but I added a tiny bit of Spencer’s POV at the end of it.

Penelope might not be a profiler, but as (self-proclaimed) #1 Office Informant, who knew every tittle-tattle in each nook of the office, she sensed that the Boy Wonder hid something from the team (her) — she hasn’t figured out what yet. That, the part that bothered her the most. She didn’t like secrets when it came to her family. She understood that Reid was a private person, but what if the thing he hid from the team (her) got him into trouble? She just wanted to be a good friend, you know?

She noticed it around 2 months ago. It was subtle, and almost went on unnoticed at first. Right after Hotch said wheels up, Reid pulled out his phone from his pocket and texted someone. She initially thought he just needed to contact someone from the care facility his mother was in. But then it happened every single time just like clockwork. He always texted someone before they went to wherever the case whisked them away. In all the years Penelope has known the Boy Wonder, she never saw him texting someone that often, especially during office hours.

The text thing wasn’t the only one that she noticed, of course. Next was the fact that Reid has stopped hanging out in the bullpen after office hours. Shocking. She couldn’t believe her eyes when that happened. Most of the time he was no longer on his desk when Penelope walked to the elevator. What could he possibly be doing?

The last thing, and definitely the most shocking one happened when the team just finished a case in Portland last week. It was common for the team to go back to the office when they finished a case. But that wasn’t what happened that day. Once they were landed, Reid went straight home.

JJ said it was something to do with a new book he needed to pick up at the bookstore before closing time. Sure it was common knowledge that Boy Genius loved books, if he could live in the library, he probably would. Back to the main point, it’d take less than an hour if he came down to the office first, and she was certain that the bookstore would still be open by then.

What frustrated her even further was she had zero idea how he behaved on the field recently. The disadvantages of a desk job. Did he act differently? Did he also secretly text someone when the team was building the profile of their UnSub? She definitely needed an additional set of eyes and ears on the field. And who would fit this role better than her favorite Chocolate Thunder, hm?

The team was currently in San Diego, dealing with yet another serial killer. Morgan just happened to call her to do some digging, in hope it’d help build their profile further. Perfect timing. A little chit-chat with your colleague during working hours wouldn’t hurt, right?

“Hey, before you go… Do you, perhaps, notice something going on with Reid?”

“What about Reid?”

Penelope immediately caught the change of tone in his voice. The playfulness in his voice was gone, and replaced with a concerned one. She knew how protective Morgan could be, especially when it came to Reid, and she felt bad for making him think something bad happened.

“No-no-no, I promise it’s not something bad. Well, I hope it’s not.”

“Garcia, what’s going on?”

So, she told him everything. Every little detail she had observed the last 2 months. How it drove her insane that she hadn’t figured out what was happening.

“Ah. I see.”

“Derek.” Her voice was firm even through the phone. “Do you know something I don’t?”

“Well, now that you mentioned it. When we shared a room in Portland, he was almost never in the room by the time I finished my shower. Every time I asked him, he either said he just needed some air or took a phone call.”

“Is this what I think it is?” She gasped as she came to a realization. “I don’t even want to say it out loud — afraid I might jinx it.”

“You think Pretty Boy hides a Pretty Girl from all of us?”

If anyone listened close enough, they would recognize her squeal through the phone. “OH GOD. Is this really happening to our Einstein?”

“Maybe. I can keep an eye on him for you.”

“You know me too well. This is why I love you.”

“Alright, baby girl, I gotta go.”

Throughout the investigation, as promised, Morgan kept feeding Penelope new information. Thanks to the additional findings from him, her suspicion was correct. Reid had been constantly texting someone while on duty. Not all the time, of course. But he’d make time to take a little break to text someone.

When they were back to the hotel, as expected, Reid left the room again once Morgan took a shower. One time, after his shower, Morgan searched for Reid, and found him in the lobby, making a phone call. He lingered for a bit, and discovered that Boy Genius was apologizing to whoever he had a phone call with — explaining that unfortunately it took them longer to solve the case, so he wouldn’t be back any time soon. Based on Morgan’s observation, he definitely talked to a special lady friend.

After 6 long days, the team finally managed to catch the UnSub. When they cornered the UnSub, unfortunately Reid got shot on his arm — they had to stay another night until the hospital discharged him. Hotch had instructed him to take a few days off, starting effectively the moment they were back to Quantico.

Penelope, as the best friend that she was, had suggested that if they didn’t have any pre-existing plans on the weekend, they should go visit Reid together. Sadly, not all the team members could go. With Morgan and Emily on both of her sides, they stood in front of Reid’s apartment door.

After a few knocks, the door was finally opened. They had expected Boy Genius to open the door, probably in his pajamas or any comfy loungewear he’d usually wear at home. What they didn’t expect however was a woman, wearing a CalTach hoodie (most definitely his hoodie) and shorts, opening the door. You looked completely cozy at his apartment. Emily even did a double-take on the apartment number, in case they knocked on the wrong door.

“Hey. Are you guys Spencer’s friends?” The sweet girl hesitantly asked them.

“Yes. We work with him.” Emily chimed in, and they could hear the amusement in her voice.

“Oh! The BAU! Come in. He’s still asleep though.” You stepped aside to let them in.

As the 3 of them stood in the living room, they watched you go to what they assumed was Reid’s bedroom. They heard some noise from inside the room, you probably tried to wake him up.

The grin that had taken its rightful place on Penelope’s face from the moment you opened the front door hadn’t faded — her face started to hurt a little, but she didn’t care. Dr. Spencer Reid actually hid a girlfriend from them!

“Do you know about any of this?” Emily whispered from her right.

“Uh-hu, I had suspected it for almost 2 months.”

After a while, you re-emerged from the bedroom, Reid was hot on your tail. That was also the moment he realized that the two of you had companies.

“Hm, hey, guys.” Reid stood awkwardly next to you.

“Pretty Boy is hiding a Pretty Girl from us this entire time?” Morgan’s signature smirk was on full display on his face.

“Right. This is Morgan, Garcia, and Emily.” Clearing his throat, Reid turned toward you, and introduced you. “This is my girlfriend.”

You, who looked completely entertained throughout the exchange, said your name. “Spencer talks about you guys a lot. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Penelope, who had been keeping her excitement at bay, finally exploded. “And we sadly had heard nothing about you, sweet girl. Our Einstein here clearly wants to keep you for himself.”

“I understand that Spencer is a private person, and I want to respect his wish to keep this between us.”

“Can I hug you? Please, I want to hug you.” Penelope looked at you with her pleading eyes.

“Sure.” You chuckled at her request.

They spent the next few hours chatting in Reid’s living room, grilling the couple with many questions regarding their relationship. They all were simultaneously shocked and amazed when they learned that the two of you had been together for 7 months! Boy Wonder managed to keep his relationship private for 7 months. Who would’ve thought?

What actually shocked them the most was when they learned how you two first met. Apparently, from time to time you did dog-sitting, and you usually took the dogs for a walk to this one particular park. That was where you met Reid.

One fateful day, the dog you took to the park ran towards Reid and quite literally knocked him off of the bench. You immediately apologized to him, and offered if there was something you could do to make it up to him. He easily brushed it off, saying it was nobody’s fault. With a funny twist of fate, you two kept seeing each other in that park from that day on. At some point, Reid finally gathered his courage, and asked if you were single. Once you said yes, he asked again whether or not you wanted to go on a date with him. The rest was history.

Their conversation flew effortlessly, bouncing from one topic to another. They shared some (embarrassing) stories about Reid to you. As if it was possible, his ears visibly got redder with each story they shared. You seemed to enjoy the whole interaction. Seeing this side of Boy Wonder, one where he engaged with his closest friends, you’ve never seen before.

Penelope just had to tell you how happy she was knowing that Reid had you in his life. He smiled at that statement. A smile that she had never seen before. Surely it was something that was intended to be kept for a more intimate moment between the two of you.

Not only did they share stories of Reid, they also asked some questions about you. They wanted to know more about the woman who clearly had stolen the heart of one Dr. Spencer Reid. So you told them about where you grew up, what kind of job you do, what you do in your spare time, and many more.

You even confirmed that yes indeed Boy Genius always texted you before the team traveled to deal with the bad guy. Another shocking truth when you revealed it was actually his idea to have a nightly phone call when he was away. Who would’ve thought that Reid was a romantic?

“You do realize that once this story reaches the rest of the team, you have to retell it all over again for them, right?” Morgan teased him.

“Right. It’s only fair for them to hear it, too.” Emily added in.

“I hate you guys.” Reid groaned, then buried his face in his hands.

“No, you don’t.” Penelope cheerfully responded. “Once JJ knows about this too, we should have a girl’s night!” This time she talked to you.

“Sure.” — “No!” The two of you answered at the same time.

It caused all of you to burst out laughing, well except for Reid. In defeat, he threw his head to the back of the couch. Accepting the impending endless teasing from the team that he was sure wouldn’t die down any time soon. She caught how you brushed his knuckles, perhaps trying to calm him. A soft smile adorned Penelope’s face at the loving gesture.

When it was time for them to go home, you two walked them to the front door. To Reid’s dismay, of course Penelope had to ask for your number before they left — really solidified the upcoming girl’s night that could happen any time soon.

“See you on Monday, Lover Boy.” Morgan waved at you two as he walked towards the stairs.

“I’ll text you later, sweet girl.”

---

Once the door was closed, Spencer wanted to hit his head on the door so badly. This was exactly why he kept his relationship private. Not that he was ashamed of you, or his relationship �� no, he loved you dearly. However he had a noisy group of friends. He knew this would eventually happen, but still, he wished he could keep it private for a bit longer.

Probably sensing his distress, you turned him around so he’d look at you. “It wasn’t that bad. I like seeing your friends, and they’re clearly happy for you. For us.” Clearing your throat, before continuing. “It also makes me happy knowing it’s me that makes you happy.”

He gently stroked your cheek, and pleased when you immediately leaned into his touch. “Of course you make me happy, sweetheart. I guess I’m doing such a poor job on showing how grateful I am to have you in my life if you ever doubt that.” He kissed your forehead, and his lips lingered seconds too long. “I love you.”

“I love you too, genius. I hope you’re ready for Monday.”

“Please don’t remind me.”

A serial killer didn’t catch a break over the weekend unfortunately, because Hotch had contacted the team to gather in the round-table room first thing first on Monday. On the other hand, Spencer was thankful, it meant they would immediately discuss the case, and they wouldn’t have time to tease him about his relationship.

This time, the case would take them to Austin. The local PD had requested the assistance of the BAU on their ongoing investigation. Once Hotch announced wheels up, and the team was about to get ready, Garcia however stopped them. She encouraged him to tell the rest of the team. They were back to their seats, and staring at him with knowing looks. Fantastic.

So, dejectedly he disclosed his relationship to the rest of the team. There were a few gasps from JJ and Rossi who weren’t at his apartment then. Even Hotch looked somewhat pleased with this newest discovery.

“Go on, Lover Boy. Aren’t you going to text your girl?” Of course it was Morgan who started it.

“I can’t believe you managed to keep it private this long, kid.” Rossi joined in.

“Maybe we should grab a drink when we’re back, and invite her to join us, Spence.” JJ added with amusement in her voice.

“Oh, that’s a fun idea! You better tell her soon, Doc. If you don’t, remember that I have her phone number, and I’ll definitely do it.” Garcia threatened him but with so much glee in her tone.

With a long heavy sigh, Spencer admitted his defeat. “Fine. I’ll tell her.”

One by one, the team started leaving the room — getting their stuff ready for the trip. Morgan patted his back before leaving the room. Spencer still sat in his seat, pulling out his phone to text you.

Spencer [08:47]: We’re going to Austin this time. You [08:48]: Please be safe. Did you survive the interrogation? Spencer [08:49]: I will. It could’ve been worse. The whole team wants to meet you when we’re back. Garcia threatened me that she’ll personally contact you if I don’t inform you. You [08:50]: Do you think I should meet them? Spencer [08:51]: Yes, but only if you’re comfortable with it. You [08:52]: Well, I guess I’ll see everyone when the case is over.

Spencer put his phone back in his pocket. The corner of his mouth quirked up. Maybe it wasn’t so bad that the team now knew about you.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #penelope garcia #derek morgan #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #david rossi #aaron hotchner #secret relationships

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fandomtrumpshate · 1 month ago

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Places you can help this Pride Month!

Happy Pride!

FTH has long prioritized focusing the combined financial support of the fandom community on small organizations where a few thousand - or even a few hundred - dollars can make a big impact.

To this end, every year we have an "Umbrella Category," where bidders can choose a local organization within our category to support.

This year, our Umbrella was LGBTQ+ organizations, and it was a runaway success! Not only did our suggested orgs get lots of donations, bidders threw their support behind eighty-eight different local organizations.

Because these orgs operate locally, not only do your donations make a big impact, they are often looking for local volunteers! If one is near you, this Pride might be the perfect time to take a look at their volunteer opportunities and see if one is right for you. Even if you can't donate or volunteer right now, it's a good idea to take a look at what organizations and services are in your area, in case you or someone you know ever need support.

Under the cut you will find links to all of the LGBTQ+ organizations our bidders supported this year, organized by location.

There are some larger orgs on the list, often because creators chose them as the one additional organization they are allowed to add to their choices from our list, but most of these operate on a smaller scale.

Check them out!

United States

Nationwide

Advocates for Trans Equality (formerly TLDEF)

It Gets Better

Lambda Legal

Project Rainbow Turtle

Rainbow Railroad

The Trevor Project

Trans Lifeline

Transgender Law Center

Arizona

TransQueerPueblo

California

Lavender Youth Recreation Information Center

Los Angeles LGBT Center

Sherlock's Homes Foundation

Side by Side

The San Diego LGBT Community Center

TransFamily Support Services

Colorado

Rainbow Broomfield

The Center on Colfax

The Trans Continental Pipeline

Florida

Zebra Youth

Illinois

Brave Space Alliance

Howard Brown Health

LIAM foundation

Indiana

Indiana Youth Group

Iowa

One Iowa Education Fund

Kentucky

Kentucky Health Justice Network Inc

Maine

Trans Youth Equality Foundation

Michigan

LGBT Detroit

Ruth Ellis Center

Minnesota

Reclaim

Missouri

Metro Trans Umbrella Group

Our Spot KC

Planned Parenthood Great Rivers

Promo

The Center Project

Nevada

Build Our Center, Inc

New York

Sage Upstate

The Ali Forney Center

True Colors

North Carolina

Campaign for Southern Equality (serves across the south)

Charlotte Trans Health

The Queer Mobilization Fund (serves across the southeast)

Time Out Youth

Oklahoma

Oklahomans for Equality

Oregon

New Avenues For Youth

Outside In

Westside Queer Resource Center

South Carolina

Harriet Hancock Center

Tennessee

The Foxhole Fund

Texas

Transgender Education Network of Texas

Vermont

We Are Out in the Open

Washington

Gender Justice League

Lambert House

Washington, DC

SMYAL

Wisconsin

Courage MKE

LGBT Books to Prisoners

Canada

Nationwide

Egale Canada

Rainbow Railroad

PFLAG Canada

Alberta

Pride Centre of Edmonton

Skipping Stone

British Columbia

Rainbow Refugee Society

Ontario

Capital Rainbow Refuge

Pieces to Pathways

The 519

Quebec

Centre Communautaire LGBTQ+ de Montréal

Aotearoa/New Zealand

InsideOUT

OutLine

Rainbow Youth

Australia

Beyond Bricks & Bars

BlaQ

Minus18

Open Doors Youth Service

Twenty 10 Sydney

Austria

ST. PRIDE

Germany

Bundesverband Trans* e.V.

Lambda Bund

Queeres Netzwerk NRW

SCHMIT-Z

vielbunt e.V.

Ireland

Equality for Children

LGBT IE

Netherlands

COC Nederland

Transgender Netwerk Nederland

Russia

Translyaciya

United Kingdom

Across UK

akt (formerly Albert Kennedy Trust)

Galop

Mermaids

Rainbow Migration

England

MindOut LGBTQ

Spectra London

The Brunswick Centre

TransLeeds

X-Plore

Northern Ireland

Cara-Friend

The Rainbow Project

Scotland

LGBT Health & Wellbeing

#happy pride 🌈#pride month #umbrella category #umbrella group: lgbtq orgs #fth 2025 #supported org

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 year ago

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Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 9: Some Days He Feels Like Dying]

A/N: Below are your guesses...let's see how you did!!! 🥰😘

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon™️, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Extraordinary Girl” by Green Day.

Word count: 8.3k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

Let’s go back to the beginning of the end of the world.

On the big-screen tv in the Liberty Center at Saratoga Springs, Wolf Blitzer is saying: “We are receiving confirmation of additional outbreaks of the so-called Florida Fever, the first cases of which here in the U.S. were reported in Miami a little over one week ago. Concern is now growing nationally, especially as the modes of transmission, symptoms, and treatment options remain unclear. Let’s go across the country to Natasha Chen for the latest information. Natasha?”

“Hi, Wolf. I’m here outside the UC San Diego Medical Center where early this morning, two individuals suspected to be suffering from the illness were admitted. I’ve been informed by hospital staff that both patients are currently in stable condition, but there is still so much confusion and conflicting information regarding this ‘Florida Fever,’ and of course that uncertainty is leading to fear, rumors, and honestly a bit of hysteria. Even how to refer to the sickness is controversial, with no official name having been decided upon by scientists. Cases in Australia are known as Ragepox, the U.K. has dubbed it the 21st Century Sweat after a mysterious disease from the 1500s, and Russia is calling it the Ukrainian Flu while Ukraine has opted for the Russian Red Rot, inspired by the skin lesions that some patients experience.”

“Can you tell us what we do know, Natasha? Are doctors classifying this illness as a virus, or as a bacterial infection more akin to tuberculosis or meningitis?”

“At this time, what I’m hearing is that doctors are fairly certain it’s a virus, as patients do not seem to respond to antibiotics when they’ve been explored as a potential treatment. But there’s truly very little information at this early stage, and I think we’re all being reminded of those first days of the Covid-19 pandemic, when no one really knew how to best to avoid contracting the virus or what the long-term effects would be both nationally and globally.”

“There are absolutely some similarities, Natasha, which I’m sure is contributing to the unease surrounding the situation. What precautions are doctors currently recommending?”

“Wolf, doctors are urging the public not to panic, and to exercise common sense measures like avoiding crowded spaces, sanitizing surfaces, and staying home if they’re feeling unwell. Suspected cases of the illness should be reported to primary physicians or local hospitals. Typical symptoms appear to include headaches, fever, gastrointestinal upset, skin discoloration and blistering, and unusual bleeding, as well as behavioral changes, particularly disorientation, aggression, and even violence in some patients…”

“That ain’t what it is,” Rio says. He jabs his index finger at the tv from where he sits on the couch beside you. “Snowflake wasn’t sick, he was dead. He was motherfucking dead, flatline, code blue, crossed the rainbow bridge, he was gone. He was dead and then he woke back up, and he wasn’t a person anymore. He was…something else.”

“Dumbass, people don’t come back from the dead,” Mike says from the ping pong table. People are milling around pretending to play pool, darts, chess, poker, Monopoly, Uno, Parcheesi, but really you’re all here for the same reason. You want to know what’s happening.

Rio turns to you. “Wasn’t Snowflake dead?”

“He definitely seemed dead,” you reply, knees tucked to your chest and still watching the tv. Wolf Blitzer’s voice is calm, but his pale blue eyes have a manic sort of light to them, too large and too rattled.

“Man, fuck Florida,” says Desmond, a utilitiesman born and raised Trenton, New Jersey. “Nothing but psychos and alligators. Saw them off of Georgia and just let them float away.”

“What was that?” Tyler replies combatively. He’s from a trailer park in Tallahassee.

“Ty, why do you care? You’d be fine. You’re already up here. You can stay.”

“They’re lying,” Rio mutters, meaning Wolf and Natasha on CNN. “When the corpsmen called the hospital, they said to be prepared to restrain Snowflake and that he might try to bite us. Why aren’t they warning people about that?!”

Kayleigh, a steelworker from Oklahoma City, looses a frenetic sort of laugh. “Because there’s no non-panic-inducing way to say: Hey, go buy some duct tape and bungee cords to tie up your loved ones, because they might try to fucking eat you.”

Rio doesn’t frown often, but he is now; he slips his phone out of the pocket of his camo pants and types out a WhatsApp message to Sophie. You only know her from photos and quick hellos via video chat, a sweet diminutive woman with white-blonde hair and blue eyes that seem to fill up half her face, as fragile as Rio is overwhelming. She likes baking and romance novels and elephants; whenever Rio finds elephant-themed souveners, he ships them home to Oregon for her, refrigerator magnets and wallets and scarves and snow globes. Sophie wears a lot of long flowing skirts and hand-knit sweaters, and offers strange suggestions when she and Rio discuss baby names: Sage, Fox, Laurel, Coral, Juniper, Karma, Rune, Otter. Otter?! Rio had exclaimed. Babe, if you name our kid Otter, even I’M gonna have to bully them.

“I’m telling Sophie to stay with my parents,” Rio says to you. “They’ve gotten super weird with all the off-the-grid stuff, but they have years’ worth of supplies and grow most of their own food now, and they’re thirty miles from the nearest town. And no one knows how to defend themselves like doomsday preppers.”

“Good idea,” you reply, watching the tv. Now Wolf Blitzer is talking about tornadoes in the Midwest, and you could almost believe the world is normal again.

A few days later all major social media platforms begin censoring content related to the so-called Florida Fever, and then the internet goes down completely, and then the power turns off and on and off again, and finally quits like a car driven to its last mile. The combat units are moved out of Saratoga Springs—never to be heard from again—and the construction projects paused indefinitely, and one of the master-at-arms that Rio is friends with (Rio has a lot of friends, surely you aren’t so remarkable) relays information that he shouldn’t: tales of planned missions, impossible plagues, overrun cities, innumerable deserters in every branch of the U.S. military.

“Hey,” Rio whispers, shaking you awake one night, moonlight streaming through the windows and the pops of distant gunfire you aren’t supposed to ask about. “If I leave, will you come with me?”

It’s a big commitment; it could be a lifetime. You fear he might just be trying not to hurt your feelings. “I don’t want to slow you down.”

“No, you don’t get it,” Rio says. “I’m not leaving without you. Are you going to Oregon by choice, or should I tie you up and throw you in the back of the Humvee?”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s a young one, maybe a teenager, little buds for horns and only weighing a few hundred pounds. This is good; if it was any heavier, Cregan and Rio wouldn’t be able to drag it back to the ranch. You’re still in Red Desert, Wyoming, and the bison are grazing just off I-80, an asphalt artery that cuts through an endless steppe of sand-colored rocks and tall grass. They gaze lazily in your direction with bulbous dark eyes, perpetually chewing, not terribly intelligent. The Colt pistols of the men who found you at the RV had been loaded with 9mm bullets, the same caliber your Berettas take; there weren’t many, but enough to fill both of your clips, something that feels like winning the lottery. You are lying on the rocky, dusty soil and lining up the shot. If you miss, the herd will scatter, and you’ll watch dinner vanish beneath a blue sky—pale like Aemond’s eye, a weak shallow blue—and rough white scars of cirrostratus clouds.

“Feels kind of wrong to kill a baby,” you murmur. Daeron, Luke, Baela, Helaena, and Ice are back at the house. Aemond, Rio, Cregan, Rhaena, and Aegon are here on the ground with you; Aegon insisted upon being brought along, and Rio agreed to carry him. Aegon had never seen American bison outside of the Oregon Trail computer game, those pixelated brown blobs migrating across the screen no more material than unicorns or faeries or basilisks.

“If the baby didn’t want to get killed, it shouldn’t be made of steak,” Aegon points out. He’s on a lot of Vicodin, the only narcotic Aemond could find back in Ogallala, Nebraska.

“No pressure, Chips,” Rio says, chewing on a long blade of little bluestem grass. “If you miss we’re just going to have to eat each other like the Donner Party.”

Aegon wrinkles his nose in confusion. “The what?”

“She won’t miss,” Aemond says, and Rio snickers to himself and gives you a quick wink that no one else notices.

“I don’t think one 9mm bullet will do it,” Cregan mutters. “Cows got thick skulls, I figure bison are the same way. You’ll have to hit it a few times, and before it can take off and disappear on us.”

Aemond casts him a patronizing glance. “And you’ve killed a lot of cows?”

“Oh yeah. Worked in a slaughterhouse for a while before I got hired by the power company. Hated it, went home and could still smell the blood and brains on myself no matter how many times I showered. Couldn’t get out of there fast enough.”

Aemond looks like he regrets asking. Rhaena frowns worriedly at the bison. “Will they charge if someone shoots at them?”

Cregan shrugs. “Probably not.”

“Probably?!”

You squeeze the trigger five times in quick succession, hit the calf thrice, tiny puffs of scarlet mist that spring from its woolly head. It flops over as the rest of the herd jolts into a gallop, kicking up dust and fleeing across the steppe.

“Yes!” Rio booms as everyone applauds. “We’re in business! We’re having ribeyes tonight! Cregan, my good sir, I take mine medium rare.”

“You’re getting well done,” Aemond tells him. “Everyone is. Just in case the bison has parasites.”

Rio groans. “You’re ruining my life, man.” Then he and Cregan trot over to grab the baby bison, each of them taking one of its back hooves.

“So,” Aegon says dreamily. “Now that Rio is preoccupied, who would like to assist me in returning my disgusting, debilitated body to the ranch? Anyone? Anyone?”

Rhaena turns to you. “When we have more bullets, could you give me shooting lessons?”

“Sure,” you reply, a bit startled. “Really? You’re interested?”

“Well…” Rhaena hesitates. “Baela’s always been the brave one. At home, at school, when we were shopping, even when restaurants would mess up my order, Baela would do the talking and make sure I was alright…and I would literally hide behind her waiting for her to solve all my problems. And now…with the baby, with Jace…it’s been really different being the one to help her for a change, and I don’t think I’m very good at it yet. But Baela deserves to have people to lean on, just like I’ve always had her. And…when I stabbed that guy in the RV…I kind of liked it.” She titters nervously when she sees the shock on your face. “No, not like that! Not the killing part, or the gushing blood, that was all super gross. But the fact that I helped protect Baela and Luke? The fact that I wasn’t useless in that situation? That was a good feeling. Baela is clever, and she’s courageous and caring and funny, and she’s always been better than me at everything, and I never minded because she…she was like my own personal superhero, you know? But now I feel like I need to start learning how to do things myself so I can help her. Even if Baela is still better at everything, and probably always will be.”

Aegon grins toothily and pushes his neon green plastic sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. “I know how you feel. It’s pretty impossible to look heroic next to Aemond.”

“Stop,” Aemond says, but he’s smiling, and a bloom of bashful pink blood appears in his cheeks.

“You already took over the driving,” you tell Rhaena encouragingly. “That was a big help.”

“Yeah,” Rhaena replies, a bit pensive. “Let’s hope I can keep that going.” Between the gas Aemond found in Ogallala and what was siphoned from the would-be attackers’ GMC Yukon, you got enough fuel in the Tahoe to take it halfway across Wyoming; but now the gauge is not just at but venturing below the E, and it can’t have more than five or ten miles left. That might not even get you to the next ranch, let alone a proper town. You need a working vehicle. There are nearly a thousand miles between here and Odessa, Oregon.

Aegon is pawing at Aemond like a cat. “Come on, hero. Help me up.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“This is why we’re friends,” Rio tells you as he shovels forkfuls of bison steak into his mouth, juice dribbling down his chin. Cregan gutted the bison and butchered it, then you helped him cook the steaks—not very uniform in size and shape, yet no one is complaining—on a pan heated in the woodstove. You fed the fire with books you found in the house, mostly religious in nature. “You convince me not to commit suicide when we’re stranded on a transmission tower, you share your Cheddar Whales, you’re good at shooting things…”

“How did you two become friends?” Baela asks. You are all arranged around the dining room table; there are just enough chairs for everyone. Ice lies beneath it mauling on bison bones that Cregan set aside for her. The room is illuminated by flashlights. Baela looks great: in good spirits, glowing, alert, wearing a loose cotton dress that Helaena found in an upstairs closet for her. Baela napped most of the day, something she rarely allows herself to indulge in, and the benefits are evident.

Rio says nonchalantly: “I talked to everybody and she barely talked at all. So of course I had to investigate and figure out what that was about. Turns out she’s kind of cool. You know the Wheel of Fortune game at arcades where there’s like a hundred little lights in a circle you have to press the button when the one that says Spin Zone lights up? She’s a freak, she can hit it almost every time. Can’t sink a basketball or sing karaoke to save her life, but you know, we all have flaws.”

Aegon looks up from his map, which he is scrutinizing as he eats his bison steak. “Do you realize that if we could just stop at gas stations like back when everything was normal, we’d be in Odessa or the Bay Area in fifteen hours? Literally less than one day. Fucking unreal. And yet here we are trapped in yee-haw country, freaky giant animals, no civilization but Jesus billboards everywhere, hell on earth.” He holds up a palm. “No offense, Cregan. You’re okay.”

Cregan smiles mildly. “None taken, Fried Foot. You know you’re a little well done yourself these days.”

“That’s ableist,” Aegon replies.

“We’ll find gas tomorrow,” Aemond says. He sounds confident because he has to; he’s not allowed to panic, to give up. He’s seated at the head of the table like a patriarch. His steak is the smallest and the most ragged. He wouldn’t accept any of the others.

You ask Baela: “Have you decided what to name the baby?”

“Kind of.” She rests both hands on her belly, a globe like a full moon. Helaena glances over at Baela, frowning and preoccupied. “If it’s a boy, I’m going to name it after Jace. We had already picked out Theodore…and Teddy for short, isn’t that cute? But now…I’d want him to have that connection to his father. The baby won’t have any pictures of him, or videos, or memories, or papers he wrote in school, or ties or rings or cufflinks, or…anything. But he could have Jace’s name.”

The rest of you nod, eyes downcast and feeling terribly sorry for her. “I really like that idea,” Luke says quietly.

Now Baela is thinking, her gaze traveling around the room as she chews on a cube of streak. “I’m not sure what I’d call a girl. Maybe something naturey like Violet, Rosemary, Ivy, Indigo, Fern…”

“You should name it Otter,” you say, and you and Rio erupt into raucous laughter. Aemond smiles as he watches you.

Baela is grinning uncertainly, trying not to be insensitive. Perhaps people named their kids stuff like Otter where you came from. “Um, sorry, what?!”

“That was one of the baby names on Sophie’s list,” Rio clarifies. “I vetoed it. Or at least…I think she agreed to cross it off…? Oh my God, imagine I finally get to Odessa only to find out my firstborn child has been named Otter.”

“You’d have to turn right back around,” you say. “Total abandonment would be the only honorable choice. We’d have to start over someplace else. I’ve heard Texas is nice.”

Aegon snorts. “You can’t live in Texas. They don’t even have legal weed there.”

Rhaena squints at him. “I don’t really think that’s a concern anymore, Aegon.”

Aegon smacks his forehead theatrically. “Oh no, I forgot about the apocalypse again!”

“So Cregan,” Baela says. “You were planning to vote for Trump.”

Everyone at the table groans. “No politics,” Aemond says.

“They’re all dead now, so it doesn’t matter,” Rhaena adds. “Biden, Kamala, that insane Kennedy brain worm dude, Trump…”

Aegon says: “If I was a zombie, I wouldn’t eat Trump.”

“I just found that interesting,” Baela continues, looking at Cregan like she’s expecting him to explain himself. Rhaena and Luke exchange a nervous glance. Daeron reaches under the table to pet Ice; you can hear her tail thumping cheerfully against the hardwood floor.

“I was a Trump voter, yeah,” Cregan replies between bites of steak. Aemond is studying him uneasily, but Cregan’s baritone voice is calm. “That doesn’t mean I approved of a lot of the things he did and said. I��m not a monster, I don’t believe in mocking people or all that January 6th stuff. But he was good for the economy. Back when Trump was president, groceries were more affordable, and houses were cheaper, and more companies were hiring. If I had tried to move out of my parents’ place in 2023 instead of 2019, there’s no way I could have done it. And I really needed to get out of there. A lot of people feel that they don’t have the luxury of voting for the nicest candidate, or the candidate they agree with on social issues. Something abstract like climate change isn’t even on the radar. They have to vote for their basic necessities.”

You and Rio understand what he means, you’ve both met plenty of people with the same perspective; everybody else seems shellshocked.

“But I don’t want y’all to think that I’m…” Cregan looks around the table, his eyes catching—interestingly—on Helaena, who observes him with a fully present attentiveness that you’ve learned is rare for her. “You know, like a sexist or a racist or that I hate foreigners or anything. Because I’ve never felt that way, and now I’m very happy to have found you guys, and I respect the hell out of you. And I want to be allowed to stay.”

“You can stay, Cregan,” Helaena reassures him.

“Yeah,” Rio says. “Especially since we’d probably starve without you.”

Cregan beams, clearly grateful, and there are chuckles and the tension breaks; and Baela is placidly skating her palm over the arc of her belly, and now that you’ve eaten all you can, Rio is spearing the remaining chunks of your steak with his fork and gobbling them down. He doesn’t ask before he does this; he knows you don’t mind. You’ve never understood why he’s given you so much over the past nearly five years. You are eternally offering him atonement.

Suddenly, Baela asks you: “What would you name a baby girl?”

You have to think about this before you answer. “Well, if you’re looking for something related to plants…I had a friend when I was growing up named Briar, and I always thought that was pretty.”

“Briar,” Baela echoes, intrigued.

“It means bramble, like a thorny shrub where blackberries grow. I remember her telling me that her mama wanted it to be a reminder that people go through rough patches and that life gets hard sometimes, but you have to keep going, and eventually you’ll find your way out.”

“Briar,” Baela repeats. “Yeah, that’s kind of neat. I’ll add it to the list!”

“And you’d have the same first initial,” Rhaena says. “Baela and Briar. Isn’t that adorable?”

Baela smiles. “And a few Rs thrown in there too. For Rhaena.”

Rio turns to Aegon. “Hey Honey Bun, if you had to name your kid after a plant, what would you name it?”

Aegon says without hesitation: “Marijuana.”

Now it’s an hour later, and Aemond is examining Aegon’s burned leg on the living room floor, Helaena holding a flashlight and you and Rio standing by for moral support. Underneath the bandages is a wasteland of red, weeping flesh…and yet there are spots where the skin seems to be hardening into white islands of scar tissue. Rhaena and Luke are keeping watch by the windows, Baela is passed out in one of the bedrooms, Cregan is showing Daeron how to put his wavy blonde hair up in a man bun.

Aemond points to a blackish patch on the top of Aegon’s foot, only a few inches from his ankle. “I have to debride this part here,” he says like an apology.

Aegon is afraid to ask. “What does debride mean?”

“It means I have to cut it out.”

“Cut it?!”

“It’s getting infected. I have to remove it or it will spread to the rest of the foot and you could get sepsis. I might even have to amputate the whole leg.”

“Okay, cut the dead stuff off,” Aegon swiftly agrees.

Aemond doesn’t have any more injectable morphine. He gives Aegon as much Vicodin as he dares and then begins working, carving away layers of dark disease with his scalpel and scrubbing the area with disinfectant. Aegon clutches your hand, squeezing so hard it feels like your bones might crunch, shrapnel-like splinters of marrow-stained organic glass beneath your skin. Rio has Aegon’s pink Sony Walkman—once owned by Ava—and takes one earbud while giving Aegon the other. They sing along to Sean Paul songs together, laughing as tears stream down Aegon’s sunburned cheeks:

“Well, woman, the way the time cold, I wanna be keepin’ you warm

I got the right temperature fi shelter you from the storm

Oh Lord, gal, I got the right tactics to turn you on

And girl, I wanna be the papa, you can be the mom…”

Now you’re curled up in bed, your arms crossed over your belly as you struggle to fall asleep. Aemond comes to bed late now; each night he waits until Baela is sleeping and then teaches Rhaena about childbirth and recovery: what to expect, what could go wrong. She is a good student, borrowing Helaena’s spider notebook to take notes and asking detailed questions. She wants to know everything she can so she can help when Baela goes into labor.

At last, the bedroom door opens. Out in the living room you can hear Rio asking: “Do you have Wagon Wheel? I love that song.”

Aegon scoffs. “No, of course I don’t have Wagon Wheel. Shut up and listen to your Enrique Iglesias.”

“You are so racist, man…”

Aemond sees that you’re in agony, rummages around in his medical kit, and gives you an oval-shaped white pill to wash down with the can of orange Sunkist on the nightstand; Helaena found a case of it in the pantry. “Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?”

“I didn’t want to take any Vicodin from Aegon or Baela. They’ll need it more than me.”

“Your pain is as real as anyone else’s.” Aemond’s weight shifts the mattress as he crawls into bed beside you, his arm settling protectively around your waist, his hand covering yours where it rests on your lower belly. “If the Tahoe runs out of gas, will you be okay to walk tomorrow?”

“Don’t worry about me. I had three periods during basic training, I honestly thought I might die. After that I can power through just about anything.”

“I’ve noticed.” You feel the soft smile on Aemond’s lips as he kisses your temple. “Do you want quiet, or do you want to talk?”

“Talking would be a nice distraction.”

Aemond wastes no time. “Do you like kids?”

“Well, since birth control doesn’t exist anymore, I’d hope everybody does.”

Again, he is smiling; you can hear it in his voice. “Okay, but do you intend to have your own?”

“Yeah, I always envisioned myself having kids. I wanted a normal family and figured I’d have to make one myself, DIY it, you know? I don’t think the plan has changed. Gotta repopulate the earth somehow.”

“I wouldn’t try to sway your decision one way or the other. It’s a burden you should only have to endure if you actively choose it. But if you want to have children one day, I’d help you.”

You giggle in the dim orange glow of a single flashlight. “How self-sacrificial.”

“No,” Aemond says, laughing. “Not like, the making them. I mean, I’d help with that too, that aspect would be fun. But I was talking about the delivery, and recovery, and taking care of a newborn. I don’t know everything, but I know a lot. I could help you get through it. So that’s an option I want you to be aware of, if…you know.” Now he pauses. “If you trust me.”

“I trust you.”

“Sometimes I don’t know if you should,” Aemond murmurs; or at least that’s what you think he says as you lose consciousness, plummeting into sleep as if falling from a great height.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Tahoe runs out of gas just east of Tipton—not a city, not a town, just a collection of service roads linking sprawling ranches to I-80, the only continuous route across southern Wyoming—and Rhaena guides the SUV as it coasts to a halt on the shoulder of the highway. You hike about a mile to the nearest ranch house: Luke carrying the siphoning hose and empty gas can in case you can find fuel, Rio carrying Aegon on his back, Baela walking slowly and with great effort, Ice panting as she lopes across the dusty earth. You can’t spot any cattle or horses behind the endless strings of barbed wire fencing. Perhaps they are in a different pasture, or escaped or were stolen, or died of thirst without being tended to, or were consumed by a wandering hoard of zombies, never sleeping and always hungry. The house at the end of the dirt driveway is modest, old, and painted white. The front door is open; the screen door bangs in the wind.

“Rock Springs is the next real town,” Aegon says when Rio drops him to the ground, reading his map.

“And how far is that?” Rio asks.

Aegon deflates. “About fifty miles.”

“Great,” Rhaena says. “What’s the plan, to fly there?”

“Yeah, start flapping your wings, little bird. You’re light enough, you can make it.”

“No car in the driveway,” you tell Aemond. “Nobody home, maybe?”

He’s scrutinizing the house, his blue eye narrow. “Maybe.”

A thought occurs to Aegon. “Do you think ranchers have golf clubs?” he asks hopefully.

“No,” Aemond snaps. Rio is now on the front porch and pounding the butt of his unloaded Remington shotgun against the doorframe to see if anyone appears. Daeron is nocking one of his makeshift arrows as he trots around the perimeter with his compound bow.

Luke, peering through his binoculars, points to a large cylindrical aluminum structure about a hundred yards from the house, by a small red barn. “What’s that thing?”

“It’s a grain bin,” Cregan says. “Full of feed for cattle.” Ice whimpers at his feet, and he twirls his axe in his large, calloused hands. “Are we clearing the house or not? Something’s in there.”

“We are,” Aemond answers tonelessly. “Luke, Rhaena, stay out here with Aegon and watch for trouble. Daeron, you too.”

“Got it.”

“Baela—”

“Can I go inside?” she asks. “Please, Aemond. I’m so sick of sitting around feeling useless and exhausted. I want to help. I want to do something, I’m going insane.”

“Fine,” Aemond agrees. “It should be an easy one.”

It is easy, but it’s not pleasant. The house smells like dark, sickening decay. In the living room are the skeletal remains of two bodies, both children judging by the size; the maroon-stained bones are notched with indents from gnashing teeth. Cregan shadows Helaena as she searches through closets and drawers. She takes no clothing—it would have absorbed the stench of death—but fills her burlap messenger bag with matches, lighters, batteries, pills. She gives you a bottle of Advil before you can ask her for it.

“Thanks,” you say, a bit startled, as you tuck it away in your backpack.

It is not until Ice leads you to the final room, the bedroom at the rear of the house, that you hear the familiar, blood-chilling hissing and moaning of a zombie. It is in the closet, and emerges one limb at a time: one arm and then another, one leg long like a spider’s, streaked with a thick soup of rotting organs that spills from a gaping hole in her belly like the mouth of a mineshaft. Something has happened to its other leg; it is missing, and the corpse that was once a thirties-something woman—a soccer mom, perhaps, with a minivan and propensity to make meatloaf and fish sticks—drags itself across the fawn-colored carpet towards you, slow and pathetic. Ice growls and barks. Rio raises his Remington.

“Wait,” Baela says. Her hammer is in her right hand. “Can I do it?”

“Of course, be my guest,” Rio says; though you can tell he’s slightly disappointed. He loves clubbing things.

Baela approaches the yowling zombie—jaws snapping, claws swiping—and grimaces down at it, this one of millions of monsters that ended the world, that killed Jace and stole all the rest of her life from her too, all those normal things she was supposed to have, all those strings of fate that the plague cut through like a razor and sent floating aimlessly out into the void of the universe. Then with a scream, Baela swings her hammer and a catastrophic impact crater appears in the side of the zombie’s skull, and it crumples to the floor, its mindless brains spilling out onto the carpet.

“Nothing good?” Aegon asks when you reappear in the driveway, popping a Vicodin into his mouth.

“No,” Aemond replies grimly. “No gas, no bullets, no food, nothing to drink.”

“I knew it would be lean pickings once we got out here,” Cregan says, and Aemond looks like he could kill him.

“Well, fortunately, Luke might have some good news for us,” Aegon says with a grin.

Aemond perks up. “Really? What?”

“I saw a truck out there,” Luke says, using his binoculars to gesture to the grain bin. “It’s parked between the barn and the grain thing, I can just see the very front of it sticking out. And if there’s a truck, there might be gas.”

Aemond ruffles Luke’s fluffy dark hair. “Good job, kid.” And Luke lights up like how cities used to look at night, back when the power was on: Washington D.C., Key West, Corpus Christi, Chinhae. Rio stoops down so Aegon can hop on his back, and all of you trek together across the field.

“Nothing,” Cregan announces as he squeezes the little pump on the siphoning hose after opening the gas cap of the ancient Chevy Silverado and threading the hose inside. “Not a drop.”

“Fucking fantastic,” Aegon sighs from where he’s slumped on the ground. His eyes are glazed; he’s pretty stoned. He gazes pitifully up at you; you pat his shoulder sympathetically. You and Rio have already checked the barn, dilapidated but perfectly devoid of zombies. The roof has caved in; one of the two front doors are missing. “What now?!”

“We can go back to the interstate and walk until we find the next ranch,” you say, looking absentmindedly at the grain bin. It’s much larger up close, and rusty in spots. A ladder runs up one side to allow access to the roof. Ice isn’t whining or nudging anyone’s hands, but she’s sniffing the air as if she’s detected something interesting, unfamiliar.

“Yeah,” Luke replies miserably. “We can walk another five or ten miles and then maybe find a safe place to spend the night.”

Rhaena shades her eyes as she peers up at the sky. “It’s past noon already. Maybe we should just stay here.”

Rio barks out a sardonic laugh. “In a house with no supplies and that reeks of dead people?”

“Cregan, go kill us something to eat,” Aegon commands.

He chuckles in his deep, gruff voice. “It’s Miss Chips who is good at the killing, I’m just the authority on butchering at the moment.”

Aemond is watching Ice, his forehead furrowed. “What’s she doing?”

Cregan whistles. “Hey, princess, you okay?” Ice ignores him, still sniffing, her grey ears straight up in the air. Then it appears from behind the barn: a tiny brown creature, a baby bear.

“Aww, it’s so fuzzy!” Aegon squeals, stretching his arm out to pet it. Rio yanks him away; everyone else is backing up towards the grain bin. A second bear cub has now arrived, padding clumsily along, large cartoonish eyes and a little pink tongue poking out from its muzzle.

“Don’t touch them!” Aemond shouts to everyone. “Get away from them! If there are cubs, there’s probably—”

And around the barn comes the mother, a grizzly bear of 400 pounds. She bares her teeth and snarls, saliva dripping in long gluey strings. Ice is barking viciously; Aegon is shrieking and scrambling onto Rio’s back.

“Baela!” Aemond says because she’s closest to him, urging her towards the ladder of the grain bin. She gets the idea and begins climbing. Then Aemond reaches for you. “Come on, you next!”

“Rhaena, go,” you say instead, and she clambers up the ladder after Baela. Cregan is brandishing his axe; Rio has his Remington in his hands, Aegon still clinging to his back like a baby opossum to its mother. Now Helaena is climbing up the ladder, and Daeron nocks an arrow. You whip one of your M9s out of its holster, aim for the bear’s head, and pull the trigger.

Your bullet hits its skull, Daeron’s arrow pierces its chest; and the mother bear does not die but roars and rises up onto her back feet—taller than Rio, taller than Cregan—and then drops back down and charges towards you and the grain bin. Cregan blocks the way, swinging his axe. The bear reluctantly pauses, testing him with swipes of her claws that he evades. Rio is just a few steps behind Cregan, waving his Remington around hostilely. Aegon is screaming and holding on for dear life.

“Don’t shoot!” Cregan yells. “9mm isn’t big enough, you’ll just make her more angry!”

Aemond finally gets a grip on your wrist and drags you to the ladder. You obey and climb until your feet are several rungs off the ground, then you turn to see what’s going on below. Aemond, Luke, and Daeron are at the bottom of the ladder, their backs to you. Cregan is still wielding his axe.

“Fuck off, Mama Bear!” he bellows, standing as tall as possible and swinging his axe above his head. Rio follows Cregan’s lead and holds his Remington aloft. Ice is barking; the baby bears are fleeing in terror. Aegon is sobbing hysterically and saying he’s going to die. “You don’t want us and we don’t want you! Go on! Go get your babies! I’ll put this blade right between your eyes if you don’t change your stupid mind right quick!”

The bear pounds the earth with her front feet and growls, a beastly subterranean rumble, but she seems to be losing her nerve. The rungs of the ladder creak and groan; you see rust like blood-hued moss around the bolts.

“Get out of here!” Cregan shouts. “Go, you hairy old bitch! Go back to your babies!”

The bear glances back to see her cubs vanish behind the barn. Her mouth is open and panting, spittle gleaming on her pointed teeth; her black eyes are uncertain. As you hold onto the ladder with one hand, you have your M9 aimed at the bear’s left eye, just in case. Aemond is watching Cregan; on his scarred face a sharp severity, fascination and resentment and fear.

“Go on,” Cregan says firmly. “Leave us alone. You belong in the mountains, not down here. Go eat something that’s already dead, a nice easy dinner. You don’t want us. We’ll fight you.”

The grizzly bear shakes her head—flopping ears, shaggy fur filthy with dust and pieces of grass—and whirls, lumbering off to find her cubs. When she rounds the barn, Cregan waits a few long, tense, silent minutes and then turns to the grain bin.

“Alright y’all, we oughta hurry up and leave. I don’t think she’ll come back, but she might.”

From the top of the ladder, approximately forty feet off the ground, Baela begins to laugh. “Did that really just happen?! That was insane! Cregan, buddy, you can vote for whoever you want to. You and I are cool forever.”

He smiles up at her, wincing in the bright afternoon light. “I’m very glad to hear it, ma’am.”

Rio sets Aegon down on the ground and stretches his back; it must be hurting him. Aemond is taking your hand and helping you off the ladder, and you are reminded of the transmission tower where he found you in Catawissa, Pennsylvania, one of those middle-of-nowhere places like Tipton, Wyoming. As Helaena climbs down, you go to Rio and—with as much force as you can manage—knead the small of his back with the heel of your hand like you know helps him.

“You okay?”

He sighs loudly, relieved. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Oh, wow, that’s good. Harder…oh yeah…”

There is a snapping sound, metal squealing as it breaks, and by the time you turn to look she’s already falling: her cotton dress billowing around her, her arms wheeling helplessly. It happens too quickly for her to scream—for her to understand what is going on and what it means—but there is a stunned gasp and then she hits the ground, and you hear a muffled crunch of bone—skull?? spine??—and she is completely, unnaturally still as she lies on her back, no pain, no words, nothing.

“Baela!” Rhaena shrieks, and she rushes down the ladder and runs to her sister. You are all gathering around Baela, petrified to move her—to make it worse—but pleading for her to wake up, examining her with terrified eyes. Baela’s own eyes, dark and glassy and serene, are open only a sliver like obsidian crescent moons. Aemond is asking Helaena for a flashlight and then prying them wide, checking Baela’s pupils.

“There’s no reflex,” he says numbly.

“What does that mean?!” Rhaena cries. “Aemond? Aemond?!”

“She’s…she’s…” He’s in denial; he’s in shock. He’s feeling for a pulse on her carotid, he’s digging his fingernails into her forearm to try to get her to respond to pain.

“Aemond?” you say softly.

“She’s gone,” he tells you, like he doesn’t believe it, like he’s waiting to wake up.

“The baby,” Rhaena says. “Try to save the baby.” And then, when Aemond doesn’t immediately understand, she grabs his backpack and begins ripping it off so he can get the medical kit inside. “The baby, Aemond!”

Now he knows what he has to do. He pulls the scalpel out of his kit as Rhaena moves Baela’s sundress to expose her belly. She was wearing biker shorts beneath, lavender, cute, something you might have picked out in a store. In less than a minute they will be soaked with blood. Cregan leads Daeron away, and he’s telling him that they need to keep watch in case the grizzly bear returns, but you think it is an act of mercy more than anything else. Ice goes with them. Helaena, her face pale and grave, is shining the flashlight on Baela’s belly, just beneath her navel.

“Aegon?” Aemond says.

“What? What do you need?”

“I need people to help hold open the incision once I make it. I have to be able to see the amniotic sac so I can cut the membrane without harming the baby.”

“I get it, I’m here, I’ll help.”

Aemond presses the blade of the scalpel to Baela’s skin and draws a semicircle from the top of one hip to the other. There is blood, but it is slow-moving and thick and dark; it is the blood of a dead woman, not a living one. Immediately, Aegon hooks his fingers under layers of fat, skin, and muscle, and opens the wound as much as he can. You and Rio reach in too, and you do this without thinking, without allowing yourself to feel the horror of it until the work is done.

“I can’t see,” Aemond is murmuring. Rhaena gets another flashlight and helps Helaena illuminate the area. Luke is on his knees with both hands clamped over his mouth, his eyes glistening with dread and disbelief. Aemond is slicing, pausing to probe around with his fingers, cutting again. Then his arm plunges into Baela’s abdomen up to his elbow and, with some difficulty, pulls out the gore-covered baby by its feet, a girl, large and limp and silent.

Rhaena sobs, equal parts grief and joy, a smile appearing on her face. “Is she okay? Aemond? Is she…why isn’t she crying? Aemond?!”

Rio yanks off his shirt and uses it to wipe blood and gelatinous clumps away from the baby’s eyes, mouth, and nostrils. Then Aemond takes the shirt and wraps the baby in it, warming her, rubbing her lifeless little limbs. When she does not stir, Aemond lays her on the earth and begins CPR: compressions with two fingers on her tiny heart, two breaths down the airway she’s never used. There are no sounds except his efforts. There is no crying when the baby wakes, because she never does.

Enough, you are thinking, as if from very far away: an island in the Indian Ocean, the Appalachian mountains in eastern Kentucky. Enough, enough, enough.

Aemond stops trying to revive the baby. He picks her up and holds her against him, and no one says anything. There is only the barrenness of the Wyoming steppe, an anemic blue sky, tall dry grass that bows in the breeze, black vultures that are landing atop the barn and the grain bin.

Aegon jolts out of his paralysis and reaches for his brother with bloodied hands. “Aemond, hey, Aemond, listen to me, it wasn’t your fault. Okay? Are you listening? Aemond, man, you did everything you could. You gave them a chance. You didn’t give up.”

But Aemond doesn’t respond; he only kneels there beside Baela’s butchered body, her dead baby girl in his arms.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Alys?” he calls, seeing that she never came back to bed. He is lying on his stomach, tangled in red sheets damp with sweat. It’s hot, too hot, and there is no humming of the air conditioning. When Aemond picks up his iPhone from the nightstand, it’s still plugged in but only at 87% battery. The power must have gone out.

He gets up, rubs the damp skin by his temple—headache, dehydration—and lifts open the nearest window. It’s odd: there is shouting, distant and indistinct, like the sound of a carnival or a concert. There are car alarms too, and sirens, and horns blaring, all too far away for him to see. It must be because of the power outage, traffic signals thrown into chaos, neighbors relaying the latest information back and forth. That’s the only logical explanation.

“Alys?” Aemond says again, groggy but with increasing curiosity, concern, guilt.

She started to feel sick last night, a pulsing in her skull and chills and powerful nausea. The possibility of it being the so-called Florida Fever barely registered in his mind. Alys gets migraines, and tofu is a migraine trigger, and he took her to a Thai restaurant (maybe he should have known better) and the curry Alys ordered ended up having tofu in it, and by the time she paid the check (as Alys always did) she was swallowing an Imitrex from the box in her snakeskin purse. She said she was going to lie down in the guest bedroom for a while so she wouldn’t wake him if she spent the next few hours dashing to and from the bathroom, a likely outcome, and if he was honest with himself about it, Aemond would admit he was relieved.

He shuffles to the bedroom door—black boxers, bare feet, century-old hardwood floors—and opens it. Now he can hear thudding, like someone tenderizing meat with a mallet. “Alys? Baby, you feeling okay?” There is no answer, only that rhythmic hammering. He realizes that it is coming from the guest bedroom, a door at the end of a long hallway still fuzzy through his half-awake eyes.

It had never felt right, but it had felt good: good in the body when she touched him, good in the soul when she told him he did something right. But lately—especially here, in the vast creaking historic house she shares with her husband and her children, who are presently sailing in Cape Cod—Aemond cannot shake the feeling that this entanglement is a surrender rather than an aspiration, something he fell into and now rests at the bottom of like a swimming pool or the sea, the cold weight of it threatening to pour into his lungs and drown him.

“Alys?” Aemond says, now with profound and inexplicable dread. Outside an ambulance or police car zooms by, sirens blaring. The pounding on the door of the guest bedroom grows faster.

I want to go home, Aemond thinks suddenly. At home, in the Federal-style townhouse his parents rented for him (Criston picked it out, a safe and quiet neighborhood in Beacon Hill, and Viserys paid), Daeron is visiting from California and watching golf tournaments with Aegon on the living room couch, pretending to be interested when Aegon describes the different types of clubs. Helaena, pursuing an Entomology PhD, is researching the Mediterranean mantis, clicking around on her MacBook Pro from the garden in the backyard. Jace and Luke live there too, and so Baela and Rhaena have all but officially moved in, keeping their apartment in Seaport only to have somewhere to retreat to when the Targaryen chaos becomes too much…and so the baby can have its own room. Baela bought a crib, a changing table, a rocking chair, a dresser, and about a million unisex onesies, mostly space-themed. Baela is studying Aeronautics and Astronautics, after all. Maybe one day she’ll work for NASA and fly rockets to the moon.

The door is rattling on its hinges. Aemond’s hand closes around the knob. On the other side is something terrible, and he knows this. But he cannot just leave her. Aemond is not someone who abandons people; he is not someone who turns away from responsibilities.

He opens the door of the guest bedroom, and immediately she is staggering towards him, limp dripping hair and naked like she was interrupted mid-shower: blood bubbling from her gaping mouth and the whites of teeth peeking through the crimson, necrotic skin hanging in strips from her fingers, eyes misty like steam on a mirror.

“Alys, stop! Alys! What’s wrong with you?!”

She’s alive but she’s dead. She’s yowling and clawing at him, but her flesh is the rotting swampland of a corpse. He’s pushing her away; his palms sink into her, places he once noticed and then fantasized about and then at last—euphorically, ashamedly—touched, held, borrowed but never kept. She’s trying to bite him. She’s trying to kill him. None of this is possible, and yet it’s true.

Aemond flings her away, and the woman who was once Alys stumbles backwards and down the staircase, sick wet thumps all the way to the ground floor, bones splitting through dissolving grey skin, organs sloshing around until they spill out. He can hear her still hissing, flailing, trying to get up again.

Without thinking—slipping seamlessly into what he learned during his psych rotation is called automatic action—Aemond races down the steps and grabs her by the skull, cracks it against the antique hardwood floor she once extoled the value of as he fucked her on it: shipped east from Oregon and laid in 1912, the year the Titanic sank. When she lurches up to try to bite him, he slams her head against the floor again and again until she is still.

Then Aemond kneels there alone for a long time, sirens shrieking outside, far-off strangers screaming for help, putrid black blood clotting on his hands.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd fic

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roosterforme · 1 year ago

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Always Ever Only You Part 35 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You arrive home to your husband and a visual representation of how much he loves you. Your house is filled with treats to make you smile, and the attic has been ripped apart to start accommodating your new addition. The way Bradley loves you and the baby makes everything even more exciting. But as much as things are changing, they are also staying the same.

Warnings: Swearing, pregnancy topics, angst, fluff, smut, oral sex

Length: 5700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order. Always Ever Only You masterlist. Gorgeous banner by @mak-32

When you woke up, you were afraid you were still on the flight home to San Diego. You desperately wanted to stop throwing up. Your ribs were starting to ache from it, and your back was sore from hunching over the toilet. But the unique smell of a new car filled your nose as you opened your eyes, and you knew you were in the red Bronco.

"Roo?" you groaned, reaching for him but accidentally hitting the vase full of flowers that was for some reason in the cup holder instead.

"We're home," he replied right away as he pulled into the driveway. "I'm with you, and we're home."

You whimpered in response as you saw the front window of the craftsman glowing with a cozy orange light. The week in Annapolis had been one of the longest of your life, but you were home. And Tramp was here, and so was your own bed and your bathtub.

Bradley knew you were crying again before you did, and he swiped at your tears as soon as he turned the engine off. "It's okay, Sweetheart. Let's go inside." You made some sort of pitiful sounding noise, and a few seconds later, Bradley was carrying you up to the porch. "I'll go back out for your stuff. Are you hungry? I think you should try to drink more ginger ale or maybe a seltzer or gatorade."

You just gasped as he took you inside; every surface was covered in unlit candles and yellow flowers. Even in just the soft glow from the lamp on the end table, everything looked exceptionally romantic. "Bradley."

He kissed your cheek and continued toward the kitchen while Tramp followed along whimpering for you. But the kitchen was more of the same. Your husband must have gone grocery shopping without you, because there was a little box of pastries and different snacks and more flowers lining the counter. He set you down and held your face gently in his hands. "What can I get you to drink?"

Your lip quivered as you looked up into his brown eyes. "You made everything so romantic."

He sighed and kissed your forehead softly. Then his lips found your nose and then your cheek before ending up on yours. "What can I say, Baby Girl? I missed you. Both of you. A lot."

You thought back to the way you were begging for him and his cock when you talked to him on the phone, but right now you could barely stand up after the horrible flight home. "I don't think I can be romantic right now. I feel disgusting."

He smiled against your lips. "This is peak romance to me. Yeah, I was going to light some candles and feed you some snacks and let you take the lead, but all I really wanted all week was you. Here. At home. With me."

You kissed him deeply, and then let your cheek come to rest on his chest while your stomach churned softly. "I love it. The flowers are beautiful. And can you leave the candles out until tomorrow?"

He nodded and kissed your ear. "I won't put them away yet. Now can you tell me what you want to drink? I just want to dote on you and the nugget all weekend."

You smiled and whispered, "Gatorade." Next thing you knew, there were several chilled bottles lined up on the counter for you to choose from. Bradley opened the orange one and put the rest away, and then you saw the refrigerator door. He had hung up the ultrasound photos in the shape of a heart, and you couldn't stop smiling. He went to the pastry box and broke off part of a croissant and held it out for you to nibble on. When you nodded he fed you more until you shook your head.

Then he helped you into the shower, and it took almost no convincing to get him to join you. "I want you with me," you said, and he started taking his shirt off. A minute later, there was a discarded pile of clothing on the floor, but the two of you were under the steamy spray. You washed his hair for him even though your body felt physically exhausted, and he melted into your touch. "You really missed me, huh?" you joked softly.

His eyes were closed, and he grunted softly before he said, "I miss you when you go out to brunch while I play golf. I miss you when I don't see you for eight hours at work. I miss you when you spend seven hundred hours at Costco without me. But this week was unbearable, Sweetheart. Let's not do it again."

When he didn't even mention being deployed for weeks and weeks on end, you relaxed a little more. You pressed your lips together as his big hands settled on your belly. "The nugget is already calmer with you around," you informed him. "The baby definitely prefers you."

He kissed you and rinsed off all the soap and shampoo. "Yeah, well the nugget and I are about to have a conversation once we get in bed."

You brushed your teeth and removed your contacts, and Bradley already had his UVA shirt ready for you. A couple minutes later, you were in bed with your fingers tangled in his damp hair while he pushed the shirt up so he could kiss your belly.

"What did I tell you about being nicer to Mommy?" His lips found your belly button, and his breath was warm on your skin as he said, "She's the best fucking thing in the world."

"Don't teach the baby bad words," you mumbled as you set your glasses aside.

He kissed along to your dainty rooster tattoo and traced it with the tip of his nose. "Nah, that's what Aunt Natasha is for," he said, and you giggled as he kissed you everywhere.

"Roo?" you asked with a yawn.

"Hmm?"

"Thank you for taking care of me."

"It's literally my favorite thing to do."

----------------------------

Bradley didn't realize just how poorly he had been sleeping until he ended up staying in bed with you until almost noon on Saturday, finally feeling refreshed. When you woke up and immediately reached for him, he scooped you up in his arms and rolled you onto your back.

"I'm hungry," you whispered as your stomach started growling loudly while he kissed you.

"Hi, Hungry. I'm Bradley," he replied with a smirk as his fingers brushed along your belly.

Your eyes lit up with mirth as you gasped. "Oh my god! That was your first dad joke!"

He chuckled against your neck. "I'm going to be so fucking good at this shit."

"The nugget already likes you better," you whispered as he started to kiss his way down your chest over the shirt. Bradley paused with his hand tucked beneath the fabric, fingers stroking your side softly as he looked at you.

"You said that yesterday, too. I don't like it when you say that."

When you swallowed hard and turned your face away, you whispered, "I swear it's true."

"No," he said sharply. "This is just because the first trimester is filled with so many changes in your hormones. After the nugget is born, he or she is going to take one look at you and realize they have the most perfect Mommy. I've already written about it in my Nugget Notebook."

He nodded his chin toward the pink and blue notebook on his nightstand, and you asked, "What else did you write about?"

He hummed and pressed his lips to your rooster tattoo, earning a little squirm from you. "I wrote a little about Grandma Carole and Grampy Goose. I talked about how you and I met, and how I fell in love with you. I told the nugget I never really thought about having kids before I met their mommy."

"Roo," you sighed softly as he brushed his mustache along your soft skin, his cheek coming to rest on your hip.

Your stomach rumbled softly as he asked, "Want me to make you some peanut butter toast and some hot tea for breakfast?"

Slowly yet intentionally, you started to slide your legs apart along the fitted sheet where Bradley was laying halfway on top of them. He propped himself up and met your gaze as you said, "In a couple minutes."

He kissed your tattoo again as he tried not to grin. "Hmm. Anything you think you might want before that, Sweetheart?"

You bit your lip and turned your head to the side as he placed his palm on the top of your thigh. Bradley listened to the deep intake of your breath before you let it out slowly and asked, "Will you go down on me?"

He had his lips pressed to your pussy before you finished the sentence, both hands on the backs of your thighs as he spread your legs wide enough to accommodate his broad shoulders. "Gorgeous," he whispered, his mustache feather light against your slick slit as you squirmed and whimpered his name, pressing yourself up for more.

With a smile, Bradley parted you with his tongue, taking the time to remind you just how much he missed you. "Thought about you all week long, Baby Girl," he said after pulling your clit briefly between his lips. He plucked you a few more times as you moaned. "You're perfect," he promised, teasing your opening with his fingertip. "I missed you."

Then he took the time to taste every bit of you, his tongue swiping down to your ass as you begged him for more. He spread your wetness all over and when he made his way back up to focus on your clit, your fingers were in his hair. "I missed you, too," you managed before your voice broke softly as he sucked on you. "I was so horny all week, but nothing is as good as you."

Bradley smirked and sucked a little harder, leading you directly to your orgasm, showing you just how much better he was than your toys or your own hands. Reminding you that you'd never have it this good anywhere else. When you started to thrust against his face, he let his hands slide up to your waist.

He waited until you were coming on his tongue and crying out before rubbing his nose along your clit and grunting, "I wanna fuck you."

You yanked so hard on his hair, he saw stars for a second, but he took your lead and kissed your mouth as he pushed his cock inside you. You were so wet and tight, he knew he'd only last a few thrusts, especially with the way you were squeezing him as your orgasm started to taper off. And then he was right there with you as you licked his mouth clean of your decadent taste and let your fingers snag in his messy hair.

"Fuck," he grunted, driving into you with a few final thrusts before he filled you up with his cum. You looked so perfectly sated beneath him as you licked your own lips and gazed up at him.

When he stopped moving, his hips finally settling against yours, you looked a little bashful as you said, "I think I needed you before I needed breakfast." Your stomach was growling a little louder now, and Bradley knew he needed to get some toast in your belly to keep the baby happy.

"Well," he rasped, "this was my breakfast, and I'll have it again for lunch and dinner if you let me." He slid away from you and stood next to your side of the bed, his head still a little fuzzy as he glanced down at his soft, glistening cock. With your legs still spread wide, he could see his cum working its way out of your tight pussy as you chewed on your lip dreamily. "Come on, Baby Girl," he crooned, reaching for you and guiding both of you into the kitchen. "I'll take care of all of your appetites."

------------------------

You were practically shaking with happiness as you nibbled on a crunchy piece of toast slathered with a thick layer of peanut butter and sprinkled with chocolate chips. Your entire kitchen was decorated with the yellow flowers that Bradley got, and you noticed the refrigerator was randomly filled with steaks.

"What's this for?" you asked him as he made himself some coffee. "It looks like you spend two hundred bucks on steaks?"

"I did," he confirmed, still completely naked from your activities a little while ago. "You really seemed to enjoy that dinner you had in Annapolis. I just thought you might want to try to replicate it here," he said a bit bashfully. "I mean, I could try to help you cook them if you want." You smiled, knowing full well he was more hesitant to admit he spent too much money on food that you'd have to cook for yourself than he was to parade around with nothing on.

"You're the best," you told him, tucking yourself against his chest and admiring the flowers on the island as he sipped his coffee. Then your gaze caught on a thin strip of drywall that was propped up next to the stairs. "Where did that come from?"

"Hmm?" Bradley hummed casually, his lips pressed to the top of your head.

"Is that drywall?"

"Oh. Uh... yes. I must have missed that piece when I was throwing all of it away."

You looked up at him, concern written on your face. "What do you mean by all of it?"

He kissed your nose a few times and said, "Now don't get upset, okay? It's not good for the nugget."

"Bradley."

He swallowed and said, "I got a little bored and anxious while the two of you were gone, and I kind of dismantled the attic."

"What?" You took off toward the stairs. When Bradley bought the Craftsman, you'd been with him every step of the way. You both looked at the house together, and you were there when he closed on it. He had his arm draped over your shoulders the first time he walked inside once he owned the place. You and he both knew the attic would eventually need an overhaul to grow from a sad little workspace into a usable bedroom or two. But now you were afraid to see what he did in your absence.

"Sweetheart, wait," he called out, wrapping his arms around you from behind before you could even put your foot on the first step. He kissed your cheek and said, "There could be a nail or something sharp on the floor that I missed when I cleaned up. Please, put some shoes on first."

You jammed your feet into your combat boots which were next to the front door, and Bradley did the same with his. Then he followed you upstairs, still in all of his naked glory, and watched you look around at the complete demolition job he did to the space. There was no flooring, no drywall, nothing.

"There used to be a half wall right here," you said, waving your arms. "I thought we were going to call a contractor."

"I did," he confirmed, standing there with his hands on his hips, kind of shrugging. "After I took everything down to the studs. But maybe they'll cut out some of the cost for the demolition since I already did it?" he muttered as his cheeks grew a little pink. "I just got excited about the idea of your parents having their own space when they visit, you know? And maybe one day, the nugget can have their bedroom up here. After they grow out of the nursery downstairs."

"Roo," you moaned, launching yourself into his arms. He welcomed you there as you whispered, "I'm sorry you were anxious enough while I was gone that you had the urge to completely dismantle the space up here." His sparse chest hair felt coarse against your face, but it was soothing to you anyway. "But I'm excited about this space. And I'm happy you called a contractor. And also, you look sinfully sexy in nothing but your boots, and I'm really horny again already."

"Oh," he rasped, and you could feel him reacting to you almost immediately. "Well, what do you know... so am I."

Then you and your husband had sex in the attic for the first time.

--------------------------

After a lovely steak dinner on Saturday night, which Bradley dutifully helped you make, you took a bath in your luxurious tub. He made sure the water wasn't too hot for the nugget, and then you lured him into the bath with you. All of the candles you'd noticed yesterday were now glowing, and a cluster of them had found their way to the bathroom counter.

"I liked tonight's dinner a lot better than the one I had with Commander Patterson," you whispered as Bradley ran his soapy hands along your shoulders and kissed your ear.

"Trust me, Sweetheart, if I ever run into Derek, he's getting what he has coming to him."

You gasped. "How do you know his name is Derek?"

"I have my ways," he murmured, letting his fingers trail down along your body beneath the water. After you remained silent, wondering how on earth he had that information, he added, "You let it slip over the phone."

"Did I?" you asked. But you shouldn't have been too surprised. You kept forgetting little things here and there. Your hormones were hitting you hard in a variety of ways, and you'd just about had enough of it.

"Mmhmm. If he ever comes to Top Gun, it's on."

You knew he was at least partially serious, so you didn't bring it up again. Instead, you let Bradley pull you out of the tub when you started to shiver, and he helped you get ready for bed. "I didn't throw up once today," you said with a smile as you curled up with your cheek on his chest. "The nugget always behaves when you're around."

Bradley kissed the top of your head and cradled your body against his. "If the nugget doesn't start to shape up, I'll have a little discussion with him or her."

Just as he reached for the lamp on his nightstand, you asked him softly, "Will you read a little bit to me from the Nugget Notebook?"

You weren't sure if his musings were even really meant for you, but he agreed and picked up the pink and blue notebook from next to the bed, leaving the light on in the process. Bradley cleared his throat and started to read. His written words were enough to make you melt, and the deep rasp of his voice comforted you like nothing else could.

"I hate to break it to you, little nugget, but you're related to some of the coolest people I ever met in my life. Sounds great, doesn't it? I suppose it is. The only downside is the fact that you won't get to meet them for yourself. But that's where I come in, so don't worry about it too much.

Let's start with your Grandma Carole. Now she had a real talent for always knowing how to cheer people up. Even when she was having a hard day herself, she still saved a smile and a kiss just for me. She was one of the sweetest people around. She was smart, funny and honest, too. But I think if there's one thing of hers that I'd like to pass down to you, it would be Carole's sweetness.

Next we have your Grampy Goose. Don't worry, his name wasn't really Goose. It was Nick. Now this is going to be a little harder for me to write about, simply because I didn't get very much time with him myself, but I know for a fact that Goose could bring a smile to even the most serious faces."

You dozed off, dreaming about a world in which you got to meet your husband's parents. Where you could take your child to spend time with them. Get to know them without visiting the cemetery in Virginia.

When you woke up, it was to the sound of your alarm while Bradley had you wrapped up with his long arms and his legs. "Roo," you muttered, but he held on.

"Don't want you to go to brunch," he whispered. "Stay in bed."

Goosebumps rose along your arms as you thought about spending the entire day snuggled up with him like this. "I need to go see Cam and Maria," you mumbled. Your stomach growled so you added, "And eat avocado toast."

Bradley groaned and rolled away from you. "At least you're hungry. Go have fun with your friends."

"Do you want me to bring anything back for you?"

He snorted as you climbed out of bed. "Yeah. You and the nugget. ASAP."

You pushed his hair back from his forehead and kissed him there. "God, you're sweet. Just like Carole. The nugget will inherit that trait, too."

You watched your husband blush as he snuggled under the blanket and tracked you with his eyes as you got ready to go out. Your stomach was feeling pretty good, but you knew you were tempting fate if you decided to wait to eat something at the restaurant. You made yourself a piece of toast and finished it before you climbed into your red Bronco and headed out to your usual spot while Bradley lounged in bed.

After you parked, you saw some texts from Jake asking how you were feeling and also asking if you and Bradley could watch Jeremiah one night. That sounded like a good sign that things had worked out okay between him and Uncle Bernie. When you saw Cat at work tomorrow, that would be the first thing you asked her, but for now you typed back to Jake. You didn't think Bradley would mind if you agreed to watch Jer. Frankly, the two of you could use the practice.

"Hey!" Cam called out as soon as you walked inside. "Hurry up, I'm starving."

You rolled your eyes as you made your way over to the table and scooted into the seat next to him. "You're always hungry," you mumbled as he handed you a menu even though you both knew exactly what you'd be ordering. "Where's Maria?"

"Late," Cam grumbled. "If she brings Bob with her again, I'll be so annoyed. I need a hot aviator in my life."

And that's when you saw her through the side window. You smacked Cam's bicep and silently pointed to where Maria was standing out on the sidewalk, snaking her arm up around Bob's neck. They were talking. They were just talking. Until they weren't. Bob leaned down and kissed her softly on the lips. Then it was over, and you were kind of shocked as Maria made her way inside the restaurant.

"They're fucking," Cam whispered harshly, smacking your thigh repeatedly under the table as she made her way over like absoltuely nothing just happened out on the sidewalk.

"I can't believe they are hooking up," you hissed, grabbing his hand and shoving it back to his lap just as Maria strolled over to the table.

"Morning," she practically sang. "How was Annapolis?"

"I went to Waffle House," you blurted out like a weirdo. "And a cemetery."

She laughed and picked up her menu. "I was more interested in how your presentation went, but I do love a good Waffle House breakfast."

You and Cam were both silent for a few beats before he quickly and loudly asked, "How long have you been fucking Bob?"

She was looking back and forth between the two of you with her mouth hanging open. "Well... listen... it's not my fault he's so funny and sweet and smells so good!"

That was proof enough for you, but she was practically gushing with details, and you couldn't wait to get home and tell Bradley.

-----------------------------

"Maria and Bob are sleeping together! In the same bed! And having sex!" you announced as soon as you walked in the front door. "Oh, and Cam and Maria say hi."

Bradley looked up from the notebook where he was sitting on the couch and said, "Yeah, I forgot to tell you about that."

"How did you know?"

As you settled on the couch with your head resting on his thigh, Bradley let his hand come up to your belly. "I ran into Bob one morning last week, and it couldn't have been more obvious, Baby Girl."

You yawned and snuggled in. "You should have told me," you scolded softly. "I saw them kissing. It was the sweetest thing in the world."

Bradley stroked your soft skin as you started to doze. "Nah. You're the sweetest thing in the world." A smile curled along your lips as he juggled the Nugget Notebook to his other thigh and continued to write, this time about how much he loved you.

He let you sleep until you woke on your own and suggested the two of you take a beach walk with Tramp. You were gorgeous, practically glowing in the August sunlight, and that's when Bradley realized it was two years ago almost to the day since the first time he saw you. Since he met the woman who changed his life. You were currently talking about work as you held his hand and smiled as you pulled him along the sand, but he dug his heels in until you came to a stop.

"Roo?" you asked, looking up at him as Tramp pulled on the leash in his other hand.

Two years. He'd spent over a dozen years before that going through the same routine every day but essentially gaining nothing in the process. Work and women and hitting the bar. Shit. Then you had him tearing his life down to the studs just like the attic the first time he laid eyes on you. All he wanted to do was make himself good enough so you'd keep looking at him and smiling at him just like you were right now.

"What's wrong?" you asked, reaching up to touch the scars on his cheek. Your hand was gentle and soft, and he covered it with his own so you'd keep it right where it was. He had a family again. Something he'd given up on until he met you, but then you made impossible things seem possible again. You loved him in spite of himself, or maybe because of himself. You took the loneliness away.

"Nothing's wrong, Sweetheart," he promised, mesmerized by the sunlight on your face. There wasn't anything he wouldn't do for you. Of course that's when you pulled your hand free from his cheek, made a miserable face and ran for the trash can at the beach path entrance. Bradley rubbed your back as you threw up and moaned about how much the nugget didn't like avocados.

Then he took you home and attempted to replicate the steak dinner again after you took another nap. He thought he did a pretty decent job with minimal help. The two of you shared a plate, and you sat on his lap while Tramp begged for some scraps. "You ready to go back to work tomorrow?" he asked as you ate some garlic mashed potatoes that weren't quite as creamy as when you made them.

"No," you groaned. "I just want to sleep. But I'm sure Bickel will want to meet so we can fill him in on everything from Annapolis."

He kissed your cheek and whispered, "Maybe we can drive in together tomorrow? Just to spend a little extra time together in the morning?"

You dropped your fork and wrapped your arms around his neck. "You're so sweet, Roo. I can't handle it right now when I'm this horny!"

His eyes went wide as you reached for the front of his shorts. "Holy hell," he groaned, setting his own fork down as you touched him. "I might have to visit you at lunchtime tomorrow, yeah?"

"Please," you whined, your voice just making him harder.

Bradley would never get enough of you. The fact that you demanded a quickie during dinner before returning to your food made his head spin. The fact that you sat on the piano bench with him when you were both done eating while he played a few songs for the nugget made him smile. The fact that you and he were going to be parents left him breathless.

The ride to work in the red Bronco the next morning consisted of some serious hand holding while you drank a can of ginger ale while he drove. "I can't wait for the next appointment with Dr. Morris," he whispered as he kissed your knuckles. "I want some more ultrasound photos."

You laughed as you looked up at both visors which were practically covered with the little baby pictures. "You didn't get enough last time?"

"We need more," he said firmly. "We can tell your parents pretty soon, and then we can tell everyone else. I want to hand the photos out like cigars."

You were still laughing as he parked in the garage on base, and you walked into the building holding hands. He had fifteen minutes until his work hours technically started, and he didn't really care who saw. Bradley kissed you next to the elevators with everything he had, letting you taste his mouth while he worshipped yours. "Go wow Bickel, Baby Girl. I'll come find you at lunchtime, okay?"

You nodded, and Bradley patted your ass as you finally got in the elevator to take you up to your lab. On the way to the locker room, he ran into Jake and Cat who appeared to be doing what you and he had been doing by the elevators. Bradley tried to sneak quietly past, but Cat saw him and pulled away from Jake who whined in response.

"Morning," Cat said to Bradley as she walked away from Jake with a satisfied little smile.

"Wow," Jake drawled as he watched her disappear around the corner. "Thanks for ruining the best part of my day, Bradshaw."

He chuckled as Jake followed him into the locker room. "It's not like you won't see her later."

"I won't," Jake whined. "Not alone anyway. She and I are taking Jeremiah to the movies with Hondo."

Bradley pulled a clean flight suit from this locker and started to get undressed. "So things went well between you and Uncle Bernie last week?"

Jake hummed as he yanked his own shirt off. "You could say that. We've come to a bit of an understanding. I understand that he's protective of Cat, and he understands that I'm not fucking going anywhere."

Bradley thought back to just a few months ago when Hondo was running Jake ragged with countless push ups and sprints. "Next thing I know, you'll be asking her and Jeremiah to move in with you."

"Oh, I already did that," Jake replied easily as he zipped his flight suit over his undershirt. "Yesterday."

Bradley stood there in his compression shorts and tank top. "And?" he asked, gesturing for more information. He loved being on the cutting edge of these things ahead of you, and he knew for a fact that Cat was like a steel trap in comparison to loose-lipped Jake.

Jake shrugged with some annoyance on his face. "She said it's too soon. Then she told me how much she loves me. Then she gave me a blowjob. And now this morning she's making out with me like she can't stand to be apart. So... I don't really know what's up. But I've got plenty of space for both of them at my place, unlike at Hondo's."

When Jake slammed his locker door, Bradley felt apologetic for putting a damper on his good mood. "You haven't been together for very long," he said cautiously.

Jake rolled his eyes as he sat to put his boots on. "Longer than you and Angel were together before you bought her a house."

Oof. He was actually right about that one. "Yeah, but there's a kid involved, you know?"

Jake stood and smirked. "You've got one of those now, too."

Bradley looked around with wide eyes. "Keep it fucking quiet," he hissed, but Jake just laughed.

"The only person with razor sharp hearing is Nat, and if she can hear me all the way from the ladies' room, then good for her," he replied. "See you in the hangar."

Bradley stood there for a few extra seconds in silence before finally pulling on his flight suit. Then he dug around in his locker until he found the ultrasound picture he'd tucked away and gave it a little kiss. The last thing he did before locking everything away was send you a text.

I already miss you. We should have just stayed in bed.

And then he was off to start another week up in the air. He got to the hangar before he ran into anyone else, and he already had his helmet in his hands when Maverick found him and gave him an envelope. Bradley took one look at the raised seal, and his heart plummeted to his feet.

"No," he rasped, his dark eyes meeting those of his dad's best friend who just nodded at him before apologizing and walking away. "Fuck!" Bradley practically shouted before dropping his helmet to the ground and raking his fingers through his hair. He vaguely made out Nat's voice as he started to rip into the envelope with a level of fury he never felt before, because he never had both a wife and a baby on the way before.

He skimmed the page before crumpling the paper in his fist and stared at the ground. His breaths were coming quick and shallow. His skin was crawling. He picked his helmet up and made his way toward his Super Hornet without a glance back toward the buildings.

When he eventually found you in your office at lunchtime, he had to watch your smile slowly fade away only to be replaced by sobs and tear filled eyes.

-----------------------

That's a wrap on this series!! Omg, what a ride these two went on! I have a feeling the next one will be even wilder. Please stay tuned for some one-shots featuring Roo, Baby Girl, and the nugget. Then we will pick up later in her pregnancy with a brand new series!!!!! Thanks for all the love, reblogs and comments. They brighten my day and keep me motivated. Big thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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