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[kaitidid22]

Fanfic: Family (Conrad/Billie)

Summary: Gigi feels very comfortable expressing her wants and desires, while stirring up Billie's baby feelings and a panic attack. (Canon friendly to date & set post-DevonxLeela's wedding)

A/N: She's alive! This one went sideways on me for a while, and I couldn't get it to gel. And then I realized I was trying to write three stories in one, which was a bad plan, clearly. Working on the other two next!

Family

Billie picked up her coffee and gave the barista a polite smile. As she turned to leave, she heard a tiny voice yell, “Aunt Billie!”

As always, a well of love and happiness rose in Billie’s chest at the sound of Gigi’s voice, with an extra little hiccup of pleasure at the sheer unexpectedness of getting to see her in the middle of the day. Scanning the café, Billie spotted the little girl sitting with A.J. at a table outside, double-wide stroller parked next to them, and they waved at each other. Before Billie could take more than a step or two towards their small group, Gigi had hopped out of her chair and run over to throw her arms around Billie’s middle.

Billie gazed down at the crown of Gigi’s head and noted that the French braid Billie had put in that morning was showing amazing endurance.

Nice work, Dr. Sutton, she thought smugly.

“Hi, sweetie,” Billie said out loud.

Gigi raised her head to grin up with big eyes that were starting to look exactly like Conrad’s, right down to the note of mischief always lurking behind them. Billie ran a thumb over Gigi’s soft cheek and felt a lump rise in her throat when Gigi snuggled her face closer into Billie’s palm.

Abruptly, it occurred to Billie that it was Friday, and Gigi should be in school. Billie had, in fact, dropped the six-year-old off that morning at her grammar school with Conrad on their way to work. And, yet, Gigi was in the hospital café at—Billie glanced at the clock on the wall—seven after eleven in the morning.

“Are you on recess?” Billie asked, doubtful. Wasn’t recess at ten? Ish?

Gigi shook her head. “I got sent home, and Uncle A.J. said he could watch me until Daddy’s done for the day.”

“What?” Billie asked dumbly, taken aback.

Gigi never misbehaved, and Billie felt her hackles start to rise in the little girl’s defense. If Gigi was being blamed for something another kid had done, Billie was going to—

Nothing, she told herself sternly. You’ll do nothing.

Because she was an adult, and Conrad had incredible relationships with Gigi’s teachers. Billie was never going to jeopardize that in any way. So, she would do nothing about this transgression. But she was going to resent the hell out of it. Quietly.

“Why, sweetie?” Billie asked belatedly.

“Emmett tested positive for COVID,” Gigi said. “So, we all got sent home, and we have to get tested for three days.”

Oh, Billie though to herself, slightly ashamed of her own vicious response.

It still didn’t answer the lingering question of why Conrad hadn’t called Billie. Or texted her. Or had Hundley call her. Something. Her schedule was light. She could have driven back across town to pick Gigi up, especially if A.J. was only tasked with bringing Gigi back to the hospital. Billie could have taken Gigi for part of the day. It was performance review season, and Billie was scheduled to be reading boring forms all day.

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” Billie said, forcing herself to focus. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Yeah, no symptoms,” Gigi said, sounding entirely too knowledgeable on infectious diseases for a six-year-old. “A.J. took me for my test. The rapid came back negative.”

Billie bit her lip to keep the smile from crossing her face at Gigi’s serious tone. Gigi was very clear with everyone who would listen that she was going to be a nurse practitioner just like her mother. And she had an uncanny understanding of medical issues, given that she couldn’t even read a chapter book yet.

“That’s very good news,” Billie said, she slid her hand over Gigi’s shoulder and began to lead her back to the table where A.J. was still sitting. “And at least it’s Friday. So, you’re not missing much school at all.”

“Yeah, I like school,” Gigi said, a little glum.

“I know you do,” Billie said as they reached A.J. and the boys. “Good morning.”

“Billie,” A.J. greeted her.

He had taken one of the twins out of the stroller and was holding a bottle at the baby’s mouth. Billie squinted but couldn’t tell which boy it was. She thought it might be Arjun, given the scowl on the face of the baby still in his stroller seat. Elijah was the grumpy one. But she had a fifty-fifty chance of being right, so she wouldn’t even be impressed with herself if she was.

“I didn’t know you were running a daycare today.”

A.J. shrugged a shoulder. “It’s my day off, and I had the boys anyway. What’s one more?”

“That’s the spirit,” Billie said.

She took a sip of her coffee as she watched him switch the baby. His movements were deft, practiced, and she nodded in approval as he got the baby settled and buckled in without a single fuss.

“Impressive,” Billie told him.

A.J. smirked. “I know.”

Gigi began to gather up her belongings, and A.J. said, “Whoa, kid. Where ya going?”

Gigi pointed at Billie. “With Aunt Billie,” she said. Then Gigi looked up at Billie with concerned eyes. “Can’t I?”

Billie started to say of course, you can, and then she stopped. Was this something she still needed to ask Conrad about? Technically, if the school hadn’t been able to reach Conrad, they would have called Billie as Gigi’s emergency contact, and she would have taken Gigi for the day anyway.

But that wasn’t what had happened. Conrad had asked A.J. to watch Gigi for the day. And the decision of who would be watching his daughter was Gigi’s father’s to make. If he wanted Gigi with A.J., then who was Billie to come along and scoop Gigi up? And, on a more basic note, Conrad believed Gigi was with A.J. If Billie was going to take Gigi, didn’t she need to tell him first? What if he came looking for her? Did he even know A.J. was at the hospital?

Billie turned uncertain eyes to A.J., who looked surprised. “Yeah. Can’t she?” A.J. asked, keeping his voice sedate.

“I’m sure it’s fine, sweetie,” Billie said finally. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her ID card. “Why don’t you go order yourself a hot chocolate, ok?”

“Okay!” Gigi shoved the rest of her school supplies into the backpack and dashed off, blonde ponytail streaming behind her.

“Conrad is always fine letting you take Gigi. Always has been. You’re Super Auntie,” A.J. said, pointed. “Why would today be different?”

“He didn’t call me,” Billie said. “That’s weird, isn’t it?”

A.J. gave her a disbelieving look. “He only called me because I had the day off, Billie. You are definitely overthinking this,” A.J. said. “Is this because you won’t move in?”

“He told you about that?” Billie asked.

“The man was terrified he had run you off,” A.J. said. “Needed someone to talk to.”

Billie was ashamed that hearing A.J. describe Conrad as terrified to lose her made her chest warm and her hands shaky. Sometimes her relationship with Conrad—as joyful as it made her—didn’t quite feel real. Like it was still three years before, and she was living in a prolonged dream that she might wake from at any second.

Billie turned slightly so she could keep one eye on Gigi at the counter. The barista was smiling at the little girl, using Billie’s ID to ring up the hot chocolate.

“I know,” Billie said again.

“Did he?” A.J. asked. “Run you off?”

Billie hesitated.

“Oh wow,” A.J. said, with what sounded like genuine concern. “He almost did.”

“No,” she said, realizing she had given him the wrong impression. “I love Conrad. I want to be with him. I don’t think there’s anything he could do to run me off. Ever. If he had made it an ultimatum—”

“Which Conrad would never do,” A.J. pointed out.

She nodded in concession. “But if he had, I would have moved in a heartbeat. But that would have forced some issues to be worked out a bit faster than I was ready to face them.” She sighed and muttered, “Apparently, I’m still not ready to face them.”

“So, if he had forced you, then you would have moved in with him? But because he respects you and your boundaries, and he’s waiting patiently, you’re avoiding the conversation. That makes no sense.”

“It’s complicated,” she said on a sigh, eyes locked on Gigi. “I almost wish he had forced it.”

“That is not the Dr. Billie Sutton I know,” A.J. said.

Which was entirely fair but slightly judgmental, and Billie gave him a quelling look. A.J. was unfazed, staring her down with disapproval.

“It would have given me an easy out. Which, you’re right, I should not want. But the thing is, in my head, if I make the decision to move in,” Billie said, “then it’s a conscious decision that Nic doesn’t factor in anymore. And I know that’s not fair, but I can’t get past it either.”

She could see from A.J.’s face that Conrad hadn’t told him this part. Or maybe Conrad had only spoken to him during the limbo weeks when Billie had been lost in her own head.

“Billie—” A.J. began.

“It’s okay,” she said, with a wan smile. “Conrad knows. And I’m working on it.”

A.J. nodded and, for once, let it go.

“I need to text him that I’m taking Gigi,” Billie muttered, pulling out her phone with more nerves than she should be feeling.

“It’s going to be fine,” A.J. said, still sounding confused about her hesitation.

“Mm-hmm,” she hummed.

She quickly typed out a text, Ran into A.J. Taking Gigi to my office., and shoved the phone into her pocket again with more force than necessary. Gigi dashed up next to Billie and held the ID badge out. Billie clipped it back on her white coat and ran an absent hand down Gigi’s hair.

“I’m going to take her upstairs,” Billie said to A.J. “We’ll see you at brunch this weekend, right?”

“Family brunch!” A.J. said. “I am honored and will attend.”

Affection swirled through Billie, and she shook her head on a chuckle. “Devon and Leela land the night before. The sleep deprivation and lovey-dovey time will be real.”

“Ah to be young and in love,” A.J. said with a smirk. “No, thank you.” But then he followed it up with, “It’s all right if the boys and Padma come, right?”

“Of course,” Billie said, hiding her smirk.

“Good because I already invited them.”

Billie laughed.

“Arjun and Elijah are coming?” Gigi asked excitedly.

“Seems like it,” Billie told her. “And Sammie.”

Gigi squealed. “I like the boys,” she said when she had calmed. “Babies are great.”

“Babies are great,” Billie agreed, smiling so hard her face hurt.

God she loved this kid.

“Auntie Billie, can you have babies?” Gigi asked.

The question was a sharp left hook, sideswiping Billie and knocking the wind out of her entirely. Once Billie was able to move again, her eyes jerked to A.J., who immediately looked away. Suspicion set in, but she had to deal with Gigi’s questions first.

“That’s a really good question. Why don’t we talk about this on the way to the elevator?” Billie asked. “Say goodbye, sweetie.”

“Bye Uncle A.J. Bye Arjun! Bye Elijah!” Gigi cried as she slung her arms through the straps of her backpack.

Then she followed as Billie led the way from the café towards the elevators. Billie cleared her throat, wondering what A.J. could have said to prompt questions about Billie’s fertility in a six-year-old.

“So, let’s talk about babies,” she said, trying to sound like a professional doctor, detached and unaffected. “If someone is born female, they often have the ability to produce eggs. And we usually think that’s all it takes to have a baby.”

“Egg and sperm!” Gigi said.

Billie bit back a smile as a few people glanced at them, startled. “Indoor voice, sweetie,” Billie reminded her.

“Egg and sperm,” Gigi said, more quietly.

“Exactly,” Billie said. “But it’s much more complicated than that.”

The elevator opened, and Billie urged Gigi inside and to the far back corner, pausing to press the button for the surgical floor. They settled against the wall in the corner while other people crowded into the elevator with them.

“What else do you need?” Gigi asked, sounding like she was making a grocery list.

“Well, a woman’s uterus needs to be able to carry a fetus to term. Not every female body can.”

“Why not?”

“A lot of reasons,” Billie said with a shrug. “Sometimes the placenta isn’t able to attach to the lining. Sometimes the uterus can’t form the plug that keeps the baby inside until it’s ready to be born.”

“Do you have any of those reasons?” Gigi asked.

“Not that I know of, sweetie,” Billie said. “And, remember, I’ve had a baby before. I had Trevor.”

Gigi nodded thoughtfully. “But you’re old, right?”

Billie could feel the amusement wafting off of the other people in the elevator and wanted to glare at them all. She took a deep, silent breath.

“It’s very common for women in their forties to have children. It’s just harder to get pregnant.”

Gigi narrowed her eyes. “And you get a period?”

“I do, sweetie.”

Though she was on a miraculous birth control that only required she get a period every three months. Modern medicine was spectacular.

“And that means you still have eggs,” Gigi said.

“Not necessarily,” Billie said, wrinkling her nose in apology at Gigi.

“More complications,” Gigi said on a sigh.

“Yes, sweetie,” Billie said, hearing someone in the elevator chuckle and hide it under a cough.

Belatedly, she remembered she had never checked if Conrad had responded to her text. She pulled out the phone, and, sure enough, he had reacted to the message with a heart. The sight of it should have eased her nerves.

It didn’t. He hadn’t sent anything else.

As they left the elevator, Billie glanced down at Gigi, offering her hand. Gigi took it.

“Did that answer your questions?” Billie asked.

Gigi nodded. “Can we color?” she asked.

Billie smiled. Curiosity assuaged. Nice work, Dr. Sutton.

“Heck yeah, we can color,” Billie said.

~*~

That night, in bed, Billie found herself lying awake, wishing she had just asked Conrad about A.J. But she had told herself not to be so insecure—Conrad had been very clear with her that he was in love with her, had taken every opportunity to remind her that she was it for him. It didn’t feel fair to constantly make him reassure her, just because he had done the whole life partners thing before and she hadn’t.

She rolled over while Conrad was sleeping and watched his chest rise and fall. He looked so peaceful asleep, younger and lighter. And the memory of A.J. telling her Conrad had been terrified no longer made her chest warm. It made her throat clench and eyes burn.

She scooted over closer to him, so that she could rest her head in the soft place where his chest met his shoulder. The divot seemed to fit her cheek perfectly.

Conrad stirred, his head turning so he could blink open bleary eyes and look at her. Then he smiled sleepily and rolled to curl around her. His prickly cheek brushed against hers as he wrapped her in the approximation of a bear hug.

“I love you,” he mumbled.

Billie wondered if he was even awake. “I love you, too.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Go back to sleep.”

He hummed in her ear, then pulled back to look at her again. “You sure you’re okay? You’ve got that look on your face.”

“What look?”

“The one that says you can’t believe I’m real.”

“Oh, that look,” Billie said, dry. “I wasn’t aware you knew that look.”

“It’s a great look. I mean, I am amazing,” Conrad said. “It’s perfectly understandable.” He sounded more awake now, and his smile died. “Are you okay?”

“Why did you have A.J. pick up Gigi today?”

His brow crinkled. “They got sent home because of a COVID scare. She didn’t tell you? Sorry, I assumed she explained. She loves talking about medical stuff.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” Billie asked, ignoring the rest.

“Because you had to work, and A.J. didn’t.” His eyes studied her face. “Has this been bothering you?”

Yes. So much. But she didn’t say the words out loud.

“We’re okay, right?” she asked.

“We’re more than okay.” He cradled her face in his hand, thumb brushing her cheekbone. “Why would you think we’re not?”

“Because I’m scared.”

That this is a dream.

That I’m going to lose you.

That I only half have you.

That I’m going to ruin this.

He nodded, like that made sense, even though she knew she had explained nothing. “I called A.J. because he was free, and he likes having Gigi around. That’s all. I was really happy when you texted, and I knew you two were together. You’re always my first choice, Billie.”

She squeezed her eyes shut hard. Then she nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he whispered back. “I love you.”

And, this time, instead of answering, she kissed him.

~*~

The next morning, Conrad was up early, rousing Gigi and Billie was just enough time for them to head to the hospital for another set of COVID tests. When Billie and Gigi returned, Billie joined him in the kitchen, and Conrad had the oven, broiler, and three burners going.

“We could just take everyone out,” Billie said, stealing a piece of bacon.

“Sacrilege,” Conrad told her, leaning over to sneak a kiss despite her mouth being full.

“Gross,” she said on a laugh.

“You,” he said, punctuating the word with a kiss to her nose, “are never gross.”

“Not me,” Billie said pointedly. “You. Who kisses someone with a mouth full of food?”

Conrad closed in again, and she squealed, laughing. “No! Go away!”

Kit and Bell arrived first, with Jake, Gregg, and Sammie in the car behind them. Gigi thundered to the front door as soon as she spotted them through the windows.

“My rapid was negative again!” Gigi said, instead of greeting them.

“That’s great,” Bell said.

“So was her full PCR from yesterday,” Billie said. “I took her for a second one this morning to be sure.”

“And we’ll take her again tomorrow,” Conrad called from the kitchen.

Sammie and Gigi ran upstairs while Bell, Jake, and Gregg wandered into the kitchen to meet Conrad, who was still stationed at the stove. Kit and Billie were left behind in the foyer without so much as a glance. The men all peered in the various pans and dishes Conrad had out, clearly discussing food strategy.

“How did we get so lucky?” Kit asked, tilting her head to the side as she gazed at her husband.

“Well, you are a badass boss lady with a gigantic heart,” Billie said.

“Pot meet kettle,” Kit said to her and laughed.

Billie chuckled in response, liking that Kit saw her that way. “You want some coffee?”

“I would kill for coffee,” Kit said. “Murder. Mayhem. Cause a riot.”

Billie nodded calmly. “Good thing Conrad already started a pot.”

“When are you moving that wonderful espresso machine in here?” Kit asked. “I dream of that thing, but Randolph is so attached to his ancient one, I can’t bear to make him get rid of it.” She paused and added, “To be honest, he might divorce me if I tried.”

The question was innocent enough, almost absent really, like Kit was just making conversation. But Billie felt her stomach twist at the second reminder in twenty-four hours. She knew the exact spot she would put that espresso machine, and she would send Conrad’s trusty Mr. Coffee straight to the garbage dump.

Or could you recycle coffee machines? They were glass and metal and plastic, right? All of that was recyclable, wasn’t it?

“That’s… a touchy subject,” Billie told Kit.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Kit said, surprised. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

But Billie just smiled and shook her head, picking up speed to the kitchen. “It’s fine. Cream? Sugar? How do I not know how you take your coffee?”

“Black like her soul,” Bell said, with a grin.

Kit gave him a salty look. “Two lumps and a generous topper of plant-based creamer. Any one you have. And milk is fine if not. Thank you, Billie.”

As soon as she had grabbed a cup for Kit, and made sure Gregg had an extra-large cup of his own, the doorbell rang. Billie smiled at everyone. “Let me just get that.”

But she was beaten to the punch by Sammie and Gigi, who came careening down the stairs yelling, “The babies are here! The babies are here!”

“Aren’t they a little young for baby fever?” Bell asked as the adults watched them open the door and swarm Padma and A.J.

“Peaks and valleys through life,” Kit told him. “They like them now, and then they won’t, and then they will again. And then they might not. But then they do for sure, and it just doesn’t go away. That’s when you know you’re old.”

“Ah,” Bell said.

“Good morning, family,” A.J. boomed, the boys each cradled in one arm.

“Perfect timing,” Conrad said. “We’re just about ready to sit down.”

“Wait,” Padma said, looking around the room. “Did we beat Leela here?”

“She texted that she and Devon are running a bit behind,” Billie said. “They wanted us to start without them.”

Padma smacked A.J. on the back lightly. “You are allowed to bully me into leaving early any time.”

“We left exactly on time, Padma,” A.J. said, firm.

“I am going to lord this over her for years,” Padma said.

“We set up a blanket for the boys outside next to the table,” Billie said. “Let me help you get everything down the stairs.”

“Oh, we’ve got it,” Padma said, breezing through the back door and down the wooden steps to the garden.

A.J. stared after her, a resigned expression on his face. Then he glanced down at the boys in his arms.

“Why don’t you let me take one of those?” Bell asked.

“Thank you, Bell,” A.J. said, snuggling the baby in his left arm close to him as Bell slipped the other from his grip.

“And we can take these platters down,” Kit said, picking up two of the serving dishes.

“Happy to,” Jake said and nodded to Gregg.

They each grabbed a dish and followed Kit outside, with Bell and A.J. close behind with the babies. Sammie and Gigi dashed after everyone else, and Billie and Conrad found themselves alone in the kitchen.

“That was surprisingly efficient,” Conrad said.

“I’ll get the plates, if you get the silverware?” Billie asked. “They arrived together,” Conrad murmured in the higher pitched voice he used when he was being silly.

“Right? I’m not crazy,” she murmured back to him, as she gathered the plates out of the cabinet.

“So,” Billie had said, nonchalantly one night after Gigi had gone to bed.

She and Conrad had each been stationed at one end of the couch reading the latest issues of their favorite medical journals, highlighters and pens discarded next to them, legs intwined in the middle.

“Padma and A.J.,” she had said, glancing at him from under her lashes.

Conrad had lowered his reading to look at her, a guarded edge to his gaze. “What about them?”

“I mean… they could be cute, right?”

His eyes had studied her for a long moment, and then he had chuckled. “You know, don’t you?” he had asked.

“You know!” she had said.

They had both straightened on the couch, throwing their respective journals to the carpet.

“I can’t believe you know,” he had said, still laughing.

“Of course, I know,” she had said. “Did A.J. tell you?”

“Devon,” Conrad had said.

Billie had gasped. “I can’t believe he outed his sister-in-law’s friends with benefits situation with our colleague.”

“To be fair, he didn’t tell me until after they stopped sleeping together,” Conrad had said.

She had made a face of mild distaste. “I really can’t believe that he told you.”

“Yeah, never trust Devon with a secret. He will always tell me. Whether I want to know or not.”

“What is it with you two?” she had asked, poking him in the thigh with her toes.

“I’m sorry, Billie,” Conrad had said. “Our relationship predates you. You’ll always have to share me.”

Ignoring that comment, she had nudged him with her foot again. “How long have you known?”

“I don’t know,” Conrad had said, catching her foot in his hands and squeezing lightly, teasingly. “They called it off, what, two years ago?”

“And you never said anything to me?” she had asked, pretending outrage. “I cannot call you my best friend.”

“It was none of my business!” Conrad had said on a laugh. “Besides, you didn’t say anything to me either.”

“Like you would have cared,” she had said, dryly. Then she had remembered the look on A.J.’s face when he had told her about the arrangement with Padma ending. “I think he actually liked her. But he didn’t really know what to do about it.”

“Yeah,” Conrad had drawled. “I think you’re reading into it. He hasn’t been interested in anyone since Mina.”

Billie had wrinkled her nose. “That was years ago. You think he’s still pining?” Before Conrad had been able to respond, she had said, “No. I think he likes Padma, but she’s completely different from anyone he ever pictured for himself, so he’s avoiding.”

Conrad had shrugged, still rubbing her feet absently. “You could be right. I mean, no one would have guessed that we would end up together, Miss Button-Every-Button.”

“Yeah, okay,” she had said. “Mr. I-Rappel-Down-Buildings-And-Climb-Into-Exploding-Buses-To-Save-Patients.”

“That’s a terrible nickname,” he had pointed out. “Does not roll off the tongue.”

“Words are not my forte,” Billie had admitted.

“And you have to admit you love all that about me. It’s kinda hot.”

She had rolled her eyes. “But what do you think? It’s the way they look at each other, right?”

“I don’t know. A.J. is a careful dude,” Conrad had said, almost warningly. “And he risks losing a lot if things go south with Padma.”

“We had a lot to lose,” Billie had pointed out.

Conrad had smiled down at his hands on her feet. “True.” Then he had squeezed her toes again and met her eyes with a serious expression. “But I almost screwed this up. A couple of times. And A.J. watched that happen up close and personal. So… I don’t think he’s going to take a chance on love with the mother of his children.”

Billie had sighed a little at the sad look on Conrad’s face. Then she had pulled her feet out of his hands so that she could crawl across the couch to straddle his lap. His arms had come around her, and his head had tilted back to look up at her as her fingers had lightly scratched the back of his head.

“You didn’t screw this up,” she had whispered.

“Almost,” he had muttered, squeezing his eyes shut.

“But you didn’t,” she had said. “Neither did I, despite my best efforts.”

He had swallowed audibly. “No. It wasn’t you.”

“You have to let that go, baby,” she had whispered. “We’re here, together. And I love you.”

But it had become an old refrain by then, and Billie had known he wouldn’t listen if she tried to argue him out of believing he had hurt her unnecessarily. So, she had pressed a kiss to his forehead and gotten back to the topic at hand.

“A.J. can’t avoid love forever. You don’t have control over that. You’re in it or you’re not. And Padma is amazing with the boys.”

“Does it make me a bad person that I’m really looking forward to giving him a hard time about this?” Conrad had asked, squinting sightlessly somewhere in the vicinity of her neck. “If it happens, that is. Which I still don’t fully believe it is.”

“Not at all,” Billie had said. “I am going to tease him daily. I might start popping in on his surgeries just so he can’t escape me.”

“Vengeful,” Conrad had murmured with some surprise.

“Do you know how hard he pushed me to tell you how I felt, even when you were with Cade? It was nonstop. I swear.”

Conrad had scoffed. “I probably do. Because I’m pretty sure he was giving us the exact same advice. Probably the same lofty speeches even.”

Billie had sat back slightly, and Conrad’s hands had trailed down to her hips. “Wait. So… if we had just listened to him and told each other, then…”

Conrad’s eyes had locked on hers. They had both sworn under their breath.

Gigi insisted that she and Sammie should take the heads of the table Conrad had set up in the backyard, and, so, Conrad and Billie seated themselves across from each other on either side of Gigi. They had just started dishing up food when the backdoor slid open and Devon and Leela appeared.

“Welcome back to beautiful Georgia,” Conrad called to them.

“Trinidad was gorgeous,” Leela said, with a broad, dreamy grin on her face.

“Sorry we’re late,” Devon said, as he and Leela slipped into the empty chairs at the table.

“They don’t care,” Leela said, smile dying. “It was, like, ten minutes. And I texted Billie.”

Billie frowned at the harsh words, but Devon didn’t seem bothered.

“We’re newlyweds,” he said, as if that explained everything.

And maybe it did, but Billie really didn’t want to know. Leela groaned and shot Billie an exasperated look.

“He loves saying that word. It started on the honeymoon and just hasn’t stopped.” Leela turned to Devon with a glare. “Why won’t it stop?”

He smiled at her, unbothered and completely besotted. Across the table from Billie, Conrad smiled at her. A small, secret smile that had her body threatening to melt into the chair.

“What’s a honeymoon?” Gigi asked.

“The single greatest vacation of your life,” Devon said.

Conrad shot him a warning look, and then turned back to his daughter. “It’s a vacation you take after you get married.”

“To celebrate?” Gigi asked.

“Exactly,” Conrad said. “And because it’s your honeymoon, people give you extra stuff. Like champagne or bigger hotel rooms.”

“Chocolates,” Kit said. “Cheesecake. Dinner. A hotel once gave me a whole pig. That was my second marriage.” Then she paused to consider. “I think. Was it third?”

“I love you so much more for the fact that yours are all food related,” Bell said.

“A girl’s got to eat,” Kit said defensively.

“Massages,” Leela added. “Roses.”

“Where did you and Mommy go on your moon trip?” Gigi asked.

Billie hid a smile behind her water glass, eyes laughing at Gigi’s word choice as they met Conrad’s. He was gazing at Billie when he answered the question.

“We went to Key West, Bubble. Beautiful beaches. Lots of seafood.”

“And margaritas,” Billie added, with a teasing smile.

A reluctant, slightly embarrassed smile twisted at Conrad’s mouth. He shook his head, as if only just realizing that Nic had spilled on their honeymoon shenanigans. Billie wasn’t quite sure why that would be surprising. Of course, Nic had spilled to Billie. Nic had told Billie almost everything.

“What free things did you get?” Gigi asked.

“I’m sorry, Bubble. I don’t remember,” Conrad said, shaking his head. “It was seven years ago. A lot has happened since then.”

“I think Nic mentioned a bottle of champagne,” Billie said, shrugging one shoulder.

Conrad looked off into the distance. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “The first night. When we got to the hotel, they had covered the bed in rose petals and had a bottle of champagne chilling for us.”

“Wow,” Gigi squealed.

Billie studied the bittersweet edge to Conrad’s smile. Then his eyes met hers, and his face softened—only slightly, though, before all expression disappeared. And, suddenly, she couldn’t read anything there, like he had blockaded her out. Her heart rate increased as her skin went cold.

“We’ve really been missing out on this whole honeymoon thing, A.J.,” Padma said.

A.J.’s head jerked around to her, but she’d spoken thoughtlessly, more interested in Arjun in her arms than the adults at the table. Billie flicked her eyes back to Conrad, who had clearly clocked the same exchange.

A.J. totally has a crush.

His eyebrow quirked at her—message received—and she dropped her eyes to her plate, worried she would start to giggle. Billie relaxed, at ease now that she felt she could read Conrad’s mind again.

“When you and Billie get married, where would you go on your moon trip? And would I go? It sounds fun.”

Of course, you would. Billie shoved the thought away to examine later and swallowing the spurt of panic at her own easy reaction.

Her eyes flew back to Conrad and found him staring at his daughter, lips parted, but no words escaped. The side conversations had ceased at the table. Even baby Elijah had stopped fussing in his father’s arms.

When another few moments of silent staring from her father passed, Gigi’s face began to crumple in confusion. Billie decided it was time to step in and ran a hand over the little girl’s soft hair.

“Not everybody gets married,” Billie reminded her. “Remember, we talked about this?”

“I remember,” Gigi said.

Her big brown eyes shot sideways to her father, who finally regained movement, leaning back in his chair. Billie wanted to check in, put a hand on his chest and feel his heart beating, strong and sure. But he was on the other side of the table, too far for that to be an option. The distance across the table suddenly felt like a lightyear, and Billie found herself utterly disconnected from his shuttered expression again.

“But?” Billie asked to prompt Gigi.

“But what about babies?” Gigi asked.

Billie heard someone choke. “Babies?” Billie asked. “What do you mean, sweetie?”

“You said you can have babies,” Gigi said.

Billie’s mind raced. She hadn’t mentioned the conversation to Conrad. Gigi had always brimmed with questions about medicine. The curiosity about Billie specifically had just been because Billie happened to be female and still of child-bearing age. Billie had told herself it had been just one more set of questions about bodies, and she had assuaged Gigi’s curiosity, so why mention it?

But the truth was that Billie was a big chicken. She hadn’t wanted the innocent curiosity of a six-year-old to raise the topic between her and Conrad.

Part of her was convinced it was a moot point. Conrad would never consider having another child. He had done that. He had Gigi. He was content. And that would be okay, whenever Billie got around to broaching the subject. She didn’t want a baby more than she wanted to be with Conrad, or more than she loved Gigi. They would have the conversation, she would know for sure babies weren’t in her future, and everything would be fine. A bit sad, but fine.

This—at brunch with their friends and colleagues and his daughter interrogating them—was not how Billie wanted to have the discussion. But she also never wanted to make Gigi feel like a topic was taboo or inject the idiotic concept of “polite company” into Gigi’s mind. So, Billie swallowed her discomfort.

“Well, sweetie, remember I said that was in theory. I should be able to. But I don’t know if—”

“I want a baby,” Gigi said. She pointed at Arjun and Elijah.

Billie took a deep breath in through her nose, but Conrad was still silent on the other side of the table, stunned. Billie was on her own.

“They’re so cute and sweet, right?” Billie asked. “I’m sure if you wanted, Auntie Padma and Uncle A.J. would let you spend more time with them.”

“That would be fine, Gigi,” Padma said gently. “All the time you want.”

And for all Billie thought Padma was a little off-kilter and a lot selfish, she was grateful that Padma was the most tolerant and accepting person Billie had ever met. Maybe even more so than Nic. Padma had an uncanny ability to roll with other people’s foibles, even when she lambasted herself for her own.

“I’d like that,” Gigi said.

Everyone at the table relaxed.

“But I still think you and Daddy should get married and have a baby.”

“A lot to unpack there, Bubble,” Conrad said, finally recovered and rejoining the conversation.

Billie was happy to let him take over for a while. Picking up her juice glass, she chugged some of the orange-mango juice.

“This is the greatest brunch of my life,” Leela said to Devon.

He shushed her.

“You can hear just fine,” Leela hissed at him.

“Not with you talking,” he said in an undertone.

“Yeah,” Jake said in a drawl. “We can all hear you two, though.”

“They don’t care,” Devon said. “I’ve been telling Conrad to marry Billie for two years.”

“I’ve been telling Billie to marry Conrad for a similar span of time,” A.J. said in a booming, jovial voice. “What an amusing coincidence.”

Devon grinned at him. Leela rolled her eyes.

“If only they had taken our prestigious advice.”

At that, Billie found herself compelled to address A.J. “Prestigious?”

“He went to Harvard. And I am me. Prestigious we are.”

“Okay, Yoda,” Conrad said. “Bubble, you know a couple doesn’t have to be married to have a baby, right?”

“Padma and A.J. aren’t married,” Gigi said dutifully. “And they have two.”

“Exactly,” Billie said. “So, when you say you want us to get married and have a baby, which do you really want?”

“Both,” Gigi said simply.

A thought suddenly occurred to Billie, and she put a gentle hand on Gigi’s. “Sweetie, is this you angling to be a flower girl again? You’ve done it twice in a year. That’s a lot.”

She didn’t miss spotting out of the corner of her eye that Conrad’s shoulders eased at the cute explanation. Hurt stabbed at her, and she reminded herself sternly that the reaction wasn’t fair. They weren’t even in private, and the topic had been thrust upon him with no warning—

It was thrust upon you, too, a nasty voice pointed out. And you’re not relieved it’s just Gigi wanting a pretty dress.

Of course, I’m relieved. We don’t even live together, Billie told the voice. Pipe down.

And whose fault is that? the voice asked.

“That’s not why,” Gigi said. “I just want you to get married.”

“She’s always wanted you to get married,” Sammie said. All the adults turned to look at her. “Well, not always,” she amended. “But since last year, at least. Maybe the year before. I wasn’t there for that wish.”

“Wish?” Billie asked, turning back to Gigi.

Gigi was staring hard at the table.

“What does she mean your wish, Bubble?” Conrad asked.

“Her birthday wish,” Billie said.

Gigi’s face jerked up to look at them, suddenly crestfallen. “You’re not supposed to tell anyone your wish. Then it won’t come true!”

“It doesn’t count if someone guesses,” Padma said, calm and tranquil.

Gigi looked immensely relieved. “That’s good.”

Meanwhile, Billie’s mind raced, trying to piece it all together. At least two years, she realized. It’s been her wish for at least two years.

Because Gigi had refused to tell Billie her wish at her fourth birthday. That was the first time in her whole life that Gigi wouldn’t tell Billie the wish she had made. Until she had turned four, Gigi had even whispered her wishes in Billie’s ear right after making them, as if Billie needed to keep them safe for her.

Gigi wants you to get marry Conrad, her brain helpfully reminded her.

And Billie knew how Gigi knew about marriage, obviously, even at four years old. But Gigi had never once mentioned her father remarrying. Neither before nor during Cade, who remained his longest relationship to date—except the one conversation with Sammie, but Sammie had asked if Conrad would marry again, not Gigi. And Gigi had just rolled her eyes at the idea of Cade, unconcerned, and then asked Billie if the girls could help pick out her dress.

Oh, Billie thought. Then, No.

Gigi couldn’t have meant Billie marrying Conrad. But Billie could remember Gigi’s small voice saying it wasn’t like her Mommy with Cade, and had she meant for herself? That Cade wasn’t like a Mommy? Or had she meant with Conrad? That Conrad didn’t care about Cade like he had cared about Nic?

He wasn’t in love with Cade, her brain pointed out.

And little kids were very intuitive, Billie had learned through her time with Gigi. Gigi always knew when either Conrad or Billie were sad. Gigi had that same level of extreme empathy that both Nic and Conrad had always possessed. So, Billie supposed it would make sense if Gigi had simply been reacting to the love she could sense in Conrad for Billie, long before he sensed it himself.

Love equals marriage, Billie realized, wondering how long it had taken her to get to the crux of it.

“People who are in love don’t have to get married,” Conrad was saying to Gigi, having reached the same conclusion at the same time. “It doesn’t mean they love each other any less.”

Billie cleared a suddenly achy throat and forced herself to deal. “Sweetie, what would we have if we get married that we don’t have now?”

“We’re already a family,” Conrad said.

“And we love you. So much,” Billie said.

“I know,” Gigi said.

But she wouldn’t say anything else, and Billie couldn’t tell her yes, of course I’ll marry your father because she really hadn’t even thought about marriage. It was marriage. It was huge. It was something she had never wanted.

Amazing that she could easily picture sitting on the porch swing, old and gray, with Conrad’s arm around her. But she couldn’t picture a ring on her finger. Or maybe she just couldn’t picture one on Conrad’s again, even though he had stopped wearing it years before.

Besides, Conrad was already married. And maybe that shouldn’t be a factor in the decision, but it was. It was.

Billie could hardly get past his desire to move her in, let alone anything beyond that. She still owed him an answer almost five months after their first conversation. And he had been patient. So patient that sometimes she would think he had forgotten all about it, but then he would work it into conversation again.

“Why don’t we spend the night at your place?” Conrad had suggested as they slid into the car, ready to head to the grammar school to pick up Gigi after their Friday shifts.

Billie had given him a look. Ever since Trevor’s visit had necessitated a sleepover at Billie’s, Conrad had been working the offer in at least once every couple of weeks.

“I never promised not to try and convince you,” he had said, with a cheeky grin as he put an arm around the back of her seat and leaned in.

And his cheekiness, paired with an adorable determination to win her over to the idea of cohabitation, had made her grab the front of his shirt and pull him into her body.

“Is that a yes?” he had asked, holding his mouth back from her.

“Fine,” she had said. “Yes, let’s drag poor Gigi to my boring house with no furniture.”

“Gigi likes tumbling around your empty den,” Conrad had said against her lips. “And I find it very encouraging that you haven’t bought any yet.”

And the words had stuck in her mind as a strange thing to say, though they had been shoved to the back so that she could fully focus on the feeling of his tongue sweeping into her mouth.

But the words replayed in Billie’s mind as she watched the disappointment on Gigi’s face and felt an echo inside herself. What could he have meant? She didn’t have furniture because she was busy. She spent most of her time at the hospital, and she tried to spend the rest with Conrad and Gigi—wherever they might want to be. She had been telling herself for five months that it was the only reason.

But the pang in her chest at Conrad’s stunned, panicked reaction, and her knee-jerk assumption—fear based, she knew—that the door was completely shut for him on babies, was making Billie rethink that.

She definitely needed to talk to Conrad before she answered anymore of Gigi’s questions.

“Sweetie,” she said to Gigi. “Can we talk about this some more tonight? We’re definitely going to talk about it, as much as you want, but we only have a couple of hours with everybody. Do you want to spend your time with Sammie and the boys talking about this?”

Gigi looked reluctant, but her eyes flew to Sammie, who waved at Gigi from down the table. And Gigi nodded. Billie ran a hand over her soft blonde hair again, desperate to feel connected to the little person who owned Billie’s entire heart. Gigi didn’t pull away, and the tight knot inside Billie’s stomach loosened.

“So, I’m thinking we’re long overdue for one of our spa trips,” Kid said in a cheerful tone.

“Please go,” Bell said to the table at large. “If you don’t, she makes me.”

“Relaxation and self-care are the best medicine,” Kit said.

“So I’ve heard,” Bell said. “And been told. Many times.”

The rest of brunch was a blur for Billie. She knew they discussed the spa trip. She was relieved that Gigi had started to come back out of her shell after some talk of mud baths. The idea of getting muddy on purpose was just too intriguing, Billie supposed. And she knew that everyone stayed long past when they had planned to leave. But the details were foggy at best in Billie’s brain as everyone piled out the front door.

And when Conrad and Billie started cleaning up the kitchen, Gigi climbed onto the sofa, quiet as a mouse. Conrad was silent, too, as he loaded dishes in the dishwasher. But Billie wouldn’t let herself think about that.

One sad Hawkins at a time, Billie reminded herself.

And then a sad Billie. Because she was definitely in need of some alone time to think and process after all of that.

“That’s a lot to unpack,” Conrad had said.

Too true, my love, Billie thought at him silently, feeling the weight of the day pressing down on her.

But, first, Gigi. Nothing in the world was as soul-crushing as a sad Gigi.

“Sweetie, you want to put on some music?” Billie asked, pulling out her phone.

Gigi nodded, taking the phone without a word. She opened Spotify, knowing the apps by their thumbnails, but then she stalled.

“Want me to help you find some Miley?” Billie asked.

When Gigi nodded again, Billie clicked into recent plays and opened a new radio channel using “Party in the U.S.A.” (Because of course Gigi only enjoyed teenager Miley.) And then Gigi set Billie’s phone on the side table and hugged a pillow to her chest.

“I love you, sweetie,” Billie whispered and pressed a kiss to the top of Gigi’s head.

“Breaking out the big guns with the Miley,” Conrad murmured as Billie came to hover a few feet away from him.

They were the first words he had spoken since their guests had left. Billie wasn’t sure what to say to him.

“It’s her favorite,” she said. “This week anyway.”

“And you hate old school Miley Cyrus,” Conrad pointed out. “I believe your exact words were ‘It’s like she’s throwing up in my ears.’”

“I said that about Hannah Montana.”

“What’s the difference?” Conrad asked, confused. Then he held up a soapy hand. “Wait. Don’t tell me. I think I’m happier not knowing.”

“Likely,” Billie said. Silence crept back between them, and Billie couldn’t take it anymore. “I’m going to take a bath.”

Without waiting for his response, Billie glanced at Gigi, who was pretending not to pay any attention, and made her way up the stairs. The sound of Miley blared from the surround sound speakers, drowning out her steps on the stairs. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised that Conrad followed her, but somehow when she pushed the door open and walked into the bedroom, she assumed she was alone until he spoke behind her.

“Can we talk about this?” Conrad asked, pushing the door shut, quietly enough Gigi wouldn’t hear over the music.

She opened her mouth, intending to tell him that yes, of course, and it was up to him. She hadn’t realized that other, different words were bubbling up inside her until they began to spill out.

“I haven’t bought furniture because it doesn’t make sense to,” Billie said, as if continuing a conversation that they had already been having. “You already have a house full of furniture, and we’re going to move in together.”

“I know,” he said. “That’s why I’ve been so calm about you going dark on it for five months. If it wasn’t a done deal, you’d at least have a desk by now.”

“I just need to get out of my own way,” Billie muttered.

“You’re taking your time on a huge decision,” Conrad said. “There’s nothing wrong with that. I’m the one leaping in with both feet.”

“I love that about you,” she said in a chiding tone.

“I know,” he said, with a semblance of his usual cheeky grin. Then it faded away. “Billie, you’re it. We’re it. There’s no rush on anything other than me wanting it all to happen as fast as possible.”

Then why doesn’t he want to marry you? the nasty voice said, rearing its ugly head again.

Because that would be batshit crazy, she told the voice. We’ve been dating for seven months. Shut the hell up.

Conrad’s voice was thick. “What are you thinking about?”

“I never wanted to get married,” she said.

Conrad winced and dropped his gaze to the floor. She couldn’t tell if the wince was because he dreaded discussing this, or if her phrasing had been harsh.

In case it was the latter, she corrected herself. “I mean, I never actively wanted it. Even when we were little, we planned Nic’s wedding a thousand times, and she married my stuffed panda, Jorge, about seven hundred. He was huge. He made a great groom. But I never wanted to plan mine.”

“Who did she marry the other three hundred times?” Conrad asked, crinkles fanning out from the corners of his eyes.

“She had this elephant,” Billie said. “I can’t remember his name.”

“Too bad.”

She licked her lips. “Similarly, I never wanted kids. The experience with Trevor probably had a lot to do with that,” she admitted. “But then I met Trevor. And I got to have Gigi in my life. And, suddenly, that wasn’t such a firm stance.”

His hands found his hips as his eyes locked on her face with an intensity that should have been daunting. But it wasn’t.

“I’ve been hesitating because I don’t want us to live in my house,” she said. “I want us here, but I can’t seem to get past thinking of this as Nic’s home. Even though it feels like my home, too.” She rubbed a hand over her face. “I’m sorry. I’m trying.”

“I know,” he murmured.

“Being with you has made me… not as opposed to marriage,” she said. “Not that I was opposed before. I just never really saw the need.”

Conrad’s lips quirked, and his eyes danced at her. She thought she saw a bit of giddy relief in his face. “I get that,” he said.

“No, you don’t,” Billie said on a relieved laugh of her own. “You planned two weddings. You always wanted to be married.”

“That,” he said with wide eyes, “is not true. Katherine… well, that was… I’m going to stop talking. Please finish.”

“Good call,” Billie murmured.

But he knew she was only joking and would let him talk through the debacle with Katherine whenever he wanted. And he had, both when they were still just friends and after they were together. Billie and Conrad were very much on the same page about their pasts. So, he sidled a few steps closer.

“I know that you married Nic believing she was end game. That there would never be anyone else,” Billie said, softly cradling his gaze with hers.

His eyebrows came together. She heard him swallow.

“And I just want you to know that it’s not some sort of expectation with us. I want you, and I want Gigi. That’s my whole world.”

His face melted a little, and he opened his arms wide for her. It only took her two steps to cross the distance between them. He put a hand on the back of her head and pulled her as close as he could get her and still be two bodies.

“I have absolutely no idea what I did to deserve you,” Conrad said. She opened her mouth to argue, and he cut her off, saying, “It’s my turn.”

She nodded reluctantly.

“Let’s sit,” he said, letting go of her, but entwining their fingers together.

They settled at the foot of the bed, inches apart.

“I mentioned kids once,” he said. “And you told me to put a pin in it because it was a long way off, if ever.”

As he said it, a vague memory surfaced. She had been so caught up in the piece about the house that the mention of “more kids” had barely registered at the time. She couldn’t even remember what she had said back.

“Oh right,” she said, squinting into a middle distance. “Huh.”

Conrad’s smile was fleeting. “I love you,” he muttered. “You’re right that I thought Nic was it, forever, the last woman I would ever love. But she wasn’t.” He shrugged, a sad but affectionate twist to his lips. “I fell in love with you. And every piece of me loves you, even the part that loves Nic. I know that sometimes makes you uncomfortable, and I get that. I’m so sorry. Maybe if Nic hadn’t loved you as much as she did, I would find it uncomfortable, too. But it would still be true.”

God she loved this man. It hurt how much she loved him.

“I would happily marry you,” he said simply. “But I couldn’t even get you to agree to alternating weekends at your house, so I figured I’d put a pin in that discussion, too.”

Billie stared at him in shock. “You want to marry me?”

“Billie,” he said in that gravelly voice that did things to her insides. “I am making up for lost time here. We’ve talked about that.”

They had. They had talked about the intensity of his feelings once he had let the floodgates burst open—he had needed to talk about how overwhelming it felt and, in turn, make sure he wasn’t overwhelming her. He hadn’t been, but she had appreciated the check in.

And he had gotten very lucky that night.

Billie knew Conrad considered them forever. She knew that like her heart knew how to beat. They said it to each other all the time.

But… marriage? She had been so convinced he would never even consider it. And, yet, they were talking about it a mere seven months into their relationship. Somehow a baby was way less daunting, and that was a whole human life.

Conrad’s voice interrupted her spiraling thoughts. “See, that look of dread and panic on your face? That’s why I didn’t want to have this conversation yet.”

She couldn’t help but burst into laughter at that. He laughed along with her, though his had an edge of nerves to it that made her shore up her own spine.

She rested her head on his shoulder. “I love you.”

“I know,” he said, then acquiesced and added, “I love you.”

“No. I love you,” she said into his shirt. “I love you like… big, epic love.”

“It’s disconcerting, right?” he said, unfazed.

“Very.”

“You get used to feeling a little dizzy and shaky every now and then,” he assured her.

She hummed and breathed in the scent of him—pine, musk, and home.

“Now, about those babies,” he said. “How many are on the table?”

A floaty feeling of weightlessness swirled around in her chest. “Why do you think any are on the table?” she asked, striving for a teasing tone.

“Because I’m sensing a lot less hesitation about the babies, and I could definitely do all of this out of order. That would be totally fine with me.”

“You really want this?” she asked, not quite letting herself believe it.

“Are you kidding? We’re so great at being parents.”

“We?” she asked on a scoff.

“Yes,” he said. “We. You and me. We’re Gigi’s parents, Billie.”

Between the two Hawkins, they were going to kill Billie. Like each of them was inflating little balloons of hope and love and wonder inside of her that might burst her open. And they were going to talk about that another time because she didn’t want to cry right then, not when he wasn’t finished talking.

He rested his cheek on her hair. “I really, really want this with you. As fast as possible. But as slow as you need to go.”

She nodded, thoughtful and introspective.

“You still with me?” Conrad asked.

“I want that,” she said simply.

Conrad stiffened, and she swore he stopped breathing. Then he said, “We could start trying today. Do you want to start trying today?”

“We’d need the addition,” Billie said instead of responding. “I don’t want Gigi sharing a room with a baby.”

“Two hundred thousand. Give or take. And they always take,” Conrad said ruefully.

She raised her head to blink at him. “What? To build it?”

“I had a contractor come out after you mentioned it. I wanted us to have all of our options.”

“That’s fine,” she said faintly. “I’m rich, remember?”

He laughed and tucked her hair behind her ear, thumb brushing across her cheekbone, calm and sure.

Billie stared as it started to sink in just how seriously he had been taking all of this, quietly in the background by himself. Conrad had a game plan, and that game plan involved babies. Plural. And he wanted to marry her, which she really wasn’t very sure about. The fact that he wanted it this badly, though, and was still more than willing to wait for her to catch up with him was so heartwarming and wonderful. It was…

So damn hot, she thought to herself.

Joy set off inside her like fireworks in her chest. She was going to get a baby, and Gigi would get a little sibling. And Conrad loved them both, and they were going to change the house and fill it with kids and make it theirs. And Nic would still be there, with them, but they would make it Billie’s, too. Everything was good in the world.

Conrad looked amused. “Are you thinking about taking my clothes off? You’ve got that look.”

“Do you think if we’re really quiet then we could—” She let her eyes slide to the bathroom door.

“Make love in the shower?” he asked. “Definitely. Let me just go start a movie for Gigi.”

“Lilo and Stitch,” Billie said, standing to pull off her shirt.

“And I will hurry,” Conrad said, stalling out as he eyed her lace bra.

“Conrad?” she asked, amused.

“Yes, right. Hurrying.”

~*~

“We need to talk to Gigi tonight,” Billie told him as they were toweling off.

Or, rather, she was toweling off. Conrad was dragging slow, sensual kisses over her neck and shoulders.

“You’re very distracting,” she said, as his hands got in the way of wrapping the towel around her body.

“Good,” he mumbled against her skin. Then he sighed. “I know. I don’t know how to explain all of this to her.”

“Me either.” She took a deep breath and said, “So, let’s start with facts.”

“Which ones?” he asked curiously.

“Fact, nothing is happening right now.”

Conrad followed closely behind her as she walked into the bedroom, wrapped in a towel. “But soon,” he said, pointedly.

“Fact, we don’t know if I can have a baby. So, first step is getting fertility testing done.”

“I bet I can get one in there,” he said, hand sliding to her belly. “With enough practice. Lots of practice.”

“Hilarious,” Billie said dryly.

“Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “But you know the chances of conceiving after forty only decrease. They don’t disappear entirely. It’ll probably just take longer. Which implies that we should start right away.”

“Didn’t we just do that?” she asked, pointing back at the shower.

“Yes,” he said, smug. “Yes, we did.”

You could be pregnant right now, the nasty voice was back.

That’s not how it works, Billie snarled back at it. I’m still on the depo.

But the voice had gotten under her skin. Her temperature dropped as her brain began to whir through all the stages of fertilization and implantation, all of which could legitimately be happening in her uterus.

“Oh my god,” she whispered. “We’re going to try to have a baby.”

“Yes,” he said, bemused. “I thought we agreed. Did we not agree? Are we still talking about it? Because that’s fine, but we did just have sex without a condom and birth control has been known to fail. You look green. Are you going to throw up?”

Depo is really reliable, Billie told her brain before the nasty voice could chime in again. It takes months to get pregnant after going off birth control. Sometimes over a year. Calm down.

Billie shook her head. “No, I’m fine. We agreed. I just can’t quite believe our six-year-old is who convinced us to try.”

“I keep saying that I can only hope Gigi continues to use her powers for good.”

“I’ll call my doctor tomorrow about fertility testing.”

“In the meantime,” Conrad said in a serious voice. “I think it would be beneficial to do more testing of our own.”

Because Conrad was somewhat of a jack-of-all-trades, who could absolutely be planning a round of blood tests and sonograms, it took Billie a long pause to understand that he meant sex. She huffed out an amused breath and shoved his shoulder.

“And move in together,” he added, like ripping off a bandage.

“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “We should get some quotes from movers.”

“Because if we’re going to have a baby then—”

Conrad cut himself off as her agreement sank in. Then a megawatt smile broke out over his face, and he wrapped gentle arms around her.

“Gigi and I should move in with you while we get the addition put on,” Conrad said. “Lord only knows how long that will take. They quoted six months.”

“You think Gigi would be okay with that?”

“We’ll soften the blow somehow,” he promised, amusement making his voice deeper.

“That’s where we start with Gigi,” Billie pointed out. She pulled back and clutched his shoulders. “We tell her that we might not be getting married, but we’re all moving in together.”

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, honey,” Conrad murmured to her. “But how is that going to be different than things are now? You’re here every night.”

“And we have to tell her it’s not forever,” Billie said. “That we’ll move back in here once the extra rooms are done.”

“Because heaven forbid we live in your big beautiful house,” Conrad said with a grin.

And she knew he was teasing but she was legitimately worried about Gigi. Their house was the only home Gigi had ever known, and Billie felt like she was yanking Gigi from it.

“Oh, god, Gigi,” Billie said, as she suddenly realized what was at stake. “What if I can’t get pregnant? And then we’d have broken her heart.”

“Gigi would survive,” Conrad said, kissing her on the cheek. “Plus, we could adopt. Or use a surrogate. We have options.”

Her heart squeezed. “You’d do that?”

“Of course,” he said, blithe.

The joy was back, coursing through her veins and spreading through her limbs.

“I want seventeen,” he continued. “But I have a feeling you’ll cut me off at five.”

“Two.”

“Four,” he countered.

“Three,” she said, indignant.

“Works for me. I’ll quit my job and become a house husband. I’ll moonlight with search and rescue, and you’ll be CEO.”

“Not that you’ve given this much thought at all.” She dropped her eyes to his chest. “But you’re okay if it’s just one more, right?”

“Of course,” he said, soothingly. “And I’d be happy if it’s just us and Gigi. But the more the merrier in my opinion.”

“I can’t do more than three,” Billie said, firm. “Total.”

Then she pictured them—three little girls with the same chins and noses, with big brown eyes, and cheeky grins. The floaty weightlessness was back in her chest.

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” he murmured. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and moved to the dresser to pull out clothes.

She took a moment to anchor herself.

“And you’re okay putting a pin in the whole marriage thing?” she asked.

Conrad gave her an amused look as he pulled on a pair of jeans. “Are you?”

Relieved, she thought. To him, she said, “I don’t know if I want to get married.”

But she couldn’t quite decide if that was because she had never particularly wanted to, or if it was because he had already done it. Or it was a complicated mix of both. And her brain was tired, so she shoved the conflicting emotions away.

“That’s fair,” he said, voice achingly gentle.

We’re going to have a baby, she thought to herself. And they might have Conrad’s eyes. Or his hair. And they would definitely have his kindness and probably his sass—because even if they weren’t born with those, they would definitely learn those qualities quickly between Conrad and Gigi.

She had been watching him throw his jewelry back on, eyes roving over his bare chest and shoulders as the muscles rippled beneath his skin. She hadn’t realized she was so obviously drooling until he spoke again.

“One more round? Of fertility testing.”

“Yes, please,” she said in the prim voice she knew always turned him on and made him want to muss her up a bit.

He tackled her to the bed, mouth catching hers even as she laughed. When they were both breathing heavily, he pulled back and asked, “Hawkins-Sutton? Or Sutton-Hawkins?”

“I’m not hyphenating,” she said, dazed and panting against his face.

He sucked a kiss onto her neck, and then shushed her gently when she moaned just a little too loudly. They paused, straining to listen. No footsteps came up the stairs, so they relaxed.

“No, I know,” he said belatedly responding to her. “But for the baby.”

“Why would we hyphenate hers?”

“Hers?” he asked.

“You’re a Girl Dad, honey,” she said. She felt drunk. Was that from the feel of him against her? Or was that the happiness? “It’s your fate.”

He pondered that. “That sounds nice.”

“Exactly,” she said primly and watched his eyes darken in response. “Girl Dad.”

Conrad tugged on her towel and then growled when she giggled and held onto it. “Give me that,” he said, and she let go, letting him toss it across the room.

“But we should have her name match Gigi’s,” Billie said.

“But she needs to match you, too,” he said agreeably. “Sutton as a middle name?”

“Sure. And maybe, if we have the baby, I’ll take Hawkins.”

He stilled and pushed himself up on his forearms, hovering half over and half on top of her.

“You’d take my name?” he asked gruff. “I didn’t think you would do that.”

“I’d still use Sutton professionally,” she said. “I just like the idea of all of us matching. It’s cute.”

“You’d take my name?” he asked again.

“Yes, Conrad. I’d take your name.” She felt him shiver against her, and her brow furrowed. “Conrad?”

“That’s so unbelievably hot,” he said.

“I never thought you were that traditional,” she said, the words stilted in her astonishment.

“I’m not,” he said.

Billie eyed him. “Are you okay?”

“Today has melted my brain,” he said, dropping his face into the pillow her head was resting on. “I’m getting everything I want,” he said, voice muffled.

“I’m getting everything I want, too.”

He rolled his head, so that his lips brushed her ear. “Except the name. I don’t care about that.”

“Clearly,” she murmured.

“I just like that you want it.”

“If we have the baby,” she insisted.

“When,” he said.

Then, at the mention of this hypothetical baby, for whom they had already assigned a sex, Billie went icy cold again. “Oh my god. We’re going to have a baby.”

After a second, she realized Conrad was shaking on top of her. She reared back, terrified he was having a seizure, only to find him silently laughing.

“Excuse you,” she said.

“Today melted your brain, too.”

“I never thought I would be here,” she said.

“Happy?”

And she knew he was asking Are you happy? But the other meaning was true, too. She never really thought she would be. Content, yes. Fulfilled, yes. But she never dared to imagine happy.

“Perfectly,” she said.

“If we want to get a round of fertility testing out of the way, we better hurry,” Conrad said, looking at the clock. “Stitch has probably just been re-kidnapped.”

“You better work fast then, doctor.”

He smirked, leaning down and settling his lips on hers in the world’s most gentle touch. Three slow, lazy, languid kisses later, though, he raised his head again. She chased him for a moment, then let her head collapse back on the pillow.

“I’m going to call the contractor in the morning. I’ll get quotes on moving companies, too.”

Impatience swept through her. “Conrad, I am so glad you’re excited. I’m excited, too. Now shut up and kiss me before Stitch goes home.”

“Yes, Mrs. Hawkins.”

“Oh my god,” she muttered. “Now I’m not taking your name just to spite you.”

“That’s fine. Because I’ll always know you wanted to.”

She couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her.

[kaitidid22]

Fanfic: Oblivious (Conrad/Billie)

Summary: Conrad and Billie formally tell some of their favorite people about their relationship status. (Canon-friendly, pure fluff & set between 6x11 and 6x13)

A/N: Pre-"I Love You" musings.

Oblivious

“We need to tell Kit,” Billie said.

She was typing, barely paying attention to him as he crawled into the bed next to her. Gigi had insisted that they both put her to bed that night and convinced them it was only fair that Billie and Conrad each read two books, for a grand total of four. They had agreed despite the two-books-per-night rule—likely because they were both enjoying the cuddle time so much.

Conrad knew it was still novel for all of them. For Gigi, having Billie spend the night in their home was a huge change. Sure, it had happened in Gigi’s lifetime, but rarely and mostly unplanned when Conrad hadn’t wanted Billie to drive so late, so Billie had been a morning surprise at breakfast for Gigi. And Gigi had spent the night at Billie’s home hundreds of times, but being able to wake up, run down the hall, and climb into bed between Billie and Conrad was something that Gigi took advantage of nearly every morning—as if she was afraid the option was going to disappear.

It had only been a week, though, since his and Billie’s first date, and her conversation with Gigi. So, Conrad told himself that Gigi would get used to it, and, over time, it would be less novel. For now, though, Billie and Conrad were always careful to leave the door locked until their pajamas were back in place.

Billie, for her part, seemed predisposed to read as many books or sing as many songs as Gigi requested every night. Conrad suspected Billie liked it as much as Gigi did, and he loved watching the two of them together. He had known they were close, obviously—he had watched that bond form from the time Gigi was born. Conrad wasn’t sure what had changed, but it all felt different, deeper.

Maybe Billie had stopped hiding some of the adoration she felt for Gigi as much in front of him once their mutual feelings were acknowledged and understood and accepted. Or, maybe, it was simply a product of the conversation Billie had had with Gigi about being a family. Or, maybe, the change was in Conrad himself when the blinders had dropped from his eyes.

All Conrad knew was that as he listened to Billie read to his daughter, he had to push down raw emotions that had tried to rise in his throat. He had slid his arm behind Gigi to place his hand on Billie’s back and played with the ends of her hair. He had decided, as his girlfriend and daughter leaned against each other next to him on Gigi’s bed, that he would be perfectly happy if the entire world outside the house disappeared. 

He believed that he could easily spend the next forty years—or however long he had left—with no one and nothing else outside of their little trio. He knew that wasn’t healthy. He didn’t care.

As fun as the hour-long Story Time had been for all of them, though, it had left Billie hopelessly behind on her administrative paperwork. So, she had brought the hospital-issued laptop to bed with them. The move broke another one of Conrad’s cardinal house rules: no screens in the bedroom. But Conrad didn’t mind. The rule was more about leading by example for Gigi than it was for his own mental health, and he didn’t want to do or say anything that discouraged Billie from being in the bed next to him.

He took the chance to study Billie, running his eyes over her where she sat propped against his headboard. Billie was the type of woman who wore silk and satin pajamas to bed, which Conrad had known long before they started dating. He had dropped Gigi off at Billie’s in the early mornings too many times not to have caught her still in pajamas.

She had always looked luxe and relaxed and warm and like she would be slippery under his hands, and those pajamas had started to be a problem for him long before he could admit to himself why. For so long, he had told himself that the urge to touch was about the silk and satin, about how soft the delicate fabrics looked, and had nothing to do with the body underneath them.

You’re such an idiot, an amused and disgusted voice said in his mind for the eightieth time since Billie had let him kiss her on her front porch.

She also usually hadn’t been wearing a bra when she answered the door in her pajamas. And that had been equally torturous and heartwarming for him. Because, while it had messed with his mind and made his heart race and palms sweat, it had also reminded him that stony, suspicious, reserved-to-the-point-of-cold Billie Sutton was one hundred percent comfortable with him and his daughter and perfectly at ease being vulnerable in front of them.

Realizing that had made him want to gather her up in his arms and just hold her tight to him. He had given in to the urge a couple of times under the guise of saying good morning. She had laughed at him because he really wasn’t the type of person to initiate hugs, and he could tell being the exception for him had confused her. But she had also always squeezed him back warmly and led him into her kitchen to press a cup of coffee into his hands. And he had loved that, too, making her smile, even if she had been laughing at him.

He had loved Billie, and he had done it for so long that it felt like that love had been sewn into the fabric of his soul. And it had spanned different shades and hues over time—appreciation for a friend who cared for his daughter at a time when he had been falling apart; which had morphed into bone-deep affection for his favorite person; and, at some point that he couldn’t quite figure out, that had turned into wanting to see her every second of every day and hating the time they were apart so much that missing her had become a physical ache in his body.

The first time Billie had spent the night, she had pulled her pajamas out of her weekender and tossed them on the bed. Conrad had taken one look at them and grinned.

“What?” she had asked as he had stood smiling at her in his bedroom.

He had shaken his head. “You have no idea what your pajamas do to me.”

Her brown eyes had narrowed on him, that brilliant brain trying to decipher what he had meant. She had glanced at the pajamas, where they lay on his bedspread, and then back up at him. “What?” she had finally asked.

He had crowded against her, setting his hands low on her back and pulling her hips against his. Her breath had hitched, even though they had both known that Gigi had still been up and playing in her room. She could have come in at any moment, so they had needed to keep it G-rated.

“Your pajamas,” he murmured. “Are really hot.” 

“My pajamas,” Billie had repeated, incredulous.

“They look soft,” he had said, leaning closer until his lips had been a scant breath away from hers.

“They are soft,” she had agreed, and her voice had dropped to a deeper register. “How long have you been thinking about my pajamas?”

“Think about them? I dream about them.”

“I see. How long have you been dreaming about my pajamas?”

“A very long time.”

Her lips had curved in a coy smile. “You can touch my pajamas all you want, Conrad.”

He had known it was stupid, but relief had slipped through him at the words. Hearing them had felt like tacit agreement from her, permanent permission to keep her in his bed, in his life, forever.

“In my defense,” he had murmured against her mouth, still not quite touching, “you don’t wear a bra under them. And that is really, really appealing.”

“They’re pajamas, Conrad. Of course, I don’t wear a bra under them.” Then she had leaned back to look him in the eye, and he had seen the memories stirring behind her eyes. “We sit and have coffee.”

“What?” he had asked, trying to buy some time.

“When you drop Gigi off in the mornings. Sometimes you have time for coffee. We sit and have coffee and talk. And the whole time you were checking out my pajamas?”

He had laughed nervously. “Yeah. Those are really great mornings. Some of my favorites.”

“Conrad!”

Conrad had always known that Billie was beautiful, of course. He had perfect twenty-twenty vision, and Billie was the kind of beautiful that no one could really miss. But, at first, she had pissed him off too much for that beauty to fully register with him. It had faded from notice to just one more detail about her. 

Billie Damn Sutton was arrogant, genius, snarky, a lost cause, and, oh right, beautiful.

He wasn’t quite sure when that had changed, when he had become hopelessly conscious of how gorgeous she was, but he thought it had been sometime around Gigi’s second birthday. So, by his own estimation, Conrad had been tortured by her heartbreaking beauty and an overwhelming need to touch her for nearly four years. 

“Conrad?” Billie prompted him, glancing at him as he remained silent.

“Hmm? Oh, Kit. Yeah.” He stirred, coming back to the present moment, and shoved an arm behind his head. “You’re right. We should tell her this week. Do you want me to talk to her?”

The sheet had fallen to his waist as he moved his arm into position, and Billie’s eyes zoned in on the exposed skin. He watched her study him, dragging her eyes across his bare chest down to the edge of the sheet and back again. Heat began to rise in her gaze, and his stomach clenched in response.

Conrad knew what he looked like. He worked very hard to look how he did, and he loved that it worked for her.

Amused and more than a little turned on, he smirked up at her. “Earth to Billie,” he said.

She turned back to the screen, fingers poised to type, but they remained still, hovering. Then she sighed, a rough noise, and shut the laptop with a loud click.

“I’ll be right back,” she muttered.

He sat up as she threw back the covers and left the room, listening to her footsteps pad down the stairs. She was only gone for a few moments before he heard her coming back and moving down the hall.

When she reappeared in the doorway, the laptop was gone. And she shut the door, flipping the lock as she said, “I don’t want Gigi to wake up and find that in here.”

Before he could respond, she had crossed the room, climbed onto the bed, and ripped the sheet off of him. Her pajamas were very, very soft under his hands.

~*~

Conrad knocked on the open door of Kit’s office, unsurprised to find Bell leaning against her desk. “Got a minute?” he asked when they looked up.

“Of course,” Kit said warmly. “Come in, come in.”

Bell straightened and moved to stand behind his wife. “Conrad.”

Conrad smiled at them both. “So, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“You’re dating Billie,” Kit said, face lighting up as bright as a Vegas marquee.

“Rumor mill already got to you, huh?” Conrad asked, with a bashful laugh.

“No, no,” Kit said. “No one tells the boss anything. You just look—”

“Happy,” Bell finished for her. “And we couldn’t be happier for you.”

“I look happy,” Conrad repeated, looking between them. “So, of course, I must be dating Billie?”

Kit and Bell glanced at each other. “Aren’t you?” Kit asked. “It’s not just a rumor, is it?”

“No,” Conrad said. “I mean, yes. We’re dating. But—”

“Oh, that’s a relief. Billie looked like she was on cloud nine when I saw her yesterday.” Kit hurried to add, “That was helpful. You know, in putting the pieces together and all.”

“Yeah,” Bell said. “She didn’t even lecture me the other day when I called Sasha by the wrong name.”

“Who’s Sasha?” Conrad asked, hands finding his hips.

“New scrub nurse,” Bell said, with a shrug. “Billie’s a bit protective.”

“Well, that’s neither here nor there,” Kit said, standing from her chair and coming around with open arms. “Congratulations, Conrad. I’m so glad it all worked out in the end. I know how long this has been coming.”

Conrad stiffened in her arms. Kit let go, pulling away to look him in the eye, though she kept her hands on his upper arms. 

“How long has it been coming?” Conrad asked, voice cracking slightly.

“Erm.” Kit glanced at Bell again, confusing marring her face. “Years, really.”

“Years,” Bell agreed. He, too, looked confused, crossing his arms over his chest and studying Conrad’s face, as if digging for clues.

Kit let go of Conrad’s arms. “Is everything all right?”

“You are aware that everyone knew you were in love with each other, right?” Bell asked.

“So I’ve been told,” Conrad said. “But you two knew?”

“Well, of course,” Kit said.

“But…can I ask how?” he asked, laughing nervously. “Everyone just keeps saying they could see it, but I don’t get it. Did Billie talk to you about it?”

“Lord no,” Kit said. “That girl plays things so close to the chest that Churchill couldn’t get a clue off of her. Took a long time for me to figure out how she felt.”

“To be fair,” Bell said. “I think it took a long time for Billie to figure out how Billie felt.”

Kit laughed, the sound a beautiful peal in the large, spacious office. “Too right, Randolph. Poor thing was so confused for so long.”

“You were much more obvious,” Bell said to Conrad.

“To be fair,” Kit said, tilting her head to the side with a soft smile as she met Conrad’s eyes, “we knew you better.”

Bell shrugged. “That is true.”

“The first time,” Kit said on another peal of laughter, waving her hand at Conrad, “that I caught you gazing moonily at her was— When was it, Randolph? Three years ago? Two? I came home and told you over dinner.”

“We were having ravioli,” Bell said, nodding slowly. “I do remember that, yes. I think it was three years ago.” “Okay,” Conrad said. “Well, I regret asking. As fun as this is for me, I actually came to find out if there’s anything we need to sign. Forms to fill out? Anyone else we need to tell?”

“She’s not your supervisor,” Kit said, waving dismissively. “We’ll have you both sign a letter saying it’s consensual, put it in your files, and move on.”

“Finally,” Bell muttered.

“Ignore him,” Kit said. “He’s in a mood.”

“Why?” Conrad asked.

Bell let out a rough breath. “I’m pulling back from surgeries.”

Kit huffed and moved back to her desk chair.

Conrad studied Bell’s face. “Do you want to talk about that?”

“No,” Bell said, calmly. “I hate it. But it’s the right thing to do. So, I’m dealing.”

Conrad clapped him on the shoulder and squeezed firmly. “You’ve got this, Bell.”

“Thanks,” Bell muttered. “Go write your letters.”

~*~

Billie’s nervous energy had been climbing the closer they got to the long weekend. By Friday afternoon, she had been buzzing around since dawn, and Conrad had finally given up on trying to distract her. Instead, whenever she had started up again, he had simply taken her hand in his, locked his eyes on hers, and listened to the stream-of-consciousness rambling about bedspreads and river rafting. It was the only thing that seemed to work.

It didn’t hurt that, every time he had done it, she had leaned forward and kissed him, whispering, “Thank you.” He had been putty in her hands by noon.

Billie went to the airport around four p.m., returning with a travel weary Trevor and his duffle bag. She had invited him down from Baltimore for the long holiday weekend and had been stunned when his only response had been “Yeah, sure” like the invitation was commonplace between them. 

Conrad had resisted the urge to point out that she and Trevor spoke several times a month and that Trevor was far more relaxed about the relationship than Billie. Conrad didn’t think that would be helpful.

“Dr. Hawkins,” Trevor said. 

“Trevor,” Conrad said in welcome.

“Took you long enough to get your head out of your ass.”

Billie sighed roughly. “Dammit, Trevor. You lasted less than two minutes.”

“I’m just saying,” Trevor said, pointing at Conrad. “He’s the most oblivious of men.”

“He’s not wrong,” Conrad muttered.

You are such an idiot, that voice rang in his brain again.

“We talked about this in the car,” Billie said, stern. 

“You talked about this in the car,” Trevor pointed out. “You said, ‘So, Conrad and I are dating now.’ And I said, ‘Fucking finally.’ And you said, ‘You’re so funny, Trevor. And so keen in your observations.’”

“Not how I remember that conversation,” Billie said calmly.

But Conrad could see that she enjoyed Trevor’s snark. And Conrad wondered if Trevor could see it in Billie’s face, if he knew Billie well enough to spot the way the corners of her mouth tilted, even as her lips pursed.

“Since I’m dating Billie and all, maybe you should just call me Conrad.”

As Trevor’s eyebrows rose on his forehead, Conrad held out his hand. After a moment’s hesitation, Trevor stuck his hand in Conrad’s. To no one’s surprise, he tried to crush Conrad’s hand in his own, but—having expected it—Conrad didn’t even wince, squeezing right back.

“So, what kind of paperwork do they make you fill out to date the Chief of Surgery?” Trevor asked, once he had dislodged from Conrad.

“Not much,” Billie said. “I’m not worth the hassle of filing.”

“You’re worth every hassle,” Conrad said, leaning over to kiss her.

“Oh,” Trevor said, sounding irritated and slightly disgusted. “You’re one of those cute couples.”

Tiny footsteps pounded down the stairs. “Trevor!”

“Hey, Gigi,” Trevor said, as always looking a little surprised by the girl’s enthusiasm.

Since moving to Baltimore, Trevor had come back to Atlanta to visit several times. But he had always claimed specific reasons for his trips—a potential seed fund investor wanted to meet; his friends were having a party that he couldn’t miss; he really missed “real” barbecue—never that he missed Billie or wanted to spend time with her. And, yet, somehow he had always managed to convince Billie he had needed to stay with her to “save money” as a poor, broke ex-doctor still trying to pay off his loans. And Billie had always said yes because she wanted him around. Eventually, on one of Trevor’s trips, she had brought him to the Hawkins house for dinner.

No one had expected Gigi to imprint upon Trevor like a baby duckling, least of all Conrad. And he would have been worried—as much as Conrad appreciated how Trevor had come through for Billie in the end, Trevor really was a dick a lot of the time—if Trevor hadn’t seemed so damn terrified of Conrad’s tiny, six-year-old daughter.

“Did you see the way Trevor jumped every time Gigi said his name?” Billie had asked him the following day at work.

“That was hilarious,” Conrad had said, bracing his hands on the counter as they waited for the CT scans to load. “What did he think she was going to do to him?”

“I’m never letting him live that down,” she had murmured.

“Gigi wouldn’t stop talking about him at breakfast,” Conrad had muttered. “Trevor designs new medicine. Trevor goes whitewater rafting.”

“She does appear to have a little bit of a crush,” Billie had said.

Conrad had groaned. “Not yet. She’s too young.”

“She already has one on James,” Billie had pointed out, laughing as he had groaned more loudly.

Conrad’s amusement had faded as the mental image of Billie and Dr. Yamada invaded his brain. He had accidentally caught sight of James kissing Billie’s cheek outside her office a few days prior, and, for some reason, his brain had seemed intent on reminding him every few minutes. He had shoved the mental image to the side but had been too distracted to remember what they had been talking about.

“Thank you for letting us come,” Billie had said, eyes locked on the screens.

Conrad had eyed her profile, able to read the tension there only because he had known her so well. “Billie,” he had said. “You’re always welcome. Trevor, too.”

Billie had finally turned to face him. “You know what I mean, though,” she had said gently. “Thank you for being there. For me.”

He had known how hard it was for Billie to express those kinds of emotions. And a wave of aching affection had risen in him.

“Of course,” he had said, tilting his head and smiling at her.

“And you could have invited Cade,” she had added, dropping her eyes to the floor. “I should have said that when I asked.”

Conrad had felt his face freeze. Inviting Cade had never even occurred to him. Should it have? he had wondered. But as he had considered it, his whole being had shied away from the mental image of Billie and Trevor on one side of the table, with Conrad, Gigi, and Cade on the other. 

Before he had been able to force out a response, the machines had whirred and beeped, and Billie had gone into doctor mode. “Well, there’s our problem right there,” she had said, pointing at what had looked like a shadow to Conrad. “Your patient has a bleed.”

“Operate?” he had asked.

She had hesitated, waiting as the next set of scans filled the screen. “It’s small enough it might resolve itself.” The next set of scans had appeared. “How’s his blood pressure?”

“Fine. Under control.”

Billie had nodded. “I don’t want to crack his skull if I don’t have to. Let’s give him a round of steroids to reduce the swelling, then we’ll do another set of scans in a few hours. We might have a wait and see on our hands.”

“On it,” Conrad had said. “Thanks, Billie.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she had said, heading for the door.

Conrad had watched her hips sway as she walked through the door and had told himself he wasn’t watching at all.

After dinner, Billie had curled into Conrad’s side in the armchair, watching as Gigi jumped up and down on the couch cushion next to Trevor.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Gigi asked.

Trevor, watching her bounce with wary (if a little amused) eyes, shook his head.

“Do you want a girlfriend?” Gigi asked.

Trevor shook his head again. Conrad felt Billie stifling a giggle next to him. 

“Why not?” Gigi asked.

“I’m pretty busy right now,” Trevor said. “You shouldn’t have a girlfriend if you can’t treat her right.”

“What does treat her right mean?” Gigi asked.

Trevor’s eyes flicked to Billie and Conrad. Conrad ignored the S.O.S. but Billie stepped in, “How your dad treats me, sweetie.”

“Like a queen!” Gigi yelled.

Billie snorted. “Sure.”

“Hey,” Conrad said on a laugh, squeezing Billie’s side in censure. She kissed his cheek in response. “I try.”

“You do great,” she murmured to him.

“Can Trevor put me to bed?” Gigi asked.

Conrad looked over at the couch again as Trevor threw an increasingly panicked look towards Billie. Stepping in, Conrad told his daughter, “Bubble, Trevor and Billie have to head home. It’s you and me tonight.”

Gigi’s mouth dropped open. “You’re not staying tonight?” she asked Billie.

“No, sweetie. Not tonight.”

“Please,” Gigi said, with a big fat lower lip.

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” Billie said. 

“We don’t have enough beds, Bubble.”

“Billie can sleep with me,” Gigi said.

A smile flickered over Trevor’s face, and his eyes dropped to his lap.

“Billie sleeps with me,” Conrad said in a faux serious voice, not bothering to explain to his daughter that he and Trevor would never share a bed.

“But you and your dad are coming to my house tomorrow.” To Trevor, Billie added, “They’re coming to dinner after the river trip.” 

“So, you finally got some furniture?” Trevor asked mildly.

Billie winced, and he laughed.

“Can we stay the night over there?” Gigi asked, eager.

Conrad exchanged a look with Billie. Technically, Billie did have enough beds for all of them to stay at her house—though Gigi likely would insist on sleeping in the bed with Billie and Conrad. 

It’s up to you, Conrad’s eyes said to her.

Billie looked over at Trevor, and Conrad saw he had been watching them. “We’ll talk about it,” Billie said.

Gigi cheered and turned back to Trevor. “Billie sings the best bedtime songs. Daddy’s better at reading because he does all the voices. But he can’t sing.”

Conrad wondered if Billie noticed the way Trevor’s eyes lit up. “Oh yeah?” Trevor asked. “What does she sing to you?”

“All sorts of things,” Gigi said. “She really likes Etta James and Miranda Lambert.”

Trevor blinked and looked at Billie. Conrad didn’t even try to suppress his grin as Billie said, “What can I say? I have facets.”

~*~

Marshall stared between them from his side of the dining table. “You weren’t dating before?” he asked, squinting at them.

“No, Dad,” Conrad said, tamping down on his irritation.

“I thought you just weren’t telling anyone. Testing the waters privately, so to speak.”

“No, Dad.”

Marshall still squinted at them, studying their faces.

“He was dating Cade for almost a year,” Billie said, gentle teasing in her voice as she took a demure sip of tea.

“He was still dating Cade?” Marshall asked, incredulous. At the look on his son’s face, Marshall sat back in his chair, clearing his own expression. “I mean, of course he was, and I knew that. Because I pay attention.”

Billie rubbed a hand on Conrad’s back.

“And, yet, you thought I was dating Billie,” Conrad said, dry. 

“In my defense, you’ve been in love with her for a few years,” Marshall said. 

“That’s a strong word,” Billie murmured, standing and walking her teacup to the sink. 

After a tense moment, Conrad heard the water flip on. Conrad sighed, the sound a rough release of breath. 

“Did everyone know?” he asked his father, resigned.

“No,” Billie leapt in to assure him. “Of course, not. People are just teasing you.”

“I don’t think so,” Conrad muttered. “Kit knew without me even telling her.”

“Rumor mill,” Billie said, coming back to sit next to him.

Conrad remembered Devon knowing without being told that Conrad had ended his relationship with Cade. And why. “I… really think everyone knew,” he said to Billie.

She gave him a sympathetic look.

“I don’t think the rest of the board cares very much about your love life,” Marshall said to Conrad. Then he turned to Billie. “Though they likely care about yours.”

“Mine?” she asked, surprise evident in her voice. “Why?”

“You’re the Chief of Surgery,” Marshall said. “A five-story portrait of you is on the side of the hospital. You’re a walking, talking advertisement for Chastain. They sort of watch what you do.”

“Where were they last year when she was getting attacked in the media?” Conrad muttered.

“Calling an emergency meeting to try and fire her,” Marshall said with a shrug. “They were wrong. Kit and I blocked it.”

“Are you serious?” Conrad asked. “They were going to fire her?”

“That surprises you?” Billie asked, calm even as she slid a hand onto his thigh under the table. 

The weight of her hand on his leg was comforting, centering, cooling the edge of the anger that had taken over.

“We’re a little off topic here,” Marshall said, glaring between them. “Did you file the appropriate paperwork?”

“Kit said there wasn’t paperwork,” Conrad said. “We just need to write a letter stating the relationship is consensual and both sign it.”

“No,” Marshall said, pulling out his mobile. “That’s not good enough. Billie’s career has already taken too many hits this year. We have to get ahead of this with the board. I’m calling Kit.” He yanked the napkin off his lap and stood from the table, phone to his ear. He walked to the sliding glass door and opened it to step out onto the deck as he said, “Kit. They just told me. What do you mean no paperwork?”

“This is going well,” Conrad said as the door slid closed behind his father.

Billie buried her face in his shoulder.

“My own father didn’t know I was still dating Cade?” Conrad asked, staring into the distance.

“Conrad, how many days has he been in the U.S. in the past year?” Billie pointed out. “He didn’t even spend last Christmas with us.”

“That’s true.” Then Conrad blinked into the distance. “You spend Christmas with us.”

“Yes,” Billie said, voice patient. “Hi. I’m Billie Sutton. Your daughter’s godmother and giver of the best presents.”

That was true. Gigi always loved Billie’s gifts more than Conrad’s. To be fair, Conrad couldn’t afford a telescope that could see past the edge of the galaxy.

But that wasn’t the point.

“We all went to your dad’s for Thanksgiving dinner last year,” Conrad said, speaking slowly as the puzzle pieces began falling into place. “You spend every holiday with us.”

“Yes,” Billie said. “We’ve been doing that for almost five years. What’s the matter?”

Conrad turned to her, and he could feel that his face was white. “How am I such an idiot?”

She blinked at him. “You’re not an idiot,” she said, voice as gentle as the hand she laid on his cheek.

“Billie,” Conrad said. “My own father thought you and I were already dating.”

She bit her lip. “But we weren’t,” she said, in a too perky voice, with a cute little shrug.

Conrad hesitated. “Is that why you were around so much for us?” he asked quietly.

Billie jerked back away from him. “No,” she said, sounding offended.

“I’m sorry,” he said, surprised by the vehemence. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” He stopped, not sure how to fix it when he didn’t know what was wrong.

“Conrad,” she started, then stopped and seemed to gather herself. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she tried again. “All of this… Everything between us started because I loved Gigi. You and I were friends by the time Nic died, but… even that was more about Gigi than us.”

Conrad had to admit she was right. He had come to adore Billie as a friend, but that had been after Gigi was born, and he had witnessed the way she had let all her walls down to his kid. He had gotten to see who Billie was by proxy. 

Before Gigi, Billie had been a cold enigma whose walls had a single door marked Nicolette Nevin Only. After Gigi, Billie had been a gushing, effusive Super Auntie, who never ran out of patience or arms for cuddles, and tackled even the most invasive of questions with a calm, serene composure that Conrad had envied at times.

“I acted like your friend,” she said, “because I was your friend. Your best friend, and you were mine. I came to Christmas because you invited me, and I loved the idea of watching Gigi open all of her gifts. I brought you guys to Thanksgiving because you’re my family, and my father adores Gigi as much as he would a grandchild. I leapt at the chance to spend any and all time with Gigi because I liked spending time with Gigi. If you had never kissed me, I would still spend time with Gigi and come to Christmas. I would be here for both of you as long as you let me be here.”

He didn’t like that. He didn’t like the idea that she still felt like he let her. He wanted her at holidays. He wanted her with Gigi. He wanted her. Always. And he had carried that feeling around for a long time before he could admit to himself what it was. Even when he had been labeling her as best friend in his mind and aloud to anyone who would listen, he had known the feelings were too much, too big, too overwhelming, to be encompassed by those two words. And he had told himself he was satisfied anyway, like someone standing in a kitchen that was on fire feeling thankful that the coffee had finished brewing. 

Yes, Billie had been his best friend—had been, still was, and always would be. But that simple affection had nothing to do with the other part, the part that was in love with her and depended on her and couldn’t stand not seeing her.

She finished her thoughts quietly. “I had already come to terms with the idea that we were never going to be together. Nothing I ever did had an ulterior motive.”

He felt that like a blow to the chest and suddenly understood the hurt in her eyes. 

“No,” he said. He reached out and put a hand over hers. “Not what I meant.”

Billie’s eyes searched his. “Then what did you mean?” Billie murmured.

He meant to reassure her. He meant to tell her that she had been his best friend, too, and that he knew she would never have leveraged Gigi’s love or friendship with Conrad for something more. Instead, a wholly different idea came out of him.

“Kit told me the first time she caught me mooning after you was three years ago.”

Shock at hearing the words leave his own mouth left Conrad staring at Billie, and he saw the moment they landed by the confusion that crossed her face. And then she started laughing, muffling it with her hands so that she wouldn’t wake Gigi. He groaned and let his head hang on his neck.

“See,” she murmured after her glee had quieted. “I knew I wasn’t reading you wrong.”

“What?”

She sighed, though she was still smiling, and stood to begin clearing the dishes. His father’s voice drifted in from the deck through the sliding glass door, muffled and unintelligible.

“Gigi would have been, what, three?” she asked.

“I guess so,” Conrad said, embarrassed but comfortable enough to be embarrassed with her.

“That’s right around when you started dating Marion.”

“Dating is a strong word.” Conrad shifted in his chair, watching Billie move around his kitchen. “And I’m guessing this was before that. Probably around the time I came back to Chastain.”

Billie paused in what she was doing and glanced over her shoulder at him.

“Is that what Kit said?” she asked.

“No,” he admitted. “But getting to see you every day again had a very… uplifting effect on me.”

Billie gave him an affectionate look. “You already saw me almost every day when you were working concierge,” she said. “If anything, I saw you less once you were back at the hospital.”

“But seeing you was always planned before,” he said. “At Chastain, I could just accidentally run into you, or wind up working with you, or spot you from down the hall.”

Billie turned to stare at him. “I had no idea that you…” She shook her head, clearly unsure how to even finish that sentence. “And you never said anything?”

“I was very confused,” he said, almost apologetically.

A small smile played with the corners of her mouth as her shoulders relaxed again. “Me, too,” she said, simply.

Then she turned back to the sink and finished rinsing off the dishes. “For a while there, I was sure you felt the same way about me. Wanted to be with me like this, how I wanted to be with you. That wasn’t until after Marion, though,” she said. “And then you asked Cade out, and I decided I had been reading you wrong.”

He watched her open the dishwasher and start placing things inside. Then he stood and gathered the remaining plates and cups from the table, leaving his father’s mug where he’d left it. Marshall seemed immune to the effects of caffeine, drinking it at all hours of the day and night.

“You weren’t,” he said faintly. “You didn’t. Read me wrong.”

The smile she sent him this time was real—wide and happy—and he felt it in his bones. “I know that now,” she pointed out.

“I’m sorry I made you question that,” he said, regretting so much of the past year. “I just…”

“I know,” she said, serenely as she took the dishes out of his hands to load into the dishwasher. “I think it was good for me if I’m being honest. Which I do try to be.”

When she straightened up again, Conrad wrapped his arms around her from behind. “I know you do.” 

It was one of the things he admired about her—the fact that she was honest even when she was wrong, even when she knew she was at fault. He felt her take a deep breath.

“Until last year…” She shook her head. “Until everything with Trevor, I kind of thought you were the only friend I had. But then it all went down, and I felt so alone.”

“You’re not alone. A lot of people love you.”

I love you. I’m in love with you, he thought, barely keeping the words inside.

Conrad was aware of how he felt. He had been in love before, and he recognized the feeling. But he wasn’t ready to acknowledge it out loud.

His hesitation wasn’t about penance. Though he had screwed up a lot of things over the last couple of years, he knew. And it wasn’t about being unsure of Billie’s feelings for him. She had sacrificed too much and given too much of herself for him and his daughter to not love both him and Gigi completely and totally. Billie was in love with him. He knew her too well to doubt it. Billie was much too careful and caring of a person to have started this with Conrad—with Gigi’s tiny heart on the line—and not be in love with him.

But Conrad had promised Billie slow. And, even if Kit, Bell, and his father were all perfectly happy to label Conrad’s feelings out loud, slow and measured this relationship would be.

“I know,” Billie said. Her hands rested against his arms where they crossed over her stomach, the palms of her skin soft and warm against his forearms. “But I’m not sure I would have figured that out if we’d been together. I would have just leaned on you.”

“How do you do that?” Conrad asked.

“What?”

“Always find some life lesson in hard things.”

“About eight years of therapy,” she said, trying to make light of it. “And a lifetime of bad choices to draw upon.”

He rested his cheek on top of her head. “I wish you had leaned on me more.”

“I leaned on you plenty,” Billie said. 

Her head dropped back to rest on his shoulder. Her hand petted his forearm like she was trying to soothe him.

He brushed a kiss to the shell of her ear, and she gasped in surprise at the sensation. A shiver rolled through her body and reverberated through his where they were pressed together. His arms tightened around her in response, and her fingers flexed around his forearms, nails lightly digging into his skin.

He was capable in that moment of two thoughts: One, that Gigi was asleep, and it was late enough that she probably wasn’t going to wake up. Two, that Billie was warm and soft and right there, when he still had so much time to make up for missing out on.

So, he spun Billie around, capturing her mouth with his, pouring everything he felt for her into the kiss—all the words he wasn’t ready to say yet. She met his urgency with her own, her fingers sliding into his hair and scraping her nails against his scalp in a way that had him shoving her against the counter trying to get closer. Their tongues tangled, and a tiny sob left her that made him growl against her mouth. 

And then the sliding glass door opened loudly behind Conrad, and Billie jerked away from him. They were both panting, and Conrad dropped his forehead to the soft flesh between her neck and shoulder as he remembered Marshall existed and was in his house.

He loved his father, he did. But why did Marshall never know when to fuck off?

“Well, look at that. You’re right,” Marshall said dryly. “It is different between you now.”

Conrad straightened and turned to face his father. “What did Kit say about the paperwork?”

“She’ll have forms for you both tomorrow.” Marshall pointed a finger at Billie. “And you need to meet with the board and explain the situation.”

“What situation?” Conrad asked, spreading his arms wide. “I’m not a situation.”

Marshall gave him a wry look. “Son, you have been a situation since the day you were born.”

Billie started to laugh, turning her face into Conrad’s chest to stifle it. And Conrad gazed down at her with delight.

“Finally,” Marshall muttered, and Conrad sighed.

~*~

As Conrad flipped the completed page onto his done pile and stared at the blankness of page twenty-eight, Devon came into the break room and spotted the giant stack of forms. Devon opened the door to the shared fridge and reached in for one of his green juices.

“Did you get to the part with the affidavits?” Devon asked.

“Not yet,” Conrad said, tense. “Billie is meeting with the board now.”

“The board,” Devon repeated, clearly surprised.

Conrad set his pen down and leaned back in the chair. “The board,” he repeated, letting his irritation seep through to his tone.

“Leela and I didn’t have to do that at least,” Devon said. He paused to think. “But they did make her record a video saying she wasn’t being coerced.”

“A video,” Conrad said, getting up to walk to the coffee pot. “That’s intense.”

“It felt like overkill at the time. But they said anyone could write a letter or fill out a form. And, honestly, looking back I don’t really care.” Devon shrugged. “If someone took advantage of Leela, I would lose my mind. So… I get why we needed to do it.”

“I only have to fill out the forms,” Conrad said, pouring himself another cup of coffee. “Billie has to fill out the forms and confront the board of directors.”

“Poor thing,” Devon said.

“I wish there was more I could do,” Conrad said, taking a sip of his coffee. He set it down on the table and folded his arms across his chest. “But all I can do is fill out the next twelve pages to the best of my ability.”

Devon gave him a sympathetic look. “They sent my forms back three times asking for corrections.”

“Jesus. Really?”

“Just be prepared,” Devon advised.

The door swung open, and Billie walked into the room in a cloud of palpable anger. Conrad caught the murderous gleam in her eye and dropped his arms as he braced himself for bad news.

They said no, he thought wildly. 

He told himself he was leaping towards the worst conclusion, that the board had no reason to take exception to their relationship. As Kit had pointed out, he wasn’t in Billie’s reporting structure. There was nothing in hospital policy that prohibited them from dating. But Billie so very rarely lost her temper (when it wasn’t about a patient) that his heart was pounding.

“Don’t you surgeons have your own fancy break room with an espresso machine?” Devon asked in a teasing tone.

Billie glared at him, and Devon took an involuntary step back. “That group of people,” she said, “could single-handedly set me back three years in my self-development. Did they win? No. But they are the worst.”

Relief swept through him, and Conrad grinned giddily at her. “The worst.”

“They are the most odious—”

“Yes,” he said.

“—self-indulgent—”

“Yes.”

“—entitled—”

“Mm-hmm.”

“—judgmental—”

“Yup.”

“—assholes I have ever had to deal with, all gathered in a single room,” Billie finished.

Devon’s eyes were wide, and his lips had parted in shock. Billie very successfully gave the impression of being forever measured, calm, cool, and collected to the world. Sometimes Conrad forgot that he was one of the few people who got to see the other sides of Billie—the sides she deliberately hid from the world. 

“Wow,” Devon murmured.

Conrad spared an amused glance but was too busy adoring his girlfriend to say anything to Devon. Conrad loved getting to see Out of Control Billie. She so rarely made an appearance.

“But it’s done.” Billie blew out a breath. “And they’ve given us their probationary blessing,” she said through clenched teeth. “As long as we don’t engage in ill-advised public displays of affection. That is a direct quote, by the way.” Conrad chuckled at her wrathful tone, and Billie gave him an arch look as she said, “Which, of course, means that I’ve been thinking about doing this for an hour.”

Stepping forward, she grabbed Conrad by the neck of his scrub shirt and yanked him down to kiss him. He leaned in eagerly, wrapping his arms low around her hips and pulling her more comfortably against his body. Her arms twined around his neck as the kiss softened, deepened, became more about saying hello than sticking it to the board.

“I’ll just go,” Devon said. “Good luck with your paperwork.”

Neither Billie nor Conrad—mouths busy—bothered to answer.

[kaitidid22]

All the Love (light Conrad/Billie, with Billie & Everybody)

Summary: Leela and Devon are getting married. Billie is dealing with egomaniacal surgeons. And everybody wants Jessica (in their OR). (Canon-friendly to date & set post-season 6.)

A/N: I had so many AO3 tags on this one.

All the Love

“Three days to go,” Billie said brightly as Leela walked into Billie’s office.

“Don’t remind me,” Leela said, but a smile was hiding behind her haggard expression. “We still have a million things to do, and the caterer apparently no longer makes one of the appetizers we ordered. How does that even happen? We ordered it six months ago. So, we’ve been debating mini crostini versus mac and cheese balls for almost twenty-four hours.”

“Mac and cheese bites?” Billie asked, startled. 

From what she knew of Leela’s fusion Roaring Twenties in Bollywood theme, fried balls of mac and cheese being passed around the reception seemed a bit… off.

“Exactly!” Leela shook her head in disbelief. “Devon is insisting. For the kids, he says. We’ve invited, like, five children. Arjun and Elijah, who are barely eating solid foods. One of our cousins has a baby. And Gigi and Sammie, who are both in the wedding, and the only two old enough to even eat a mac and cheese ball.”

Leela groaned. “But Devon is going to win on this because I’m too tired to keep saying ‘it’s not on theme, Devon.’ Plus, he’s being so damn cute about it. For the kids! Damn him. I hate that he’s going to win. Mac and cheese? Why?”

Billie’s face screwed up in sympathy. “I’m sorry. At least they’re delicious.”

Leela gave her a suspicious look. “You eat mac and cheese balls?”

“My goddaughter is six,” Billie pointed out. “I’ve eaten all the fried foods she can get her tiny hands on. She’s especially fond of fried okra.”

Leela’s lips pursed. “Ew.”

Billie laughed. “Don’t let anyone else hear you say that. They’ll revoke your Southerner card.”

“At least Devon isn’t insisting on fried okra,” Leela said, staring into the distance.

As much as Billie loved weddings—and she really, really loved weddings—planning a wedding had always sounded like a nightmare to her. She watched Leela take a deep, cleansing breath, eyes fluttering shut as she centered herself, and then Leela slapped a smile on her face and looked Billie square in the eye.

Oh no, Billie thought. Et tu, Brute?

“Anyway,” Leela said. “I need to talk to you.”

“You need a consult?” Billie asked, hoping that’s what was happening.

“No,” Leela said. “I want to talk to you about Jessica.”

You and every other surgeon, Billie thought. 

But she smoothed out her face into its professional mien and said, “What about Nurse Feldman?”

Leela’s confidence faltered for a moment when confronted with the expressionless face and formal tone. But then she rallied. “As you know, I’ve taken on the patient load that Dr. Bell would have handled. And he has been a fantastic mentor for several years.”

“Yes, we’re all relieved he’s going to continue on in a teaching capacity,” Billie said.

With the others, Billie had rushed them along—get to the point, Dr. Yamada. But Leela was a new attending, and Billie wanted to encourage her to stand up for herself and make the bold asks. So, Billie waited as Leela struggled to force herself to say the words.

Leela squared her shoulders. “I’ve worked almost exclusively with Jessica in the OR for the past year. I feel we make an excellent team, and I want to continue our partnership in a more official capacity.”

“Meaning?”

“I’d like Jessica to be dedicated to my surgeries.” After a long pause, Leela hastened to add, “When possible.”

Billie clicked her tongue. “You almost had it.”

Leela sighed, shoulders drooping a little. “I fumbled at the end.”

“So close,” Billie said.

Leela gave Billie the trademark hopeful expression that always reminded Billie of how young Leela truly was. “Well? What do you think?”

“I think you have a solid argument,” Billie said, choosing her words cautiously. “I also think that hospital policy dictates scrub nurses be assigned as shifts allow.”

Leela’s eyes turned determined, ready to fight for what she wanted. “Is this because I’m so junior? I know I only made attending a few—”

“No,” Billie said firmly. “This is hospital policy. Which was written, in part, as a protection for the nurses. They don’t report to surgeons, and they should never be put in a position where a surgeon, or any doctor, has that much control over their careers in the hospital. Bell’s arrangement was an exception to that policy granted on the basis of a career spent working with a long line of scrub nurses over years at Chastain.”

It was the exact response she had given to all of the surgeons who had come to her office hoping to poach the same arrangement with Jessica that Dr. Bell had managed to swing. What none of them seemed to understand was that Jessica had requested the arrangement. Jessica loved working with Bell, and she had made sure it had been a stipulation of her renegotiated contract that she be assigned to as many of his surgeries as possible.

Over time, as Bell had handled fewer and fewer on-call emergencies, his and Jessica’s schedules had aligned to the point that Jessica had rarely—if ever—assisted elsewhere. Until the MS flares began, and Bell had been forced to take weeks away from the hospital at a time. Then Jessica had been back in the usual scrub nurse rotation, assigned as cases came in, and all the surgeons had gotten a taste of having her in their OR. And that had only whetted their appetites.

The surgical staff had too much respect for Dr. Bell to try and request Jessica until he announced his intention to step away from surgery. Bell had kept the news under wraps for months as he slowly moved his surgical duties onto Leela, including the small practice of regular patients he had kept. 

But he had made an announcement the week before, and, unfortunately, it had become a feeding frenzy that Billie was trying to battle one ego-driven conversation at a time. A.J., of course, had made it to Billie’s office first. But the rest had soon followed.

Billie had even gone to the Chief Nursing Officer and the medical nurse manager, who supervised the entire staff of scrub nurses, to make sure she was giving the appropriate response. Billie had expected them to be upset at the surgeons’ behavior, at the subtle suggestion that the rest of their scrub staff wasn’t as desirable. Instead, both of them had rolled their eyes and laughed.

And Billie had realized that everyone in the hospital knew that Jessica was the very best, the cream of the crop. It was how she had negotiated such a stellar contract to begin with. Across the board, everyone had already been aware that Jessica’s success wasn’t just Bell’s favoritism in action. And, if there was any jealousy among the scrub team, Billie hadn’t seen any indication of it in that conversation with the nursing leadership.

But it meant that Billie had a problem on her hands. Because eventually the surgeons were going to realize that Jessica had full authority over the decision. Billie could only hold them off for so long. Surgeons were competitive to a fault and would stop at nothing to get what they wanted—because most of them firmly believed they were entitled to anything and everything under the sun. 

In short, as long as Jessica remained unassigned, the situation was a ticking time bomb.

“Do you understand?” Billie asked Leela.

Disappointment lingered on Leela’s face, but she nodded. “Of course. Thank you for your time, chief.”

Oh jeez, Billie thought at the sound of her title from Leela’s mouth.

But Leela held her head high as she left Billie’s office. And Billie felt a burst of pride for Leela.

~*~

Billie strode through the double doors that led to the emergency department and breathed in the bitter smell of antiseptic and the lemon from the cleaning products. She had a Pavlovian response to the smell now, which tended to linger on Conrad’s skin and hair until he showered after a shift. And her eyes found him almost immediately, clear across on the other side of the department, grinning down at a patient on a gurney.

But she wasn’t looking for Conrad, and she forced herself to focus on the task at hand.

Her eyes checked the central bay desk first and got lucky. Jessica was standing with her husband, Irving, and Billie’s lips thinned when she saw the giant arrangement of flowers in Jessica’s arms. It contained an ombréassortment of at least two dozen red, fuchsia, and pink roses, along with a cadre of other flowers to round out the aesthetic. They sat in a beautiful, ornate vase that was wrapped in a delicate silk ribbon. The whole thing was large enough that Jessica’s body and part of her face was mostly hidden behind dense petals.

Damn, Billie thought. They know already.

“Nice flowers,” Billie said dryly. 

Jessica peeked around the bouquet, spotted Billie, and flushed slightly. Billie felt a flash of guilt but wasn’t sure how to address it. She let her eyes flick to Irving.

“Please tell me those are from you,” Billie said.

He gave her an arch look. “You think I can afford that kind of arrangement? Did you see the vase?”

“Hey,” Conrad said from behind her.

Everything inside of Billie softened and warmed as she watched him step up behind one of the other monitors in the nursing bay. She hadn’t spent the night at his place thanks to an ICU patient that had kept her in her office on pins and needles, and it had been almost fifteen hours since she had seen him. Their eyes locked, and a soft smile spread across her face. He braced a hand on either side of the keyboard and smiled back at her. 

“Hey,” she said.

“Good morning,” he murmured. “I missed you.”

“Oh my god,” Jessica gushed. “You two are just so adorable.”

“Right? This is what I’ve been saying,” Irving said.

Conrad straightened with a grin and looked back at the computer. “Did you need something?” he asked, typing.

“I have a surgery in thirty minutes,” Jessica said, still smiling broadly at the two of them. Her eyes were suspiciously shiny. "I should get moving."

“Actually,” Billie said, her attention snapping back into focus. “I need to talk to you.”

Jessica froze, eyes clearing. “Me?” she squeaked.

“Yes,” Billie said firmly.

“Is it about the flowers?” Jessica asked in a rush. “Because I did not ask for these—”

“No, I know.”

“—and the gift certificate to the spa was a total shock—”

“The what?” Billie asked, stunned.

“Honey,” Irving said quietly.

“—and I’m so sorry, Dr. Sutton,” Jessica said, still rushing through all the words. “I really didn’t mean to cause all of this—”

Billie held up a hand. “You have nothing to apologize for.” She took a deep breath and stuck her hands in the pockets of her white coat. “I’m actually here to apologize to you.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Conrad’s head jerk up to squint at her. In front of Billie, Irving and Jessica both looked flummoxed.

“You’re apologizing to me?” Jessica asked. “Why?”

“The way my staff is behaving is entirely inappropriate,” Billie said. “They shouldn’t be pressuring you like this.”

Jessica eyed the bouquet. “I really don’t mind.”

Billie grinned at her. “I can imagine it’s a little fun.”

“You have no idea,” Jessica gushed.

Billie couldn’t help but chuckle. “Still,” she said gently. Then she hesitated, eyes bouncing around the busy ED. “We can talk about this in private if you’d like.”

“Here is fine,” Jessica said with a shrug. “Everyone knows everything in this hospital anyway.”

Irritation surged for a moment at the reminder. The gossip mill had bitten Billie a few times in the past. But she tamped down on the trauma-based reaction.

Focus, she told herself.

“Very true,” Billie said. “I know you have to prep for a surgery, so I’ll be as brief as I can.”

Billie’s professional tone had Jessica’s spine straightening. Irving looked suspicious and stony, as if nothing could make him move from his wife’s side.

“You are, by far, the best scrub nurse we have,” Billie said. “And that competition is fierce at Chastain.”

“Thank you, Dr. Sutton,” Jessica said, sounding touched.

“I’ve spoken with the chief nursing officer, as well as your direct supervisor. I know that they spoke with you last week about this.”

“They did,” Jessica said.

“They did?” Irving murmured to his wife.

“Yes,” she hissed back.

“You did an excellent job renegotiating your contract, and it clearly stipulates that you have control over your own schedule. You can choose your surgeries. I wasn’t aware of that,” Billie admitted. “I should have been.”

Jessica was blushing but looked pleased. The entire ED staff had edged closer, lingering around the central bay to eavesdrop while pretending to read through charts. A few patients weren’t even trying to pretend they weren’t fascinated by the conversation. “The thing is,” Billie said, pushing forward despite their audience, reminding herself that she thrived under pressure. “You’re a team player, Jessica. Not once during any of Bell’s leaves of absence did you take advantage of that clause in your contract. You go wherever you’re told, assist wherever you’re asked to assist.”

“Of course,” Jessica said, clearly flustered. 

Irving reached out a hand and placed it on her back, a smile playing with his lips.

“That’s not an of course,” Billie said firmly and calmly. Her chin was high, face serious, as she looked at Jessica. “Most people would abuse that privilege. And you’re holding proof in your hands that my staff would take full advantage of any edge they thought they might have.”

Billie heard some stifled laughter but ignored it. Jessica bit her lip against a smile and glanced at her husband. Irving’s smile had broadened to a full, proud grin.

“You’ve earned the right to choose what surgeon you’re dedicated to going forward. Your supervisor and I are in full agreement,” Billie said. “We’ll stand behind your decision, and I’ll handle the conversations with the rest of the surgical staff. If anyone gives you trouble, or gets too pushy, tell me, and I’ll handle that, too.”

Billie cleared her throat, getting to the bad news. “I know that all of this happened very suddenly,” she continued. “So, your supervisor has bought you some time to make the decision. But I do need you to make it within the month, which I think she told you last week. I’m sorry we had to put a deadline on it—”

“No, no,” Jessica said, rushing to assure. “I understand, and it’s very generous.”

Billie allowed herself a small—still very professional—smile at the other woman. “But Jessica,” Billie said. “Do me one favor?”

Jessica’s brows lifted slightly.

“Make them work for it,” she said, with a nod at the flowers Jessica held. 

She heard Conrad’s guffaw and tossed him a smile as she turned to go. Everyone scurried to look away, though she saw a few patients watching her with curious eyes.

“Thank you, Dr. Sutton,” Jessica called to Billie.

“Of course. Show’s over everyone,” Billie said as she strode back out of the emergency department.

~*~

Billie had known Leela was an artist for years. She had come across Leela’s sketchbook once back when she had been an intern and marveled over her talent before Leela had self-consciously shoved it back in her bag. But the wedding was beyond gorgeous, beyond anything Billie would have expected or could have imagined.

The ceremony took place outside in front of the famous fountain of the Atlanta Botanical Gardens. Gigi and Sammie—the ultimate flower girl duo once again—had both been covered with swirling mehndi designs from fingertips to elbows and threw magnolia petals as they danced down the path in matching red dresses with full tulle skirts.

Leela walked the aisle in a gold sari with an art deco inspired pattern with rhinestones scattered across the delicate fabric. Her blouse had cutouts at the shoulders and had jewels sewn into the pieces, heavy enough to make it drape where they wrapped around her upper arms. Devon had chosen—or, perhaps Leela had chosen for him— a gold and taupe kurta with red accenting that perfectly complemented the coloring of Leela’s sari.

Billie realized she might be biased, but she wasn’t sure she had ever seen a more beautiful bride. Nic, of course, but that had only been in photos—one of Billie’s biggest regrets. Leela practically glowed, and Billie was fairly certain Devon was crying during the vows.

Following the ceremony, the guests were allowed to wander through the gardens until the sunset cocktail hour. Sammie and Gigi had stuck to Billie’s side like glue, and she had walked them through most of the exhibits. Conrad had tagged along, fingers entwined with Billie’s as she patiently answered questions and looked up information on butterflies and flowers. Sammie had calmly taken everything in with her bright, quick gaze, and Gigi had flounced along beside her, stopping to twirl in her dress over and over.

“This is a fantastic wedding,” Billie murmured to Conrad, as their small group left one of the massive orchid exhibits.

“Devon and Leela know how to throw a party,” he murmured back.

The reception tent had been fully enclosed during the ceremony, and the flaps had been pulled back only once the catering team was ready to seat everyone for dinner. Gigi and Sammie had gasped loudly as they all stepped inside. 

The far end of the tent opened directly into one of the Gardens’ hot houses, and a dancefloor was set in the middle, with all the tables lined around the perimeter. Sets of beautiful, gauzy red draperies came down from the ceiling, gathered around golden lanterns that hung from high above them and burnished everything in a warm glow.

“Do I pay them too much?” Kit muttered.

Billie and Conrad choked back laughter as Bell rolled his eyes. “Kit.”

“I’m kidding,” she insisted. “Mostly.”

At dinner, Billie, Gigi, and Conrad were seated at table number four, with Sammie, Kit, Randolph, Jake, Gregg, Irving, and Jessica. It was the perfect group. Billie wasn’t really in the mood for strangers. Not at Leela and Devon’s wedding. She had enough trouble making conversation with strangers on a normal day, let alone when she felt so emotional, warm, and fuzzy.

They spent most of dinner laughing, with Gigi and Sammie keeping them all entertained. Padma, A.J., Arjun, and Elijah were seated at the family table, and A.J. kept glancing over with longing in his eyes. Conrad waved at him once, and he had glared until Gigi turned to see who her father was waving at. Then A.J. cleared his face into a pleasant smile and waved back.

The girls, of course, had become restless once they were full. After a few minutes of fidgeting, Gregg had offered to walk them through the hot house, and the trio had disappeared.

In the quiet that descended on the table, Conrad’s hand slid under Billie’s hair to curl around the back of her neck, thumb stroking her skin. She let her eyes flutter shut for a moment and soaked in the feeling. When she opened them again, Jessica had switched chairs with her husband, leaving her to sit next to Billie. 

“Dr. Sutton?” Jessica asked.

Billie turned to her with an easy smile. “You can call me Billie, Jessica, it’s fine.”

Obvious hesitation crossed the scrub nurse’s face, and Billie laughed softly. She knew the sound was light and happy, more so than it ever was at the hospital. But she didn’t care. It was an excellent night. Conrad’s fingers were warm against her skin, and Gigi was happy, and Leela and Devon were moon-eyed at their table for two in the center of it all, and it was one of those moments in life that were always so fleeting where it felt like absolutely nothing could ever go wrong again.

Billie gave Jessica a curious look. “You used to call me Billie all the time.”

“That was before,” Jessica insisted.

“Before what?”

“Before you were chief,” Jessica said, like this meant something.

Billie supposed it did, though hospital hierarchy rarely crossed her mind unless a surgeon came to her with a problem. She had been thrilled to make chief—especially so young, and especially after everything that had happened at Chastain. But she hadn’t thought it made anyone look at her any differently (other than because it gave her greater access to the purse strings). 

Most especially Jessica, of all people, who had been the scrub nurse in Billie’s OR when she made the biggest mistake of her career that gave Conrad’s patient a stroke. The scrub nurse who had warned Billie to wait for Aronson, that something was off with the patient’s levels on the monitor. The same scrub nurse that Billie had ignored and snippily told she had everything under control—when Billie very much had not.

Sometimes it still amazed Billie that she and Jessica were even friendly. Jessica had as much right to hate Billie as Conrad had.

In other circumstances, Billie could have said all of that to Jessica. She never had and probably should have at some point. But they were at Leela and Devon’s wedding, so, instead, “We pre-date that,” was all Billie chose to say.

“True,” Jessica murmured, and for some reason her eyes flicked to Bell.

Billie followed the gaze and found Kit and Bell watching them. “I’m all ears on this,” Bell said.

“Same,” Kit said.

“What’s going on?” Billie asked, looking between the three of them.

“I was hoping to ask your advice,” Jessica said quickly, pulling Billie’s attention back to her.

“My advice on what?” Billie asked.

“On my decision.”

“Oh.” Billie straightened in her chair, and Conrad’s hand fell away as he leaned forward, elbows finding the table. “What about it?”

Jessica looked down at her folded hands, and Irving’s hand came over to cover his wife’s. “I wondered what you would do… if you were me?”

Billie’s brows rose, and she looked back at Bell. He shrugged and said, “She already has my advice.”

Billie nodded once and licked her lips. “Well, I think the first thing we have to acknowledge is that this decision isn’t final. Meaning, if you chose a surgeon and then decided you hated working with them, we could move you again. You’re not going to lose your value, Jessica. You’ll always have that leverage. For lack of a better phrase,” she murmured.

Jessica nodded, eyes studying Billie as she absorbed the words.

“The other piece of this is that you don’t have to choose to dedicate yourself to anyone,” Billie emphasized, and Jessica’s eyes dropped back to her hands. “You’ve already displayed the agility to move between specialties. If what you wanted to do was stay part of the rotation, then we would absolutely support that. If what you want is to move into a training position, or if you were interested in a management track, then we would make that happen. I hear you’re an amazing mentor to the scrub staff.”

Billie put a hand on the table and leaned forward to catch Jessica’s eye. “I don’t want you to think that your career will ever be determined by a surgeon. Any surgeon. You have many, many options. And none of them are going away.”

“Thank you,” Jessica said. Her eyes flicked to Bell again, then she pulled a hand free from Irving’s grip to stack on top of her husband’s.

“Beyond that, if you did choose…” Billie trailed off. She thought for a moment, all the faces of her surgical staff flipping through her mind like flash cards. “I don’t know, to be honest. We have so many talented surgeons. General will have the most varied cases, but Leela is young and inexperienced. She doesn’t have much pull yet in terms of shift hours. Trauma will have a good load with a lot of variety, but the hours are unpredictable.”

She tilted her head to the side. “Cardio is an exciting field, always evolving, but James mostly does small procedures. And a lot of them,” she said dryly. “He has twice the surgical load of any other surgeon on staff.”

“And brings in more money than God,” Kit added. “Bless him.”

“I’m trying to entice Jake back to lead our plastics team,” Billie said, with a sly glance at Bell’s stepson.

He looked down shyly. “You flatter me.”

“But so far no dice,” Billie admitted on a sigh. “And you’ll need to make a decision long before he returns.”

“If I return,” Jake said.

“Before he gets back,” Bell said. Kit smacked him on the shoulder, but Jake just chuckled.

Ignoring his wife’s very physical admonishment, Bell asked, “What about neuro?”

“Ah,” Billie said with a humorless smile. “Neuro is hard. Emotional. We see a lot of death. Sometimes the patients have to be awake, and we rely on the scrub nurses to keep them calm. We only cut when we have to—more so than any other specialty—but that means it’s almost always dire when we hit the OR. But it also means that it can be the most rewarding discipline.”

Jessica nodded slowly, hesitantly. “I know.”

Billie offered Jessica an understanding look. “And, back to cardiothoracic, A.J. is… well… A.J.,” Billie said with a shrug.

“No, thank you,” Jessica murmured. As the others stifled laughter, she added, “He’s wonderful. Outside the OR. Inside he’s… frustrating.”

“That was so very diplomatic,” Billie said, with approval. “Well done.”

Conrad laughed and slung an arm over her shoulders. He squeezed her close and kissed her hair before letting go.

“That covers most of our rockstars,” Billie said, slightly flustered from the public display of affection—as well as the sappy looks they were receiving from the rest of the table. “But, most importantly, you still have three weeks. Take it. There is no wrong decision here, which makes it harder.”

Jessica smiled, eyes studying Billie for a while. “Thanks, Dr. Sutton.”

“What is it?” Billie asked, curious at the searching look on Jessica’s face.

Billie followed Jessica’s eyes as they flew back to Kit and Bell, wondering what she was missing in this conversation. There was clearly some sort of subtext floating around that Billie wasn’t privy to. 

But she was surprised to find the older couple watching Billie herself. Randolph was leaning forward, elbows on the table, fingers laced together, with a small, almost sad smile on his face. Kit had slipped an arm through his and was resting her chin on his shoulder, silent support.

“We can talk about it on Monday,” Jessica said quietly.

And Billie, always aware of and respectful of boundaries, nodded. “Whenever you’d like. My door is always open.”

~*~

Later—after the sun had set, and the music had started, and the tables had been cleared away quietly in the background—Billie tilted her head to the side, fingers fiddling with the delicate necklace she wore every day. Her eyes were glued to Devon and Leela where they swayed on the dancefloor, foreheads pressed together. Leela’s hands rested against Devon’s chest, and his were locked together at the small of her back.

That’s love, she thought, a soft smile on her lips.

Devon and Leela moved out of Billie’s line of sight, other couples filling in the gap. Irving and Jessica talked softly together. Kit and Bell were laughing—because they were always laughing—and Jake and Gregg were kissing gently. Even Padma and A.J. had each brought a twin to the dancefloor, swaying them gently to sleep. There were other couples, strangers, but Billie only had eyes for her friends.

Friends, she thought with a wistfulness that made her throat clench.

Billie had never had many friends. It had been a choice—one that she had believed for a very long time to be the best option. But even Billie had to admit that it had been a lonely one.

After the rape, she had pushed everyone away, erecting walls to keep herself safe through isolation. She had spent high school dedicating the majority of her time to studying, packing in as many AP and honors courses as she had been able to convince the guidance counselor to allow, desperate for a full ride. In her limited free time, she had also volunteered as a candy striper at the local community hospital as soon as she had been of legal age to do so—and had nearly been fired for her attitude within the week. Fortunately, the nurses had loved her because Billie had been efficient and capable and never said no to any task. She had proven herself invaluable. And, so, she had stayed all through high school.

She had, essentially, ensured she had been too busy for friends.

Over the years, after they had reconnected, whenever Nic had pushed Billie to open herself up to people, Billie had resisted, saying that one real, true friend was all she needed. Nic had always been enough. But the reality had been that the only person in the world Billie had trusted was Nicolette Nevin.

Until Conrad. But he was a whole other, complicated story with many a twist and false ending.

But, that night, she looked around a beautiful, warm, burnished red tent filled with people she loved and couldn’t finish counting all of her friends on two hands. She tried to blame Conrad, to tell herself that she was accepted because he had drawn her into the folds of his life. But that simply wasn’t true. 

Kit had become one of Billie’s favorite people, thanks to her giant heart and butt-kicking swagger. They went for drinks at least once a week, just the two of them, to vent and dish and laugh. Billie and Kit had taken Gigi on a spa day a few weeks before. It had been one of the best days of Billie’s life. Hands down. Full stop.

Aside from Leela and Devon, Kit and Bell had become one of Billie and Conrad’s favorite couple friends, joining them for dinner a few times a month, sometimes with and sometimes without Gigi. They even dragged Jake, Gregg, and Sammie along if they were in town, which they were more and more often in recent times.

Billie and A.J. were solid. He had become like an old brother, despite the fact that she was technically his boss. Because when A.J. loved, he did it with the whole-hearted commitment he did everything he was passionate about, and, so, Billie had never doubted his support and fondness. A.J. even trusted her to watch Arjun and Elijah—and he had fired three nannies already over small transgressions like not using the candy thermometer to check the milk—having dubbed her Super Auntie Billie to the boys.

She and Jake had bonded over a mutual love of their little ladies, as well as jazz, Billie’s secret obsession with romantic comedies, and the difficult fight they had both faced as brilliant young surgeons of color in fields that were still aggressively and predominantly white. Gregg had come along for the ride in that friendship, but he and Billie texted every so often, usually when they had made a parenting blunder, or one of the girls had said something so embarrassing it was hilarious.

Billie had a feeling she might be winning Jessica over, too, if their recent conversations were any clue there. And Conrad had laughingly told Billie that Irving had been her loudest supporter in the emergency room, rooting for Billie and Conrad to face up to their connection long before Conrad had known that Billie had feelings for him.

Even she and Cade were finding common ground. And that presented its own challenges, but they were navigating—

Her thoughts were interrupted by a high-pitched, blood curdling shriek that filled the tent: “Aunt Billie!”

Several people jumped or grabbed at their chests in Billie’s peripheral vision as she frantically spun in a circle, trying to find Gigi. She spotted her goddaughter standing with Sammie—who looked absolutely scandalized—off to one side of the tent. Billie was relieved to see that Gigi looked completely and totally fine and whole and unscathed.

Still, Billie hurried over, reaching Gigi and Sammie right as Conrad came up from the other direction. They met each other’s eyes—the last vestiges of panicking lingering in both pairs—just as they both reached for Gigi, who slid a hand into each of theirs. Billie resisted the urge to run her fingers over the little girl to look for damage, despite her eyes telling her that Gigi was fine.

“Sammie is going to be in another wedding,” Gigi said to her father and Billie without preamble, stressing every word like it was gospel.

Conrad’s lips thinned as he tried to smile at his daughter. “Bubble, what did we tell you about indoor voices?”

“But we’re outside,” Gigi said.

Technically, that was true, and Conrad floundered for a moment.

Billie took a swing. “Remember the checklist?”

“Of course,” Gigi said, sounding impatient. “Is there fire? Is there blood? Is it an emergency? This was really, really urgent.”

Sammie hid a giggle behind her hand.

“At least you thought it through,” Billie said, trying to give Conrad an encouraging look. 

She’s trying, she said with her eyes.

He quirked an eyebrow at her. Uh-huh.

They both turned back at Gigi and Sammie as conversations resumed around them. “Another wedding,” Billie said to Sammie, mentally catching up. “That’s so exciting.”

Sammie grinned at them.

“She’s not even going to be a flower girl this time!”

“Inside voice, Bubble,” Conrad murmured.

Gigi’s brow furrowed as she looked at the tent again.

Billie asked, “Did they decide to make you a junior bridesmaid?”

Sammie and Gigi looked at her in awe. “You’ve heard of it?” Gigi asked.

Billie heard Conrad stifling a chuckle. “Of course,” she said, with the appropriate reverence. “It’s a really important job. Congratulations, Sammie.”

Sammie blushed, looking shyly at the ground.

“I wanna be a junior bridesmaid,” Gigi said, her voice dangerously close to a whine. Then she lit up and turned back to Sammie. “I bet your dress is going to be amazing. You’ll look so beautiful. Can we go?”

“We can’t invite ourselves to a wedding, sweetie,” Billie said.

Gigi’s face fell.

“I’ll send you pictures,” Sammie promised.

“Can we help her pick it out, Billie?” Gigi asked. “Please?”

For Devon and Leela’s wedding, Billie had been tasked with taking the girls shopping for another round of flower girl dresses. This time, both Kit and Leela had tagged along. All the women had agreed it was far more satisfying than buying dresses for themselves.

“Sweetie, she’s probably not going to get to pick it out this time,” Billie told Gigi gently. “Bridesmaid dresses are usually chosen by the bride.”

“But Aunt Leela came with us this time.” Gigi pouted. “And she was the bride. We still picked them.”

“Before we get too far ahead of ourselves, let’s not forget that this wedding isn’t over yet,” Conrad said, with faux sternness. “And your flower girl duties have not yet ended.”

The little girls giggled, and warmth pooled in Billie’s chest.

“Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to get out on that dancefloor,” Conrad ordered.

The girls cheered and ran off. Their tulle skirts bounced around them, and the crowd parted to let them through.

“Well, that was easy,” Conrad said, watching them go.

“Seriously,” Billie said.

After a moment, Conrad asked, “Was that too easy?”

“Probably,” Billie admitted. “Gigi’s going to bring up those dresses again, I can feel it.”

“Who knew I would have a fashionista for a daughter,” Conrad muttered. “She’s going to need a bigger closet.”

“Says the guy who has more jewelry than I do,” Billie teased.

Conrad’s head whipped around to her. “I don’t have that many accessories,” he said on a laugh.

She smirked. “You have never met a leather cuff you didn’t like.”

“Hey.”

“Aunt Billie,” the DJ said over the speakers. “You are needed on the dancefloor.”

Titters of laughter spread through the crowd. Billie felt her cheeks heat, but she cleared her throat and looked out over the groups of dancers. She spotted Gigi and Sammie near the DJ booth. The girls waved, beckoning her to join them.

Before she could take a step, an arm slid around her waist. She leaned back against Conrad’s chest, and he pressed their cheeks together. 

“You’re not coming?” she asked.

“You go ahead,” he said. “I need to talk to Kit.”

But he didn’t let go, and she felt her smile widen. “You know,” she murmured. “Gigi asked if she could spend the night at the hotel with Sammie.”

“Really?” Conrad murmured back. “That is a very interesting idea.”

“Isn’t it?”

“I’ll go talk to Jake,” Conrad said, kissing her cheek.

“I thought you needed to talk to Kit,” she pointed out.

“Priorities. Jake then Kit.”

~*~

A little over a week later, Billie stepped off the elevator and into the emergency department, looking around with a concerned frown. She had been paged, but there had been no details or patient information. 

As usual, the ED was a flurry of activity. She saw Conrad’s blond head through the sliding glass door of one of the trauma bays. A.J. and James were both with him, likely still answering each other’s pages whenever they managed to intercept a summons, as they continued to compete for the small set of cases in which their expertise overlapped. Cade was in another bay, speaking softly to a patient. No one looked like they were waiting for her to arrive.

Billie narrowed her eyes as she looked around, unsure where she was supposed to go. Then a curtain flung back, and Irving walked towards the central desk, pulling off his gloves. Billie made a beeline for him.

“Hey,” she said, as they both reached the desk. “I was asked to come down.”

He raised his eyebrows at her. “Well, good morning to you, too,” he said, but he didn’t sound particularly bothered. “I don’t know who paged you. Let me check.” He started to type into one of the computers and frowned. “I don’t see anything about a neuro consult in here.”

“Sorry!” Billie heard behind them. She turned to see Jessica hurrying towards the desk. 

“That was me,” Jessica said. “The page. Sorry.”

Billie turned to her as Irving gaped at his wife. “That’s all right. What can I do for you?”

“Everything okay?” Cade asked as she came out of one of the trauma bays and spotted Billie. Cade glanced around with a deep frown, clearly trying to figure out which of the patients needed a neurosurgeon. “Did we page you?”

“I did,” Jessica said.

“You did,” Cade repeated in surprise.

“I made my decision,” Jessica said.

“Already,” Billie said, surprised. “You still have two weeks.”

“I know,” Jessica said.

“Decision?” Cade asked. Then her face cleared. “Oh, about the surgeons.”

“You heard about that?” Irving asked. Then he shook his head. “Why am I surprised?”

“Everybody heard,” Cade said, grabbing a new chart out of the intake box. “At least three people told me about it.”

“Billie practically held up a boombox outside Jessica’s window,” Hundley added as she walked past.

Cade laughed lightly and flipped open the chart to scan it. In the quiet as Cade read and Hundley sauntered over to her next patient, Billie turned back to Jessica. 

“Would you like to go somewhere private?”

“No,” Jessica said. “This is fine.”

From behind Billie, she heard, “Did I miss it?” and turned to find Bell and Kit walking into the department. 

Billie’s jaw dropped open. She had known Bell felt especially close to Jessica, but she thought this was a bit unnecessary.

“I already know her decision,” he told Billie with a smile. “Funny thing is, she hadn’t thought it was an option. I told her it was.”

“You always have to take the credit,” Kit said, with a fond smile.

“Not always,” Bell said to her. “And hush. I’m listening.”

Kit snorted.

Billie frowned. “Didn’t think what was an option?”

One of the trauma bays slid open, drawing Billie’s eyes as Conrad, James, and A.J. filed out of the room. Conrad spotted the small crowd at the central desk and walked over with a hesitant expression.

“What’s going on, everybody?”

“Jessica made her decision,” Irving said. “And a small army of surgeons has descended on my ED.”

“Your ED?” Cade repeated, lightly but firmly.

“Sorry, ma’am,” Irving said, not sounding sorry at all. “I out tenure you.”

“Fair enough,” Cade said.

“I’m not sure that’s a verb,” Kit murmured to herself.

“I have no idea,” Billie said to Conrad, answering his original question. “Kit and Bell came out of nowhere.”

“We asked to be here when she told you,” Kit said.

“Told me what?” Billie asked, prompting everyone gently.

Jessica looked nervous. “I thought about what you said at the wedding. And I really appreciate all of your advice.”

“Happy to give it,” Billie said.

She could feel the entire ED watching them. Again. She could feel James and A.J. edging closer, and she suspected they were each trying to put themselves in Jessica’s line of sight.

“Do you remember two months ago?” Jessica asked suddenly. “You were debulking a tumor on an eight-year-old girl, and I scrubbed in with you.”

“Leilani Cartwright,” Billie said immediately. “Of course. That was a hard surgery.”

“But successful,” Jessica reminded her.

Billie smiled, feeling triumphant all over again. “Her prognosis is good,” Billie said. “I spoke with her oncologist last week. It looks like the radiation is shrinking what we had to leave behind.”

“That’s great,” Jessica said, in a rush. “But what I meant was… do you remember what we listened to?”

Billie’s smile turned rueful. “The Moana soundtrack.”

“For four hours,” Jessica said, pointedly.

Confused, Billie nodded slowly. “Yes.”

“Because you had asked Leilani what her favorite songs were, and she said Moana.”

Billie blinked. “Studies show that some patients are still able to hear what’s happening around them, even with general anesthesia. We think it might be more prevalent in children because of how elastic their brains still are.”

“So, you always ask the patients what they want to listen to,” Jessica said.

“I didn’t know you did that,” James murmured.

“That’s smart,” A.J. said, thoughtful.

Billie looked around the crowd, confused. “If they can hear, I want it to be something they find comforting.”

Jessica nodded. “You’re the most brilliant surgeon we have on staff.”

“Hey now,” A.J. said.

“And you’re lovely to assist,” Jessica said to Billie, ignoring him. “And, as the chief, you’re able to scrub in on any surgery in the hospital that you want. You’re even required to during probationary periods or if we grant guest privileges to a surgeon.”

Billie was very aware that she was an incredibly intelligent person. And she felt very stupid in that moment for not realizing where Jessica had been going with all of this sooner. The looks exchanged with Bell while Billie had given her advice. The eagerness on Kit’s face. Irving’s supportive touches. It all made sense now.

“I want to work with a surgeon who cares enough to ask a patient what their favorite song is,” Jessica said sweetly. “Just in case.”

“I see,” Billie murmured. “And you’re sure?”

Jessica nodded. “If you’ll have me.”

“Like that was ever a question,” Billie said, brusque. “We’ll have to meet with your supervisor to make it official. But welcome to the team.”

James stepped forward with his lady-killer smile firmly in place. “Now Jessica—”

“It’s over, James,” Cade said, in her usual blunt way. “Let it go.”

James sighed, but his eyes danced as he nodded in concession at Billie. “I suppose the best surgeon won.”

Billie raised an eyebrow at him. She opened her mouth to remind him that Jessica’s career was not a competition. But A.J. stepped forward with a generous expression. 

“I support this,” A.J. said, as if he hadn’t been hoping Jessica would choose him at all. “I think this is the best possible outcome.”

“As do I,” James said.

“Says the man who bought her a spa package,” A.J. muttered.

“Didn’t you offer to upgrade her car?” James asked.

The men exchanged tense looks. Then they both forced laughs as they turned back to Conrad, who watched them with an openly amused expression.

“About my patient—” A.J. began.

“Our patient,” James said smoothly.

“You two are enough to give aspirin a headache,” Conrad said. “I don’t know how Billie puts up with you.”

“You have no idea,” Billie said, dry.

Irving turned to Jessica. “He was going to upgrade our car?”

“Oh, Irving,” Jessica said, rolling her eyes. But, as the crowd wandered away, Jessica smiled excitedly. “I’m going to go add myself to your schedule.”

“Sounds good,” Billie said, but Jessica was already rushing away.

Kit and Bell followed as Billie strolled from the ED. “You really didn’t know?” Kit asked.

“I had no idea,” Billie admitted.

In her mind, Jessica still only saw Billie as the fifth-year resident who had destroyed someone’s life in her own arrogance. It had never occurred to her that Jessica would ever see past that, even with all the promotions and honors and accolades Billie had earned in the meantime.

Bell put a hand on Billie’s shoulder and squeezed. “You’re the best chief we’ve ever had here at Chastain,” he said. “I don’t know if I’ve ever said that to you.”

Billie’s chin came up as she shoved down the emotions. “Thank you, Randolph.”

Kit reached out and hugged Billie without a word. Then she slipped her arm through Bell’s and led him away.

Billie watched them go, sliding her hands into the pockets of her white coat. When someone touched the back of her arm just above the elbow, she knew without looking that it was Conrad.

“Congratulations,” he said, keeping his voice down in the busy hallway.

She didn’t know why he bothered. Everyone knew they were dating. Apparently, there had been a betting pool on it, even throughout his relationship with Cade. She thought that was a bit disrespectful, but mostly she was just glad A.J. hadn’t won the pot. He never would have let her hear the end of it.

“It’s nice,” Conrad said.

“What is?” she asked, finally looking at him.

“Seeing you get all this love.” Crinkles fanned out from the corners of his eyes. “You deserve all the love in the entire world.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it,” Billie said.

“What?” Conrad asked, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear.

She shrugged with a small smile, feeling peaceful inside. “Having friends.”

Something flashed across Conrad’s face, too quick for Billie to catch it. But his eyes darkened as he closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her.

“Billie Damn Sutton,” he whispered.

 She pulled back slightly to look at his face, laughing a little. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said, and kissed her.

[kaitidid22]

On Friendship (Conrad/Nic, Nic & Billie, Billie & Conrad)

Summary: Conrad and Nic walk to dinner and have a conversation about Billie, much to Conrad's annoyance. (Canon-friendly & set before Gigi's birth and very early in Billie's return.)

A/N: I set this one from Conrad's perspective, so that was different to write. I'm not sure I'm going to do that again-it was very hard. But let me know if you like it, and maybe I'll give it another go.

I guess this one isn't really set in the Lost Years, but it sort of feels like it in my head. Working on more Conrad/Billie centric pieces!

I cried during the finale. I still haven't recovered. I must have a season 7. I MUST. Please. I beg.

On Friendship

“I invited Billie,” Nic said as they strolled down the sidewalk, arm in arm.

Conrad waited for the flare of dread and loathing in his chest that usually followed the sound of Nic’s best friend’s name. But it remained mostly quiet, the steady thuthump thuthump thuthump of his heartbeat accompanied only by a slight twinge of irritation.

Huh, he thought. But he was trying to keep Nic calm and stay on her good side, so he just shrugged a shoulder and said, “Okay.”

Nic gave him a stern look, and Conrad made a who me? gesture. Secure in the knowledge that she found him adorable, he watched his wife battle against amusement at his cheekiness. In the end, though, Nic won the war, and the stern expression remained.

“What is it?” he asked, resigned to a lecture. 

“No comments,” Nic said.

“No comments about what?”

“Anything,” Nic stressed. “Work, Syria, the past, the future. Nothing.”

“The past and the future are off limits? What’s left to talk about?” Conrad asked, but he kept his tone teasing.

“I have faith in you, Mr. Gabby.”

“That’s a terrible nickname,” he said.

“You have the gift of gab,” Nic told him. “Embrace it.”

“Uh-huh.” 

Without thinking about it, he reached over and caressed her pregnant belly. Nic made a humming sigh of contentment in the back of her throat. A slow smile spread across his face.

If anyone had pulled him aside ten years before and told him he would have a beautiful wife, with a baby on the way and zero desire to run for the hills, he would have laughed himself silly. 

And, yet, there he was with a crackerjack, whip smart blonde in a little red dress on his arm. And their baby was in her belly, and they were strolling towards dinner at their favorite bistro—because they had a favorite bistro—in their own neighborhood, just a few blocks from their house. And chickens. So many chickens.

Conrad loved his life.

“And there’s one other thing,” Nic said.

“This should be good,” he murmured.

Conrad waited. But Nic didn’t speak. Finally, after a few beats of tension, it dawned on him that whatever Nic was trying to tell him was serious—even more serious than their exchanges about Billie usually were. Slowing to a stop, he unthreaded Nic’s arm from the crook of his elbow and stepped in front of her. He brushed a lock of blonde hair out of her face and took in her expression. 

She looked hesitant, and that wiped the smirk right off his face. Nic knew she could tell him anything. 

“Nic, what is it?” he asked.

“She doesn’t like compliments,” Nic said. 

The words came at him in the serious voice Nic employed to tell him that a patient’s labs were dire or their sats were dropping. Conrad would be the first to tell anyone he was an idiot, so he should have known not to focus on the words themselves but listen to the way she’d said them. And, still, he didn’t. He only heard the literal meaning, and an incredulous expression slid onto his face.

“I beg to differ,” he said, almost laughing at the absurdity. “Billie Sutton’s ego would shock Liberace.”

“She’s not that person anymore,” Nic said. She wrapped her hands around the open front of his leather jacket to pull him closer. “And she was never as bad as you made her out to be.”

He let out a loud, humorless laugh, and Nic dropped his jacket entirely, lips thinning. He braced himself for all the things he had heard from her over the past three years any time the topic of Billie had come up in conversation—a topic that had turned any conversation into a fight about eighty percent of the time in the months following the whole, awful mess with Conrad’s patient.

“You know I understand why you turned her in,” Nic had said, shoving her sweater in her bag.

Conrad had thrown his arms wide. “Then why are you mad at me? I had no choice.”

She had been rushing around his apartment, gathering up her belongings. He had been panicked at first, thinking something was truly wrong, but then she had explained that Billie had accepted a surgery position with Patients in Health. Only the recruiter had told Billie that she had needed to be on a plane that same day, and Nic would have to meet her at the airport to say goodbye.

“There’s always a choice, Conrad,” Nic had said. “And there was a hell of a lot more nuance involved than you were willing to admit.”

“What nuance? She wasn’t supposed to cut, and she did. It seems pretty black and white to me.”

“Oh, yes,” Nic had snapped, startling him. “Because your decisions are always so black and white. You fucking live in the gray area, Conrad.”

Conrad had told himself to take a deep breath. He had known when they started dating how close Nic and Billie were. He hadn’t liked it, it hadn’t been convenient, but he had known.

“My patient will never walk again, never talk again. He was young, Nic. He had his life ahead of him,” Conrad had said.

“I know. And it’s awful. And I’m so sorry for him and his family,” Nic had said. She had stopped rushing around the apartment. “I have to go. Billie’s flight is in three hours. If I don’t leave now, I’m going to miss her.”

“Fine,” he had said.

Nic had given him a look that held so much disillusioned disappointment that it had felt like someone stabbed him in the chest. And, then, Nicolette Nevin—the most even-keeled person he had ever met—slammed his front door on the way out. Yet another thing that had been Billie’s fault.

As Nic watched him brace for an attack, she morphed into sharp edges before his eyes. But all she said was, “You promised you would try.”

Yeah, I did that, he thought, regretting it for the ten thousandth time.

Conrad drew a breath in through his nose. “I did. And I am.”

Nic continued to watch him. Her eyes were sad and irritated and fierce and determined. Conrad shoved aside the irritation that was sharpening itself against his gut like a lode stone. 

“I am,” he said, trying to convey a sincerity he didn’t really feel.

But Nic, of course, saw right through that. “Conrad,” Nic said, sighing and looking away into the night.

They had reached the small business district of their quiet neighborhood. Strings of lights zigzagged through the air over the street. A few couples were walking hand-in-hand, and the smattering of restaurants had set their sidewalk tables out for the night. Laughter floated through the air.

“Aronson was a lazy hack with rusty skills. He hid behind his residents,” Billie had said. 

And didn’t that ring true? Nic’s voice—the voice of his conscience—pointed out in his brain. You hate Aronson.

Conrad shoved the thought away. He didn’t want Billie and her issues taking up any of his brain space if he could help it. He placed soft hands on Nic’s shoulders, cupping around the tension. Nic deserved more from him.

“I am trying,” he said again, trying to convey his sincerity.

She drew in her own deep, calming breath, but her face still troubled. “Okay.”

“Now. Explain,” he murmured. “Why doesn’t Billie like compliments? And why are you warning me about this?”

“She does. She’s a human being. Everyone likes compliments. But…” She stopped and folded her arms over her chest, muttering, “I feel like I’m betraying a confidence.”

Curiosity piqued, Conrad studied her face. “Are you?”

“No,” Nic said, with a rush of breath. “She’s never said… She’s never explained it to me. It’s just a spidey sense. A best friend thing.”

“If you map it out, then I can avoid stepping on a landmine,” Conrad said, dropping his hands.

“She likes compliments about her brain, about her work. Because she is actually quite brilliant, and she knows that,” Nic said. Then she gave him another stern look. “Which is a good thing. More women should be confident in their abilities. And, yet, when they are, society treats them like—I’m rambling.”

Conrad waited, quiet. 

Nic rubbed her fingers across her forehead. “She doesn’t like compliments about how she looks.”

Conrad’s eyes narrowed to a squint. “Come again?”

“She doesn’t like anyone to mention how she looks,” Nic said, arms still tight across the top of her pregnant belly.

“Billie Sutton,” Conrad said, drawing the words out slowly to highlight how little this made sense. “Doesn’t like being told she’s pretty?”

“That’s right,” Nic said, calm.

“I find that hard to believe,” he said. He made the words teasing, throwing on a disbelieving half-smile for good measure.

“Well, believe it,” Nic said, not at all charmed. “And this is a nice place. So, she’s going to dress to match. Billie is very careful about that sort of this.”

“What sort of thing?” Conrad asked, confused.

“Etiquette,” Nic said, sounding annoyed with him. “Dress codes.”

“Etiquette? She tried to make Devon park her car,” Conrad pointed out.

“Devon tried to steal a parking space she was already pulling into when she was in a hurry to get to my hospital room,” Nic countered. “You’re telling me you wouldn’t have stonewalled some stranger trying to pull rank in a parking lot over an unassigned space?”

Conrad’s brows slammed together. He really wanted to argue with that. But she would see right through him if he tried.

“For the record,” Nic added, because Nic was always fair. “Billie wasn’t right, and she knows that. She felt bad about it later.” 

“Oh, did she?” Conrad murmured. He doubted that.

Nic wrinkled her nose. “Kind of. She felt worse about the impound fee than Devon. She might have said that she would make it a goal to annoy him until his hair vibrated.”

Conrad choked and swallowed down the inappropriate laughter that wanted to escape. “Wow,” was all he said. 

“We’re still working on the anger management.” Nic cleared her throat. “I know Billie. And she’s going to wear a dress to dinner because that’s what would be expected.” 

Conrad paused. As he stopped to think about it, he realized that he had rarely seen Billie out of scrubs, and, when he had, it was long sleeved shirts and sweaters and pants. If Billie Sutton owned a sundress, she had never worn one around him.

“So, no comments,” Nic said. “Just pretend she’s in jeans and a sweatshirt. Got it?”

“I have seen Billie dressed up before,” he pointed out.

Turning, he slid her arm back through the crook of his elbow. He was encouraged when she settled her fingers on his forearm and leaned into his side.

“Oh yeah?” she asked, wry. “When?”

“The first-year resident’s reception,” he said, triumphant.

Nic snorted, unimpressed. “Seven years ago? And you don’t think that’s a little weird?”

“Do you?” he asked, pointed.

“I don’t know. A little, I guess.”

“Okay,” he murmured. “Why?”

“Billie blossomed young.”

“Blossomed?” he echoed on a laugh.

“Fine. She got boobs,” Nic snapped at him, but she didn’t sound irritated. “And she was so pretty and friendly and suddenly she looked like a teenager. But we were only eleven? Maybe twelve. Mom was still alive.”

Conrad squeezed her arm.

“Anyway,” Nic said on a sigh. “Boys started hitting on her, and she was still just a kid. And she wasn’t even all that interested in boys. She liked to read, and she had this chemistry set that her dad gave her that we were obsessed with.”

Conrad felt a warm rush of love picturing a miniature Nic in safety goggles. “You must have been so adorable with your tiny microscope and beakers.”

She hummed in acknowledgement, but she was distracted. “I remember it made Billie uncomfortable, but the other girls were already getting boy crazy, and they were all so jealous. She got bullied a little.”

“Ouch,” Conrad muttered, uncomfortable with the pang of sympathy he felt.

He couldn’t really relate, but he knew how teenage boys were, and he wanted them nowhere near his daughter. He had already started coming up with elaborate plans to keep boys away from her forever. A moat around the house had seemed like a good idea in the wee hours a few days prior.

“We stopped going to the pool. She started wearing these bulky sweatshirts.” Nic sounded thoughtful, like she had never really considered all of this so deeply. 

“She had you,” Conrad reminded her.

Nic’s smile twisted. “Until her family moved away. Anyway, the next time I saw her, we were eighteen, and she was already a lot like she is now. Or was. Before she left.”

Nic stayed quiet, and he could almost feel her brain turning. They were only a block or so from the bistro, and he nudged her gently with his elbow.

“You know, you never told me how you got back in touch,” he said, knowing she would bite at the chance to tell a sanctioned—nay, requested—Billie story.

“I haven’t?” she asked, surprised. 

Conrad shook his head, throwing her a little smile. Talking through all of it had seemed to help Nic relax. She had even stopped rubbing her belly every few minutes as if she were checking to see it was still there.

“I found her on one of those social media sites freshman year of colleges,” Nic said, voice perking up a bit at the happier story. “I was thinking about her one day… Missing her, really. Facebook had just come out, so, I searched her name, and I didn’t really think I would find her. But there she was at a school only a couple of hours away. It felt like fate, so I sent her a message.”

“And that was that? You were just back to best friends like no time had passed?” he asked, mostly teasing. 

But the question was always there for him. Because he couldn’t understand the bond Nic and Billie had. He couldn’t reconcile the Billie from Nic’s stories, the love and affection in Nic’s voice, with the arrogant, smirking, superior, and razor-sharp Dr. Sutton who had hated him moments after meeting him.

“She answered within three minutes.” Nic sounded smug. “Said she’d missed me, too, and asked if I up for a field trip that weekend. So, I drove out to see her, and the rest is history.” 

Conrad kept the comments rolling around the back of his mouth to himself. He hadn’t seen her so easy and carefree in months. He liked it. He liked the color in her cheeks and the soft smile playing with her lips.

And he knew that Billie was a big part of it, which stuck in his craw but was getting easier to swallow each day Billie stayed in Atlanta. The week prior, he had heard them laughing through the floor, shushing each other more loudly than the laughter, in an effort not to wake him after a night shift. He hadn’t heard Nic laugh like that in… He wasn’t sure how long.

He would never admit it to anyone, but the sound had made him grin.

“I just want her to be home,” Nic said. “I know that’s selfish.

“She’s your best friend,” Conrad said, hoping he didn’t sound as grudging as he felt saying it. “Of course, you do.”

Nic squeezed his arm. “Thank you for understanding. I know this isn’t easy for you.”

“Eh,” he said, uncomfortable with her gratitude given how much he still resented Billie’s presence in their life.

He didn’t like having her back. Everyone knew that. But he also found her confusing as hell, and all the times Nic had insisted that Billie wasn’t the same Billie Sutton who had left Chastain in disgrace were starting to lodge themselves in his brain. He had started to wonder if Nic wasn’t right.

“Yes, I understand what I did. And I will never get over it,” Billie had said. 

He had been able to see she was holding back tears by sheer will alone. He had heard it in her voice, seen it in her face. And, yet, she had still been looking him dead in the eye because she was Billie Damn Sutton and absolutely nothing scared her.

When Conrad had started as an intern at Chastain, he had been older than the others thanks to his time in the Marines. And the others had all seemed like children compared to his war-worn brothers in arms. It had been hard to take any of the interns seriously. Lives were in their hands, and all they had been able to gossip about was which attendings had been sleeping together.

But Billie. One look at the surgical intern cohort, and his eyes had locked in on Billie without hesitation. He had disliked her on sight. She had held herself apart from the other interns—everything about her had screamed  I’m not here to make friends. 

Conrad had known with one look that she had zero life experience to back up the confident tilt of her chin, the superior look she had settled on her peers. She had been a day one intern. She had never even cut on a living person before stepping into Chastain. She had never earned the right to call herself a surgeon, to volunteer for thirteen-hour surgeries, and tell everyone she was neuro as if her success had been a foregone conclusion and everyone else had simply been a beat behind. 

But Conrad had seen that glint of fearlessness in new recruits’ eyes too many times not to know that Billie was going to fuck up if she didn’t get that ego in check. His biggest fear had been that someone else was going to pay the price for her arrogance. 

And over the ensuing years, she had proven herself to be talented. Even Conrad had to admit that. She had scared the hell out of the other interns on her rotations—always with the right answer, always the attendings’ favorite, always Billie Damn Sutton and you had better know her name.

It had taken five years to prove Conrad right. So long that even Conrad had started to question his instincts, to ask if she had merely been unpleasant and brilliant enough as a surgeon to be tolerable. And then Billie had screwed up in an irreversible, horrible way. And someone else had paid for that arrogance. Someone Conrad had cared about. 

God he had loathed her. And he had taken satisfaction in punishing her. Even if it had punished Nic in the process.

But then, eight years later, Billie Damn Sutton had sat down across from him and admitted he had been right to take away the one thing she cared about. But with her chin held high, of course, which had just made him raise an eyebrow, even as he had studied her with new eyes. 

And then a half-second later, she had let the wall of pride crumble away and added, “Man. That was really freaking hard.” Which had made him want to laugh.

Conrad swallowed a groan. He didn’t want to like Billie Damn Sutton. 

And I don’t, he reassured himself.

But, seriously, what neurosurgeon (let alone a fifth-year resident) was able to pivot to pediatric trauma surgery under the pressure of a war zone? He knew that in times of war, especially in crisis response organizations like Partners in Health, everyone pitched in doing wherever was needed. But he had made some calls and asked friends to do some digging. She was respected. Very respected. She was good. Maybe even great.

In the end, what Conrad had learned was that Billie could pursue trauma surgery as a career if she wanted. And that would have been an easier sell than neuro, showing hospitals she had learned her lessons, lowered her expectations, and would avoid treading on familiar ground. She probably could have found a surgical residency in trauma without much effort, really, especially with three years of Partners in Health horror on her resume.

And, yet, Nic had told him the Billie was still actively trying to find a neuro surgical residency. Begging where she thought it might help. Because Billie Sutton never took the easy out, apparently.

“She seems better,” Nic said, pulling him out of his thoughts. She sounded pensive. “Don’t you think?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but she waved a hand in front of them. “Oh, you wouldn’t know,” she said, and then slapped her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry.”

But he just laughed because he loved when Nic got awkward. It was so rare and such a treat to see her blush. Even when she was mean, it was only an accident, and she was generally right to boot.

Nic hurried to explain. “I just mean, you don’t know Billie well. And you never talked to her while she was in Syria. She’s been so different. This last year, she’s barely even made time for video calls. We used to have them weekly when she could get wifi.”

Nic licked her lips, and Conrad wondered if she realized how tightly she was squeezing his arm. “She seemed edgy when she first got back to Atlanta. But these last few days have been…nice. She’s seemed like her old self almost. Well, the old self I knew, anyway.” Then she glanced up at him and bit her lip. “Sorry. I’m going on and on about Billie.”

He didn’t respond with words. Standing in the light of the bistro’s windows, Conrad pulled her to a stop and leaned in to kiss her gently. Instead of pulling away, he moved his lips to her forehead, wrapping his arms around her body, belly nestled between them.

And he knew she heard him saying, It’s okay. I love you.

“I think if you gave her a chance,” Nic said, quietly, “then you and Billie could be friends. Good friends.”

“I think that’s unlikely,” Conrad said, but he smiled to soften the blow.

“She’s not perfect. But she knows she’s not perfect, and she’s always trying to be better. To do better,” Nic said. “That counts for something, Conrad.”

“It does,” he agreed. Reluctantly, he added, “And I’ve noticed that. I’m just not…sure.”

“I want her to have friends,” Nic said. “She doesn’t make them easily. And you’re the very best friend a person could ask for. I want her to have you.”

Awed by his wife, Conrad pressed another kiss to her forehead. “You have the biggest heart of anyone I have ever met,” Conrad whispered against her skin. “And I love you for it.”

“I love you, too,” Nic said.

“Good,” he said. “It would be really awkward if you just let me hang around because you couldn’t get rid of me.”

“Oh, for goodness’s sake,” Nic muttered. “Go on. Get inside.”

He held the door open for her and followed her through. She spotted Billie almost immediately, and Nic walked to her best friend with arms wide open. Billie’s smile was blinding—white and wide and carefree as she met Nic halfway.

Then her eyes caught on Conrad over Nic’s shoulder, and the smile dimmed. Or maybe dim was the wrong word, he considered. Because nothing really changed with her face. Her smile was still wide. But a subtle shift had occurred, and she looked careful, watchful, less happy.

As Nic let go, Billie’s chin came up, and she gave Conrad that serene, stay-six-feet-away-at-all-times look with her eyes.

“Conrad,” Billie said.

Nic had been right. Billie was wearing a dress. And she looked nice—Billie was probably incapable of looking anything but, even if she made an effort—but Conrad said nothing except, “Hey, Billie. You two hang here, and I’ll get us a table.”

“Thank you, honey,” Nic called after him.

Billie gave him an arch look, but nodded a begrudging thank you. Then she turned back to Nic with that easy, happy smile, and put her hands on Nic’s belly, asking for an update.

Like hell Billie Sutton and I will ever be friends, Conrad thought on a sigh, loving that his wife was an idealist.

[kaitidid22]

Fanfic: If These Walls (Conrad/Billie)

Summary: Conrad floats an idea and old insecurities arise for Billie. Plus, Gigi is so stinking cute. (Canon-friendly...I think? Set post season 6.)

A/N: A few caveats here.

Firstly, I haven't watched the finale. I'm nervous about it. I'll watch it tomorrow. So, I have no idea if this is still canon-friendly.

Secondly, I've been sitting on this for a few days. I really did mean to have this out mid-week last week, but I kept second guessing myself on it.

I hope you like it!!

“Can we talk?”

Billie looked up from where she had been staring at the coffee pot with blurry eyes to find Conrad hovering at the edge of the counter, still in pajama pants. The early morning light was dim in the kitchen, and Billie hadn’t bothered turning on any lights when she stumbled downstairs at six-thirty. 

She had been in surgery late into the night and had only crawled into bed beside him around one in the morning. He and Gigi had both long been asleep, and Billie had almost gone home instead. But she and Conrad had planned to surprise Gigi with a brunch date—or what Gigi called “fancy breakfast”—at a restaurant the little girl loved the next morning. Billie had decided it made the most sense to go to Conrad’s, even if she would be forced to sneak in and creep up the stairs in the wee hours.

Billie was self-aware enough to know that she had used brunch as an excuse. She could have slept at her own house and told Conrad to call her when he and Gigi were awake. There would have been plenty of time to get back to Conrad’s for the brunch reveal to Gigi. But Billie preferred being in bed with him. There was comfort in hearing his breathing and being able to reach out to touch his back or chest in the dark.

Besides, she had thought to herself the night before. Why have a key if I don’t use it?

The fact that she had still woken up before either Conrad or Gigi, though, pissed Billie off. She hadn’t been able to doze off again, even with her hand against Conrad’s back as he slept peacefully next to her. So, she had stumbled down the stairs, accepting her fate, and flipped on the coffeemaker.

“Good morning,” she said in a sleep-rough voice.

A smile tugged at his lips. “Good morning,” he murmured. He studied her face. “Are you still up for brunch? You look exhausted.”

“You always know just what to say to make a girl feel special,” Billie said. As Conrad laughed under his breath, she added, “I’ll be fine with some coffee. I didn’t want to miss it.”

“How’s your patient?” he asked.

Billie pulled her phone out of the pocket of her robe and opened it to the status update she had received from the ICU staff. She held it out to him, and he studied the page with a furrowed brow.

“Numbers look good,” he said in a soothing tone.

“He’s not awake yet,” Billie countered. “He should have woken up last night.”

Conrad locked the phone and stepped close to slide it back into her pocket. Then he brushed a kiss into the skin of her temple and murmured, “You know it’s not always that simple.”

“I know,” Billie said. “I’m not giving up hope. It’s just… floundering.”

He ran a hand down her hair, and she shut her eyes, letting the comfort flow from his hand and soft touch into the center of her chest. Sometimes, with some cases, nothing anyone could possibly say could make her feel better. But, somehow, Conrad touching her always settled the restlessness in her chest. Not completely, of course. The anxiety would remain until she was sure one way or another how her patient would fair. Closure was important to Billie. Even if closure meant hiding in her office with the lights off and crying. But with one touch or hug, Conrad was always able to turn down the volume of her anxiety to a constant static buzz instead of blaring sirens.

The coffeemaker beeped to let her know it was finished brewing. The sound caused Billie to stir, and Conrad’s hand fell away as he moved to the cabinet to grab his own mug. She frowned, suddenly remembering what he had said when he joined her in the kitchen. 

“Sorry, what did you want to talk about?”

“We can talk about it after brunch,” he said, lips curved upwards in a gentle expression.

Her frown only deepened as nerves burst to life in her stomach. He poured coffee into their mugs, her first and then himself, before opening the fridge and pulling out the milk for her.

“Is this because of last night?” she asked, ignoring the milk.

Confusion had him squinting at her, but he opened the milk himself and poured some in her coffee. “Last night?” he repeated in question.

“Because I came here instead of going home,” she explained. She sighed and ate the crow. “I’m sorry I did that without talking to you about it. I thought about having you call me when you woke up—”

“I’m glad you came here,” he interrupted.

“Oh.” Then what… Her brain stalled out, though, failing to supply any sort of explanation.

He folded his arms over his chest and faced her, leaning a hip against the counter. “Drink your coffee.”

She picked up her mug. “Right.”

“I kind of wanted you to be awake for this discussion,” he said. He looked amused.

“I’m awake.”

“You’re really not.”

“I am,” she insisted. “Besides, I’m going to drive myself crazy wondering if you don’t just tell me what’s going on.”

He blew out a breath. “Yeah, I get that. I just… wanted to open the dialogue.”

“Okay,” she said. “About?”

He hesitated, then gestured to the living room. “Let’s sit down.”

Billie trailed after him to the couch and settled in the corner like she always did, surprised when he settled in the other corner instead of next to her. Six feet was left lying between them. She studied his face with growing fear. He looked… Was Conrad nervous?

“Okay,” she said, when he didn’t speak. “We’re sitting. Open the dialogue about what?”

“Moving in.”

“Moving in where?” she asked, stupid with exhaustion.

“Moving in together. It doesn’t have to be here.” His eyes flew around the room as if he had never seen it before. “Your place is bigger.”

And it was. Her place had three bedrooms, with a den, living room, and an eat-in kitchen, as well as a separate dining room.

“But I don’t have any furniture,” she said.

Conrad chuckled. “Drink your coffee,” he said again.

She took a sip. Her brain was trying to catch up—it really, truly was.

“We’ve only been dating for three months,” she said.

“So, that’s true,” he admitted. But he had a steel edge to his tone that told her he had anticipated this point and prepared a rebuttal. “But if you count all the time we spent together before that—”

“As friends,” she interrupted.

“Billie.”

“What?” she asked, feeling her cheeks heat at his chiding expression and gentle, almost pitying, tone.

“We hadn’t been just friends for a very long time even before I kissed you on your porch,” he said. “I had been in love with you for… I don’t even know how long.”

Two years, seven months, and six days, her brain supplied. 

Not that Billie could pinpoint the exact moment she had fallen in love with Conrad. But she did know the exact moment she had realized she was in love with him, and her brain had sort of been in countdown mode ever since.

“True,” Billie conceded, brain finally chugging along as the caffeine began to sink in. “But we weren’t dating, Conrad. You were, in fact, dating Cade for about nine months prior to that kiss.” He winced, and she sighed. “I’m not trying to give you a hard time. I just want us to be on the same page.”

“We are,” he assured her, the words quiet as he stared at the rug.

“Do you actually want to move in together?” she asked him. She kept her tone as gentle as possible, but even though her brain was working again she was still shocked. “How long have you been thinking about this?”

He hesitated, and she held up a hand. “Wait. Sorry. We need to back up.”

“Okay,” he said. “Where do you want to start?”

She opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again. Her brain spun its wheels in mud going around and around the same points. Finally, she said, “I have no idea.” 

She laughed, putting a hand to her forehead as if holding her head together. His gaze was affectionate, and part of her wanted to crawl across the couch into his lap and kiss him senseless.

“Okay, first,” she said. “I really am happy you brought this up.”

His shoulders eased, and the crinkles she loved so much fanned out from the corners of his eyes. “Good.”

“Second,” she said. “How long have you been thinking about this?”

He laughed, smothering the sound behind his hand. “Awhile,” he admitted.

“What’s awhile? Two days? A week? Eighteen years?” she joked.

“A few weeks.”

Her jaw dropped open. “Weeks? We’ve only been dating a few weeks.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, avoiding her eyes as he took a sip of coffee.

“Hawkins,” she said. His eyes flicked to her before settling on his coffee again. “Talk to me.”

“We said it already, Billie. This just feels right. I’ve only been in one other relationship that felt this right, and you can’t tell me that this doesn’t feel different to you, too.”

Her chest ached at the reference to Nic, albeit vague and roundabout. They rarely talked about her anymore. Not because they were avoiding it, but because Nic had ceased being a part of their daily lives and thoughts.

Part of Billie hated that and railed against it, even as she knew it was completely natural. They had over five years’ worth of experiences since Nic’s death. Five years, half a decade, was such a long time. Longer in years than Nic and Conrad had been together. Nearly all of Gigi’s life. And half the length of time Billie had known Conrad. 

And, yet, a piece of Billie would always think of Conrad’s place as Nic’s house. He had chosen it with Nic in mind, for the two of them, and Nic had moved mountains to make sure they got it after letting it go the first time. And that thought triggered a cement wall to slam into place between Billie and Conrad on the couch.

“Why do we keep doing everything out of order?” Billie muttered.

“There isn’t really a proper order,” Conrad pointed out, sounding almost hurt by the words. “And who are we answering to?”

Nic.

“No,” Billie said quickly, despising that she had hurt him, however unintentional that hurt had been. “That’s not what I meant. I just meant…” She licked her lips and hesitated for a long minute before saying, “I don’t know what I meant.”

The words were murmured, almost too quiet for him to hear, and she knew it was a cop out. But she felt trapped by old insecurities and frozen—in place, in time, sitting on Nic’s couch, talking to Nic’s husband about how right their connection was.

And she knew that looking at it through that lens wasn’t the full story, just a distorted view of everything that had grown between them. And she also knew that others—people who hadn’t walked next to them through the past five years—would judge and talk and say things that she prayed Gigi never heard. 

And Billie had told herself that none of it mattered. She had spent a lifetime either ignoring, dodging, or combatting preconceived biases. She could do it here, too. She could do it for Conrad and Gigi and a chance at the life she so very much wanted for herself. 

But this… Nic’s house… She forced the thoughts to silence.

“There’s no pressure here, no timeline,” Conrad said, and she could feel that he didn’t believe her lie. “Like I said, I just wanted to open the dialogue.”

She nodded, the movement jerky. “I’m going to go take a shower,” she said and fled.

#

At brunch, Conrad, Billie, and Gigi’s server was a young woman who adored Gigi on sight. The feeling was clearly mutual as Gigi began babbling as soon as their server seated them. She made the server go over the entire specials list twice, asking Billie for explanations where words were new to her.

“What are grits?” Gigi asked.

“You’ve had grits, sweetie. You didn’t like them,” Billie said, eyes still on her menu. “They’re yellowish beige and creamy? Kind of cheesy.”

“Oh yeah!” Gigi said. “I don’t like grits.”

“No, you don’t,” Conrad said. “But you like waffles.”

“I love waffles,” Gigi said, addressing the server.

“What about those pecan praline pancakes?” the server said in a sweet voice. “How did those sound?”

Gigi looked at Conrad, who gave her a significant look. “That sounds like an option, Bubble.”

Then Gigi turned to Billie. “Do I like pralines?” she whispered, with big, earnest eyes. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Billie saw Conrad and the server exchange amused glances. Ignoring them, she leaned close to the little girl. “You love pralines.”

Gigi popped upright with a wide grin. “That sounds good!”

The server nodded and jotted it down on her order pad. Billie dropped her eyes back to the menu and asked, “Could we both do a glass of the mango orange juice?”

“Of course,” the server murmured.

“And coffee,” Conrad added.

Billie nodded absently as she scanned the menu. “Can you bring a side of the breakfast potatoes, too?” She looked up at Conrad and tilted her head towards Gigi. “Those pancakes are going to be so sweet.”

His brow furrowed. “Maybe the sausage instead. Or both. Both?”

Billie shrugged. “She can’t live on carbs and sugar alone.”

“I can’t?” Gigi asked.

“I mean, you could,” Conrad said, with a shrug. “But you wouldn’t be happy for long.”

“I think I’d be happy for a really long time,” Gigi told them all.

“You’d also be bouncing off the walls,” Billie said. “Gotta soak up that sugar somehow.”

“Let’s go with both,” Conrad said to the server.

The server nodded, writing as they spoke. When they trailed off, she waited, pen poised, and then glanced up when they remained silent. “And what can I get for you two?”

“Oh,” they both said, raising the menus again.

“They’re going to split things,” Gigi said in a resigned voice. “They always split things.”

The server nodded conspiratorially. “My moms do that, too. It’s a parent thing.”

Gigi sighed with great drama. Meanwhile, Billie’s blood ran cold, and her chest squeezed with longing. A lump rose in her throat as her eyes ran over the menu, desperately trying to choose something, and she took a sip from her water glass to cover the moment. 

“I’ll have the huevos con migas,” she heard Conrad say.

Billie loved huevos con migas. Why did he always do this to her? Why was he so sweet? Huevos con migas wasn’t his favorite. What was his favorite? None of the words seemed recognizable through the haze in her vision.

Billie felt Conrad’s eyes on her like a brand against her forehead, but she kept her gaze firmly on the menu. Finally, her eyes tripped over words that made sense to her addled mind.

“I’ll have the baked eggs,” she said, holding her and Gigi’s menus out to the server. 

“Absolutely,” the server said, still smiling easily with no idea of what a bomb she had just dropped on the table.

“Oh,” Billie said, her brow furrowing. “Wait. Can we do those without mushrooms?”

The server nodded. “No problem at all.”

“I hate mushrooms,” Conrad explained to the server, tone easy as he lounged back in his chair.

Billie’s cheeks heated. 

“How come Daddy gets to not eat vegetables?” Gigi asked. 

“Oh boy,” Conrad said, though he was grinning at his daughter, love written all over his face.

“I’ll be back with your coffee and juice in a minute,” the server said, trying to hide a smile.

“Thank you,” Conrad called after her, and Billie was amused to see the server blush.

Her heartrate was slowly returning to normal after the parents joke, which Conrad hadn’t refuted. Of course, neither had Billie. Gigi hadn’t been bothered. But the mistake had been made before when the three of them were together. Billie was too maternal with Gigi—and Gigi adored Billie too much—for it to never cross strangers’ minds.

Billie had boosted Gigi higher on her hip, resisting the urge to check the time on her phone. But the barista had been flirting with each of the customers as they reached his register—thrilling the blue-haired old biddies to no end—and the elongated conversations had resulted in an extreme amount of tips and Billie’s patience dying a thousand deaths. 

No one is in your way, she had told her brain for the thirteenth time since they had joined the end of the line. Everyone deserves coffee just as much as you.

“I’m so sorry to bother you, but your daughter is gorgeous,” the woman—old enough to be Billie’s grandmother, let alone Gigi’s—had said, wiggling her fingers at the one-year-old.

Gigi had hidden her sweet, tiny face against Billie’s neck, wet fingers sliding in and out of her mouth as the woman had continued to stare. Billie had frozen in place, smile brittle, and it had felt like her face would crack in half. Her brain had stalled out. 

Nic had been dead three months. Only three months and strangers had already assigned her daughter a new mother.

“She’s not mine,” Billie had said, voice flinty enough that the woman’s smile had wavered.

She doesn’t know, her brain had yelled at her in a panic.

Billie had never felt so grateful for all the years she had spent perfecting her poker face with the surface smile that never reached her eyes. She had let it smooth over her features, erasing the lines of tension around her eyes and mouth. And she had seen the woman’s posture loosen, smile coming back as if Billie had laid out the welcome mat.

“She’s my goddaughter,” Billie had finished. “We’re having a girls’ day.”

The woman had seemed even more taken with Gigi then. As if the idea of a godmother fostering a solo relationship with her goddaughter had been limited to a bygone era. And maybe it had been. To be fair, Billie had only taken Gigi solo once before Nic had died.

But Conrad had gone to a job interview that morning for a concierge service. His sitter had cancelled due to a stomach flu at the last minute. His father, Marshall, had been in Dubai—the lord only knew why this time; Billie had stopped keeping track—and Conrad had called her in a panic, spitting out all the words in a flurry over the phone line.

“I’ll be there in thirty minutes,” Billie had said, even though he had woken her from a deep sleep.

Silence had stretched on the other side of the phone, and Billie had frowned, about to ask if they had lost the connection. Then Conrad had cleared his throat. “Actually, I’m standing outside your door.”

As if to highlight that point, he had rung the apartment’s bell. Billie had blinked, wondering how he had gotten past the doorman and security guard of her high rise. All guests had to be announced. And then she had remembered: when she had added Nic’s name to the security clearance list, she had also added Conrad’s. At the time, she had never thought he would have cause to come to her apartment alone. But it had seemed better to be safe than sorry.

“If you laugh at my hair, I will kill you,” Billie had said. 

“You’re a hero,” she had heard him say as she hung up on him.

And, so, she had yanked off her bonnet, thrown on a robe, and met Conrad at the door. Without much more than a thank you, Conrad had shoved Gigi into Billie’s arms, told Billie the baby had eaten, tossed the diaper bag on the couch, squeezed Billie’s shoulder, kissed the baby, and run back out the door. Within ten seconds, Conrad had been gone, and Billie had been staring into Gigi’s happy eyes.

“Well,” Billie had said in the empty stillness of the apartment after he had gone. “I guess we’re going to have a ladies’ day, my sweet baby.”

Gigi had gurgled at her. Love had welled in Billie’s chest, and she had pressed a kiss to the little girl’s cheek. Then she had taken a surreptitious sniff of baby head and sighed in contentment.

“Let’s go do my hair, huh?” Billie had said to Gigi in an overly excited voice.

Gigi had giggled. The baby had remained thoroughly entertained by the ongoing commentary as Billie had used a heated round brush to smooth out her hair. Then Gigi had helped Billie pick out an outfit by pointing at random—completely unrelated—pieces of clothing. (Billie had sweet-talked Gigi into letting Billie wear a sundress instead.)

And that was how they had found themselves at the coffeeshop conveniently located in the ground floor retail space of Billie’s apartment building during the mid-morning, blue-hair rush.

The woman had turned to look over shoulder. “Maude,” she had said. “Maude, come here.”

Another older lady had come over. “Oh,” she had said on a gasp. “She’s beautiful.”

To be fair, Gigi had been rocking a bow the size of her face, thanks to her father. But Billie had still wondered if she should remind the women not to assume. And then she had decided she didn’t want the conversation to continue that long pre-coffee.

“Thank you,” Billie had said.

The first woman had nudged the other with her elbow. When Maude had glanced over in askance, the woman had said, “Godmother.”

“Oh, bless her,” Maude had said, grabbing at her chest. “You’re an angel.”

Billie—thoroughly uncomfortable—had licked her lips. Over the women’s shoulders, she had caught the barista’s eye, and he had nodded his head in recognition. Quickly counting the line as a group of women had moved to the side, she had found herself to be third from the front.

So close, Billie had thought to herself.

“It’s nothing,” Billie had said to them. “She’s my favorite little person.”

“Are you giving her parents a little time to themselves?” Maude had asked with a wink.

“Maude,” the first woman had said, scandalized. “You have no boundaries.” She had looked back at Billie. “She has no boundaries.”

Billie had been distracted by the pain that had suffused every inch of her, pumping through her veins. God how she wished she had been giving Nic and Conrad a day to themselves. She would have traded anything for that to be true. Instead, Conrad had been off trying to find a job that would allow him to single parent a one-year-old.

This time, she hadn’t been able to control the way her eyes welled up. The women’s faces had stiffened as they had studied her, and then they had both tilted their heads to the side with identical sympathetic expressions. And Billie had realized that, somehow, the women had known, had seen the pall of loss that hovered over every aspect of Billie’s life and visage, and known.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Maude had said in an impossibly soft voice. Her hand had reached out and squeezed Billie’s wrist. She had given Billie a stern look. “You’re going to be fine.”

The first woman—whose name Billie never did get—had added, “And so will she,” nodding at Gigi.

And Billie had found herself nodding in jerky agreement, though she would never be sure why, cupping a hand behind Gigi’s head and cuddling the little girl closer. The women had each silently patted her one more time, and then they had walked away, giving Billie the space she had so desperately needed to get herself back under control.

That had been the first time. The worst time, if she was being honest with herself, which Billie tried to be these days. Each subsequent mistake of maternity—as well meant as they all were—had been a little bit easier to handle.

But none of them had happened after she and Conrad had started dating. It was like a new first. And neither of them—not Conrad and not Gigi—had even reacted. Billie couldn’t figure out what to do with that, how to reconcile that against the guilt beating through her chest.

“So,” Conrad said, in that voice he had when he was being goofy. The one that cracked on a high note at the end of his sentences.

God Billie loved him.

“The whole Daddy hates vegetables trick,” Conrad finished. “I see through you, Giorgiana Grace.”

Billie watched Gigi try to fight her smile by staring at the table and avoiding looking at her father. 

“Besides, everybody knows that you can veto one vegetable in life,” Conrad said. “Mine is mushrooms.”

“That’s true,” Billie said. “Everyone gets one veto.”

“But you have to use it carefully,” Conrad told Gigi.

Billie nodded. “Because you only get one.”

All trace of amusement had been swept from Gigi’s face. Her serious eyes looked from Conrad to Billie and back again, clearly trying to figure out if they were messing with her. Billie and Conrad stared back at her, waiting for her next question.

Gigi’s eyes settled on Billie. “What’s your vegetable veto?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Billie said, keeping her tone calm. “It’s a big decision.”

The server came back to the table with their coffee and juices. “Your food will be right out,” she said.

“Thank you,” Billie told her before turning to Gigi. “Have some of your juice, sweetie.”

Gigi obliged, though her face was still screwed up in concentration. She drank deeply from the small cup. “So, I only get one,” Gigi said to confirm.

Billie’s eyes flicked up to Conrad, looking at him from under her lashes in the hopes that Gigi wouldn’t notice. Those crinkles she loved were fanning out from the corners of his eyes.

“You don’t have to pick now,” Conrad told his daughter.

Gigi nodded with a contemplative expression. She frowned at the white linen tablecloth.

“You could choose mushrooms, too,” Billie said. 

Gigi shook her head. “I like mushrooms.”

“Do you, though?” Conrad asked.

Gigi glared at him. “Yes,” she said, firm. “Billie and I get mushrooms on pizza, and I like them.”

Conrad raised his eyebrows at Billie. Defiantly, she jerked her chin higher and shrugged one shoulder. “You aren’t there, and mushrooms are delicious. What’s the problem?”

“Are you teaching my daughter to like mushrooms?” Conrad asked in shock. “Betrayal.”

“And pesto,” Billie said.

Gigi’s face lit up. “I like pesto!”

“Seriously?” Conrad asked, still in shock. Billie knew he appreciated a good pesto, but it was an awful lot of green for a small child, so she understood the surprise.

Billie held onto the defiance for a few more moments and then deflated. “I let her dip it in ranch,” she admitted. “I really wanted pesto that night.”

Conrad burst into laughter that had the other restaurant patrons glancing at them in indulgent amusement. Conrad held up a hand in apology to the room before rubbing it down his face to physically wipe away his glee.

“What’s so funny?” Gigi asked.

“Nothing, sweetie,” Billie said. “Hey, didn’t you say you had homework this weekend?”

“Yeah,” Gigi said, slumping a little in her booster seat.

“Did you show Aunt Billie your math workbook?” Conrad asked.

“No,” Billie said. She glanced between them. “Why?”

“Because Common Core is going to blow your mind,” Conrad said. “And I kind of want to be there when you see it.”

Billie’s lips twitched. But before she could respond, the server was back with their food. 

Within thirty seconds of getting her giant platter of pancakes with its teeny tiny pitcher of the praline syrup, Gigi had spilled the syrup across the table and into Billie’s lap. Gigi’s big eyes widened to saucers, and Conrad quickly stood to mop up the mess with his napkin. Their server dashed away, returning quickly with a cup of water and another clean napkin.

“Here,” the server said, soaking the corner and handing it to Billie.

Billie smiled up at the young woman, taking the dampened cloth. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” 

She finished soaking up what she could with her own napkin. And then Billie began to dab at the pant leg with the wet corner. She didn’t think she was making any progress, but with everyone hovering and watching she felt like she had to try.

“I’m sorry, Billie,” Gigi said, bottom lip trembling.

Billie smiled gently, looking up from the syrup stain. Billie suspected it was the attention that had cued Gigi into the situation being bad. She hoped Gigi knew Billie would never be angry about an accident, but, again, everyone was hovering and watching with careful eyes. That was enough to let any little girl know mistakes had been made.

“Did you do it on purpose? Was it a personal attack against my pants?” Billie asked. “I knew it. You’ve always hated these pants.”

Gigi giggled. “I don’t hate your pants.”

“Are you sure?” Billie asked with exaggerated suspicion. She heard Conrad chuckle, and he stopped leaning over the table to sit back in his chair.

“I’m sure!” Gigi cried.

“Fine, fine. I believe you,” Billie said. “And it’s okay. It’s not a big deal, sweetie. Eat your pancakes before they get cold.”

“Eat your eggs, Billie,” Conrad countered.

“Eat your sausage, Daddy,” Gigi added, clearly believing they were just naming things on the table.

The server was still hovering with uncertainty, so Billie turned to her. “Could we get another teeny pitcher? I think she salvaged some of it. But…” Billie gestured at the table and her pants.

“Of course, I’ll get you a fresh napkin, too,” the server said. But when she stood, she hovered for a moment, shy. And then she said, “You have a wonderful family.”

Billie opened her mouth, determined to correct her this time, but Conrad said, “Thank you.”

And Billie squeezed her eyes shut as she fought back the flood of emotions. When she opened her eyes, he was teasing Gigi by pretending to steal her pancakes. As if the moment hadn’t happened. As if it was no big deal.

When he caught her watching him, he pushed his plate into the middle of the table with a smile, a silent invitation to dig in, and turned back to his daughter.

God Billie loved him.

#

Arriving home after brunch, Conrad unlocked the front door, and Gigi darted inside as hopped up on sugar as they had feared. She moved so fast that Billie barely saw Gigi hit the stairs.

“Upstairs, young lady,” Conrad said in a booming voice. “I want to hear the wheels of academia turning!”

“The wheels of academia?” Billie repeated as Gigi’s giggle echoed back down the stairs.

“She has homework,” Conrad said, as if that explained everything.

Affection swamped her chest, making her cheeks heat and her fingertips tingle. Conrad’s grin was bashful, but he winked at her as he held out a hand for her jacket. She ignored the outstretched fingers for a moment and stepped into his personal space, laying her hands against his chest and brushing her mouth against his.

He let her lead, responding with gentle brushes of his lips to hers. And when she eased away again, he let her go without chasing. 

“Thanks for brunch,” she whispered, an inch or two away from his mouth.

“Uh-huh,” he murmured, sounding a little dazed.

As she smiled up at him, though, he came back to himself. He kissed her forehead as he slid his hands over her collarbone and up under her jacket to slide it down her bare arms. She managed to silence the hum of pleasure that rose in her throat as his palms skimmed her skin.

When the material cleared her fingertips, he leaned past her to get a hanger from the coat closet behind her. Billie took advantage of the new position to kiss his neck gently.

“Behave yourself,” he said, a thread of humor in the low tone of his voice, despite the edge she could hear starting to inch in. “My daughter is upstairs and very much awake.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Billie said sweetly. 

His hands were busy putting the coat on the hangar behind her, one arm on either side of her body, and she took advantage again, pressing closer to his chest. And it really wasn’t her fault since his neck was right there, so, of course, she brushed her lips over the tender place where his neck met his shoulder.

“Definitely not doing anything,” he agreed.

She swallowed a giggle and let her hands slide from his chest over his ribs and down to curl around his waist. Conrad’s hands stopped with the rustling fabric, and she heard the quiet click of the metal hook of the hangar settling on the clothing rod. Then the door snicked shut behind her, and Conrad pushed her against it. A hand slid into her hair to cushion her head from the wooden door. But he didn’t pause, didn’t speak again, before his mouth captured hers in a rough, open-mouthed onslaught of lips and teeth and tongue.

Conrad tended towards gentle and romantic, taking each step in his seduction very slowly, very seriously. It had become almost a game to Billie, seeing if she could push him to his limit. 

She felt a surge of victory as one of his hands wrapped around the outside of her thigh and yanked it up to his hip. The move let him push even closer to her body, sealing them together, and her fingers convulsed, squeezing the flesh of his sides and the chambray button up that separated them.

The fingers in her hair tightened into a fist, and the sudden flash of pain, as small as it was, made her gasp against his mouth. Immediately, he broke the kiss as his fingers unclenched, and he rubbed her head where he had accidentally yanked at her scalp.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, eyes locked on hers. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said, meaning it, knowing he would never hurt her on purpose.

She drew one hand up from his waist to wrap around the back of his neck and urge him closer, wanting his mouth back on hers more than she wanted air. He came willingly, and this kiss was gentler than the previous had been—but no less intense. His fingers, still on the outside of her thigh, tightened and squeezed. Her hand gently stroked the skin of his neck.

When he pulled back a second time, he nuzzled under her jaw and kissed the sensitive skin, sending tingles running through her body that curled her toes.

“We have to stop,” he said, murmuring the words into her skin.

She whimpered and dropped her head back against the door with a thunk. “I know.”

“Tonight,” he said. Then he swore under his breath. “That’s so many hours away.”

Billie couldn’t help but laugh at the dread in his voice. Conrad pulled back to look her in the eye, crinkles fanning out from the corners of his own.

“You think my pain is oh so funny, huh?”

“Your pain?” she repeated, incredulous. “What about my pain?”

“You started this,” he teased.

“Me?” she shrieked.

“Shh,” he hushed her, but his eyes were dancing. “Gigi’s going to hear you.”

They laughed, still pressed against the door and each other. As their laughter faded, they leaned their foreheads together, quietly breathing in each other’s air as their heartbeats settled back to their normal rhythms. With their bodies so tightly together, Billie could feel Conrad’s heart like it was her own.

After a few minutes of silence, Conrad said, “You should soak these.”

Billie glanced down to where his thumb was stroking the syrup stain on her thigh. “I think they’re a lost cause. They’re dry clean only.”

He swore under his breath. “I’m sorry.”

“They’re just pants,” Billie said, shrugging one shoulder. “No big deal.”

He hesitated before asking, “Do you need to go get more clothes for the week?”

He meant from her own home. And the reminder of their early morning conversation was like having cold water splashed on her. She didn’t mean to stiffen in his arms, but she did, and she knew he felt it.

“Yeah,” she murmured, tugging her thigh out of his hand and straightening. “I should actually… probably sleep there tonight. I have things I need to take care of.”

He let her go without protest and said, “Okay.” 

But he brushed a kiss against her cheek before stepping back away from her. Immediately, she felt cold, even in the rising humidity of Georgia summer.

#

Billie pushed her front door open and stepped into the entryway, setting the bag of takeout on the console table so that she could hang up her purse. The house was quiet, with a slight chill despite the eighty-degree evening, as if it had been closed up and shuttered for weeks without human life or even sunlight entering.

Billie felt that was unfair. She had slept there the night before and only left for work that morning.

“I was only gone eleven hours,” she snapped at the empty, judge-y air.

Feeling foolish, she snatched the bag of takeout off the console and marched into the dining room. Her table—the same one she had purchased for her downtown high-rise—sat lonely in the large space. The dining room was designed for a long table with at least eight chairs, like the one Conrad had at home. Instead, she had a small, circular table that fit four at a squeeze.

But her whole house was like that, really. She had purchased it only a few months before she and Conrad had begun dating and had procrastinated on decorating. The only rooms that felt lived in were her bedroom and the living room. The apartment had been a one-bedroom, and she hadn’t invested in anything new since she had arrived in the much larger house.

Even Gigi had teased Billie about it after she moved in. Conrad and his daughter had come over for dinner on Billie’s first night in the new house, and Gigi had spent most of the evening in the empty den—not just lightly furnished, but honest-to-Betsy empty—doing cartwheels and somersaults.

“Are you going to keep it empty forever?” Gigi had asked.

“Unlikely, sweetie,” Billie had said.

She and Conrad had been leaning against the jamb on either side of the door. 

“She’s going to have to furnish it eventually,” Conrad had said.

“What’s furnish?” Gigi had called to them, taking another tumbling course across the middle of the room.

“You know furnish,” Conrad had teased his daughter.

“It just means to put furniture in a place,” Billie had said.

Conrad had jabbed her lightly with his elbow. “You always ruin my fun.”

Billie had jabbed him back. “Don’t tease your daughter so much and maybe I won’t.”

Gigi had finished her cartwheels and run over to them. “Why don’t you have furniture?” Gigi had asked, slightly out of breath.

Billie had been impressed, though she hadn’t said so. If she had been the one tumbling around the den, she would have been dizzy as hell, but Gigi had seemed unfazed.

“I haven’t bought it yet,” Billie had said, wrinkling her nose in a slightly embarrassed expression.

“Right,” Gigi had said. “But why?”

Billie had opened her mouth to respond and then shut it again. She could have explained that furnishing a house took time and money, but Gigi already had a vague idea that Billie was rich—which she was—and Billie had suspected the little girl would dispute that argument. And Gigi would have been right to do so.

Billie had known for months that she was moving into the house. She had specifically timed it so that it coincided with the end of her apartment lease. There had been plenty of time for Billie to pick out rugs or a love seat to create a cozy sitting room. Or maybe some bookshelves and a desk to carve out an office space. Or she could pick out a flat screen and some folding seats to create a home theater.

So, why the hell don’t I have furniture? she had wondered to herself. What the hell is this room even going to be?

As her brain had swirled through all the potential rooms, none of which had felt like hers, Billie had felt her expression grow troubled. Conrad had straightened next to her.

“Why don’t we go eat?” Conrad had asked, intervening. He had held out a hand to Gigi, who took it without another word. Then he had glanced at Billie, with an overly concerned expression. “You do have a table, right?”

She had shoved his shoulder towards the dining room as Conrad and Gigi had laughed. “Move it, rascals.”

And, yet, nearly nine months later, Billie was still eating at a tiny table in a mostly empty home.

Billie liked to tell herself she had just been busy—which had been true the first few months she had lived there. The hospital had been swamped and understaffed due to the lack of funds, and then Billie had been devoting a large chunk of time helping Kit’s fundraising team drum up more money for Chastain. 

Another part of the truth, though, was that she and Conrad had started dating. And when they had started dating, Billie had started spending three or four nights a week at Conrad’s and that had very quickly morphed into five or six, sometimes seven. 

With a pang, Billie wondered what Gigi and Conrad were having for dinner. He had texted her, inviting her to join them, but she had begged off. She had told him she had reams of paperwork to get through that night, given a bus crash that had flooded the OR.

And it was true. But it wasn’t true enough that she should be hiding in her echoing dining room with its too small table instead of trading bites with Gigi of whatever Conrad had prepared.

Billie forced her thoughts back to the house. What was the point of having furniture when she was never there to use it? But it left Billie’s perfectly lovely house feeling like an empty, echoing cavern.

Conrad and Gigi’s felt like a home. Billie’s felt like a…well, a house.

And the other part of the truth, the part that Billie didn’t like to think about, was why she had bought the house.

The house had been an effort to create space in her life for the family she had finally admitted she wanted. The complicated part was that the family Billie wanted was Conrad and Gigi, and she had wanted them for a long time. But Billie had decided that she needed to accept that was impossible, which had been heartbreaking and a constant struggle, but one she knew she needed to work through to get to the other side. And she also knew that, eventually, she would open herself up to someone new. After all, Conrad had proven to her that she could. And she wanted it. She wanted love and a partner and maybe even a kid or two—though she was still on the fence about the last.

The purchase of the house had been an investment in a future that Billie hadn’t truly wanted at the time but that she had hoped she would grow into. Like a pair of pants or a bottle of wine that needed to age. 

So, of course Billie hadn’t wanted to furnish it. She had barely wanted to live there.

When she had begged off of dinner that afternoon, the bubble of three dots that indicated Conrad was typing back had appeared almost immediately. She had watched them blink on the screen, then disappear, then appear again, over and over for several minutes. She had stayed glued to the screen hoping against hope that whatever he said would have been enough to fix all of it. Which was unfair. And not his burden. 

When he still seemed to be struggling after a few minutes, she had typed out “I love you” and locked the phone, setting it aside. She hadn’t dared to look at it again until leaving for the night, and she had finally seen that he had responded with “I love you, too. Tomorrow?” And her heart had leapt into her throat, and she had written back “Yes” before she could talk herself out of it.

Stop thinking about Conrad and Gigi, Billie ordered herself and set about unpacking her takeout.

She wasn’t avoiding Conrad. She was avoiding the conversation they needed to have. But she missed him like she imagined it felt to miss air. Or maybe it was more like dehydration—slowly drying out, feeling every painful crack opening in her flesh the longer she went without him.

But she didn’t know how to say everything that was battering around in her mind. None of it felt fair for him to deal with. It wasn’t his job to remind her that Nic would be proud of her or that Nic would approve of her choices. That was Billie’s role, her job. She couldn’t ask him for that. 

Between the two of them, Conrad had lost more, so Billie needed to take less. That was just how it was.

You have to stop, her brain begged her. 

Stop what? Admitting the truth?

You didn’t steal anything, her brain screamed back.

Billie resisted the urge to throw her takeout containers across the room to silence the voices arguing in her mind. Instead, she pulled the foil package towards her and carefully opened it as the scents of garlic and warm bread wafted up to her nose.

That night, she had indulged in her comfort food favorites from Curry A-Go-Go downtown: spicy butter chicken and saag paneer, with an order of garlic naan. If she was spending another cold, lonely night at home, she was absolutely going to allow herself to reek of garlic.

The smell of garlic was going to come out her damn pores.

#

“Can we have pizza for dinner?” Gigi asked as she and Billie waited on the front porch for Conrad to unlock the door.

“Not tonight, sweetie,” Billie said, eyeing the bags of groceries in her and Conrad’s arms. Trying to cut off a potential tantrum—not that Gigi was prone to them, but still—she added, “But we could have a DIY pizza night this weekend?”

“What’s a DIY pizza night?” Gigi asked, tiny nose scrunched up.

“It’s a night where Dad gets a break from cooking,” Conrad said, pushing the door open and letting Gigi and Billie file inside in front of him.

“I’m too young to cook,” Gigi said. “You told me never to turn on the stove.”

Billie bit back a smile.

“You’re never too young to take over the chores,” Conrad told her, ignoring his daughter’s very valid point. 

Gigi rolled her eyes. “I’m a kid. You’re a dad. You’re supposed to cook,” she said, stressing the word.

“But pizza night is fun,” Billie told her, trailing after Gigi as the little girl skipped down the hallway to the open plan kitchen. “You get to roll out the dough and put all the toppings on. You can pick exactly what goes on your pizza.”

“Whatever I want?” Gigi asked as Billie set her bag of groceries on the island.

“Whatever you want,” Billie promised.

“Even if I want pineapple?”

“Sacrilege,” Conrad said, setting his own bag down next to Billie’s.

Billie raised an eyebrow at him. “Even pineapple, sweetie.” She leaned down to help the little girl take off her jean jacket and stage-whispered, “Don’t worry. I’ll work on him.” 

“Yay pizza night!” Gigi cried. “I’m gonna go tell Mr. Biggles.”

Billie watched as Conrad gazed after his daughter until she disappeared around the bend in the stairs.

“You guys can’t gang up on me with mushrooms,” Conrad said.

“You have to let that go,” Billie said, slanting him a smile. 

“I just can’t believe you would betray me with mushrooms on pizza.”

Billie shook out Gigi’s jacket to straighten the sleeves and walked over to him. “I promise,” she said, very seriously. “I will take your side on the mushrooms… if you let her have pineapple.”

“Blackmail,” he cried.

“Negotiations,” Billie countered.

His eyes danced at her, and Billie smirked at him before striding back down the hall. Pulling open the coat closet, she hung up Gigi’s jean jacket and then her own sweater coat. She took out a third hangar, intending to grab Conrad’s from him, but his voice interrupted her train of thought.

“I’ve been thinking about it since our first date,” Conrad said.

Billie turned to find him stalled out where the hallway opened onto the kitchen, watching her. His jacket was still on, despite the humidity beginning to rise in the Georgia morning air. 

“Thinking about what?” she asked. Then it clicked. “Oh.”

“How long have you been thinking about this?”

“Awhile.”

“What’s awhile? Two days? A week? Eighteen years?”

“A few weeks.”

He waited, eyes on her face, as she processed that information. He had given her space, she knew. She had been relieved when he didn’t push to restart the conversation when she had come back for dinner. But then a few days had become two weeks, and clearly he had gotten impatient.

“Our first date,” she said. Then again. “Our first date?”

He pulled off the light fabric jacket he preferred in the summer and early fall and closed the distance between them. She eased it out of his hand, sliding it onto the hangar, and shoving it in the closet with the others. His eyes were so tight on her face that she felt almost claustrophobic from the attention.

“Yes,” he said.

She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “I’m really confused.”

“I know. I just don’t know why,” he told her. “You know I love you. You’re here practically every night—”

“Only twice last week,” she interrupted, feeling defensive.

“And I hated that you were gone.” He paused to let that sink in, and then he pulled out the big guns. “So did Gigi.”

Billie winced. “She did?”

“Of course, she did.”

“We need to put away the groceries,” Billie said, brushing past him and trying not to cry. “We bought ice cream.”

“Yes,” Conrad said, following her back to the kitchen. “We. We bought ice cream.”

Her hand clenched on the side of the grocery bag. She couldn’t look at him.

“I wanted to open the dialogue,” Conrad said, sounding lost. “I didn’t want to scare you out of the house.”

“You didn’t,” she said, but the words came out as a whisper.

“Billie, talk to me,” he murmured.

But she couldn’t say this to him. The words throbbed in her cut-open chest.

“Is this about Nic?” he asked, in a carefully neutral tone.

Panic swept Billie into motion. She turned and started for the hallway, already visualizing the front door. “I just remembered that I…” But she couldn’t bring herself to lie to him either, so she found herself shaking her head, swallowing against the vise-like grip around her throat. “I can’t. I have to go.”

Conrad stepped into her path, hands held up in front of his body. “Billie.” She stilled, and he edged closer. “Please don’t run from me.”

“I’m not running from you,” she said.

“Then what?” he asked, and she heard an edge of frustration to his voice. “What are you running from?”

“Me? Maybe,” she said on a wet laugh. 

“You? I don’t understand.”

“I can’t say this to you,” she said, losing the war against the tears.

“Why can’t you talk to me about this?” he asked. “We talk about everything.”

“Because it’s not fair,” she said. “It’s not fair to say this to you.”

“Please talk to me. Let me help.”

Conrad’s fingers found her cheeks, thumbs brushing the tears away, only for new ones to replace the tears he had cleared. She slid her arms around his waist, burrowing her face into his chest. His warmth slipped through the cotton of his Henley, and his scent—pine and musk and Conrad and home—enveloped her. Her eyes were pouring, but, somehow, she stayed quiet, muffling the little sobs against his solidness.

“I want to,” she said into the cotton.

“What?” he murmured to her.

She pulled back, surprised when Conrad’s arms tightened for a split second before he controlled the reaction and loosened his grip. She knew she was a gross mess, had probably gotten snot all over his shirt, might even have it smeared under her nose. And all of that was less uncomfortable and humiliating and tragic than what she was about to say to him.

The words lodged in her throat. She gestured helplessly.

“Why don’t we sit?” he asked, letting go of her to point at the couch.

She nodded, hoping against hope that Gigi wouldn’t come barreling down the stairs and catch her like this. As soon as she was settled in the corner—her corner—Conrad dropped a kiss on top of her head.

“I’ll grab you some tissues,” he said and hurried out of the room.

She took the few moments he was gone to suck in a deep breath. In through the nose, hold, and out through the mouth, she reminded herself.

That was as far as she got before Conrad was back, tissue box in hand. She told herself the breathing had helped, and the urge to bolt for the front door had faded.

This time, take two on the conversation, when Conrad came to sit, he settled in right next to her. He aimed his torso to face her, one arm across the back of the couch.

Poised to grab her if she tried to run. 

Billie knew he would never. Conrad was a huge proponent of bodily autonomy. If she dashed to the front door, he would try to persuade her to stay, but he wouldn’t lay a finger on her even to stop her.

He set the tissue box in the scant inches between their thighs. His eyes were tight on her face. 

“Billie, is this about Nic?” She grimaced before she could control it. He nodded, once, decisively, and then he said, “Okay. I’m going to go first. Is that all right?”

The gesture she made as she wiped her face with tissue was caught somewhere between a shrug and a nod and a full-body shudder. But Conrad seemed to understand that what she meant was knock yourself outbecause he chuckled softly.

“We delayed facing this for so long that we were already on the same page before we ever made a move,” Conrad said. “So, I have to keep reminding myself that we’ve never actually talked about it.” He paused, considering. “Well… directly. Out loud. Each other anyway. I think we both talked to other people, if some of my recent conversations with A.J. meant what I think they mean.”

He was right, and he was right that they hadn’t said all of this out loud. Bits and pieces, but never all of it. 

They had each gone through their self-flagellation and dealt with their guilt silently in the shadows. By the time Conrad had leaned in for that first kiss, they had both been long at peace with the idea of moving forward together, which inevitably left Nic behind. Their hesitation had been centered in insecurity around how the other felt, if the other had found that same peace, as well as risking the friendship that had meant so much to both of them for five years. 

And, once they had kissed, cementing those feelings and answering those questions, they had each known exactly what the other thought without any words needing to be exchanged. So, they had never really talked about it.

Conrad took a deep breath. “When you were talking to Gigi that night, you said we were a family. I hadn’t thought about it that way. Not that I didn’t consider you family,” Conrad amended. “But it wasn’t a conscious thought, you know? You were just a part of our life. A fact of it. And then you said it out loud to Gigi, and I was like ‘Of course.’ It just fit.”

“We’re just right,” Billie said.

“Yes,” Conrad said. “We’re comfortable together. Completely, one hundred percent comfortable. I don’t want to assume anything about you and your past relationships, but I’ve never felt like that before. Like this before.”

Billie’s eyes shot to his face. Conrad was staring at his hands in his lap rather than at her. 

“It was different with Nic,” he said. “I loved her with everything in me. Every piece of me loved every piece of her.”

“I know,” Billie murmured.

“But I knew from the second I laid eyes on her that…” He shifted, hesitating to finish his sentence. 

“You wanted to be together,” Billie supplied, feeling rather prim even as she said it.

A grin flashed across his face. “That’s the PG version anyway,” he said, voice gravelly. “We weren’t… We didn’t know anything about each other, and that physical part—the sex part—was there from the beginning. Always there. It…complicates things. And we broke up and got back together so many times. And it was always exciting and wonderful, and she fit, too. She fit me. But even when I asked her to marry me, I was only ninety-five percent sure she was going to say yes.”

He laughed, but it was bitter, almost self-deprecating, and he cut it off to swallow hard. Billie felt her stomach twist in nervous anticipation. Somehow, she knew what was coming next, and she wanted to reach out and touch him, wanted to feel his warmth and his skin. Instead, she curled her fingers into fists around the tissues still in her hands.

“You,” he said, careful and tentative. “You were my friend first. Strictly platonic and someone I could rely on, could say anything to, without worrying you might disappear. And you became a part of me. I know that sounds crazy. But I meant it when I said we grew together over the last five years. Sometimes I think I know you better than I know myself. I know you in a way that I have never known another human being. I know how you’re going to react. I know how you think about things, how your brain approaches a problem. I know why you do the things you do, why you make the decisions you make, without you ever having to explain.”

He shook his head, and the motion looked a little rough. “And the fact that I missed how you felt about me is completely bonkers because, of course, I should have seen it. I think I was so scared that I was reading it all wrong, that I just… shut it out. But I’ve already told you that,” he said, cutting himself off with a sigh.

“I think Nic and I would have gotten here,” he said, gesturing between himself and Billie. “But we weren’t there yet. So, no, Billie, I have never felt about anyone the way I feel about you. It’s not better, it’s not more. It’s just—”

“Different,” she whispered. 

He raised his face to meet her eyes, clearly encouraged by her speaking, even if only one word. “And part of that comfort is because I saw you with Gigi, how pure and open and honest you are with her. No matter how she tests you, you never falter. And part of it is that we grew together and shaped each other,” he said. “We’re not the same people we were before Nic died. That changed us. But we also wouldn’t be the people we are now without each other.”

Billie nodded, tears starting to spill down her cheeks again. 

He rubbed his fingers over his forehead. “And all of that is to say that I understand why this house is a problem. We changed. But the house didn’t. So, you feel like you’re sliding into Nic’s life. Like you’re replacing her.”

Billie pressed a hand over her mouth so she wouldn’t sob loud enough for Gigi to hear.

“And it’s one thing to visit,” Conrad said, bravely forging ahead. “It’s another thing to move in.”

“I’m sorry,” Billie said, covering her face so that he couldn’t look at her. “I’m so sorry. It’s not fair.”

“What isn’t fair is you not talking to me about this,” Conrad said. “Billie, it’s me. This is us. We talk about everything.”

“Not everything,” she muttered. 

Against all odds, Conrad laughed. The sound was relieved, almost giddy. He eased closer to her on the couch, arm sliding behind her but not touching her.

“I’d like to change that,” he said. “Everything would be really, really good.”

“There are certain things I will never talk about with you,” she said, but her lips were curling up in the corners, just like he knew they would.

And as soon as he spotted the curls, Conrad’s arm moved from the couch back to wrap around her shoulders, pulling her closer into his heat. She felt a shudder run through him, and she realized he had been afraid. Her not talking to him, shutting him out, had terrified him and made him question his own confidence.

With all of that swirling through her mind, she said, “I don’t know how to get past this.”

“You don’t move in here,” Conrad said, as if it was the simplest decision in the world. 

The words were firm, and the world dropped out from under Billie. He was taking the invitation back. 

He didn’t want to live with you anymore, her brain hissed at her. Because he knows you’re right. You’re stealing Nic’s life. You’re the worst friend who has ever—

“Gigi and I can move in with you,” he said.

The voice cut off, and the world righted. A second later, a wave of shock swept through her as she fully registered what he had suggested.

“My house?” she asked.

“Why not?” he asked. “Gigi loves it there.”

“She loves to visit,” Billie pointed out. “Not to live. When she’s spent the night, she slept with me. She didn’t even want to go in the guest room.”

Conrad’s arm tightened around her, and she heard him swallow again. “Uh-huh.”

“And you know I bought that place in a hurry,” Billie said. “I barely even looked around the market. I took the first one that was nearby.”

“It’s a great house,” Conrad argued.

“Sure,” Billie said. “But this is Gigi’s home. She’s lived here her whole life.”

“True, but—”

“And the yard here is way better,” she said. “You even have a hot tub. I do not have a hot tub.”

“The hot tub can move,” Conrad pointed out. “I can’t move the yard, though.”

Billie made a complicated hand gesture that said See? My point exactly.

“But this place is small,” Conrad said, relaxing against the back of the couch. “Yours is bigger. If we decided to have more kids, where would we put them here?”

“Okay, we’re putting a pin in that,” Billie said in a dry voice. “Because that’s a whole different emotional conversation and a long way off if it happens at all. We could certainly find a new, different, third house option long before that happens. And, besides, selling my place would probably cover the cost of putting an addition on this one. And don’t you own that hillside? We could build up and maybe out off the back—” She paused, hand outstretched as she pointed out his windows, and took in his expression with suspicion. “What? Why are you grinning at me?”

He shrugged, still grinning like he had won the lottery. “I only ever wanted to open the dialogue.”

And Billie suddenly realized that she was quiet inside. The voice telling her she was stealing Nic’s life was gone. 

The fear wasn’t gone. The anxiety and guilt were still roiling in her stomach, and she wasn’t sure she would ever be ready to move into Conrad’s house. 

But the voice that had been berating her for two weeks was silent.

“How do you do that?” she asked him.

“Do what?” he asked, contentment on his face. He intertwined their fingers and brought her hand up to brush a kiss against the back.

“Make everything better,” she said.

His eyes squeezed shut like she had hit him, fingers tightening around hers. He sat like that for a moment, pressing her hand against his lips, his eyes closed to the world. And when he opened them again, they looked bruised. But not the bruised that Billie had become used to—the darkness of grief, of pain, of longing. All she saw in Conrad’s eyes was…gratitude and relief.

“I don’t know,” he said, voice gone gravelly again. “But I’m really glad I do. Honestly… you have no idea.”

[kaitidid22]

Fanfic: What Ifs and If Onlys (Conrad/Billie)

Summary: It's Conrad and Billie's first date, and Gigi isn't feeling well. (Canon-friendly & set immediately after ep 611.)

A/N: A gift for Sakura8589 on AO3. It's a little different than what you asked for, but I hope this satisfies the craving!

Brown eyes stared back at Billie—the same brown eyes that had always been part of her face—but they looked… lighter somehow. Her whole face was subtly different. Her skin was glowy, the curve of her lips more pronounced.

Maybe her face and eyes were merely reflecting back the lights that lined her mirror. But she kind of thought it was the happiness fizzing through her veins like bubbles in champagne.

She couldn’t seem to stop smiling. She had tried a few times to school her features back into the calm, cool, stay-at-least-six-feet-away-from-me expression that she had honed over a lifetime and perfected overseas. But the familiar arrangement of her features suddenly felt unnatural and off.

She was accustomed to her expression not matching how she felt inside. That was life—or, at least, the life Billie had experienced. A constant balancing act between staying true to herself and taking others’ feelings into account. Tempering how she felt to make it manageable from the outside.

But, as she remembered the feeling of her fingers sliding against Conrad’s, his palm settling against hers in a skin-to-skin kiss, the idea of hiding that amount of joy just felt wrong.

Billie glanced down at the tube of mascara in her hand, and her brow furrowed. Had she put any on yet? She couldn’t remember. She leaned forward and studied her lashes. Left, yes. Right, no, she realized, and set about fixing the issue.

She was keeping her makeup simple—mascara, eyeshadow, tinted lip balm—less out of a stylistic choice and more because she was terrified at the prospect of needing to touch up during the date. Her hands were already shaking, and Conrad hadn’t even arrived yet.

She tapped her phone screen to check the time, and butterflies sprang to life in her stomach again. Conrad had said he would pick her up at eight. She had less than thirty minutes to get dressed, do her hair, and sit down for some deep breathing exercises.

Crap. Should I just tie it back? she wondered, scrutinizing her hair. It still looked mostly okay from when she had styled it that morning. She could just brush it and leave it. But it wasn’t perfect. And she wanted everything to be perfect.

She knew it was only dinner. She and Conrad had eaten dinner together hundreds of times over the past five years. Dinner, lunch, brunch, breakfast, afternoon snacks, midnight picnics—they had experienced every type of meal imaginable together. She had no reason to be nervous, or afraid that she would forget which fork to use or run out of conversation for the first time ever.

Conrad wasn’t even the type to take her to a fancy restaurant on a date. Besides, she would never forget the right fork. She had drilled it into herself as sternly as the names of all the bones in the human body.

And Billie was thankful that she could assume Conrad was going to pick somewhere on the more casual side. Maybe even Waylon’s—though maybe not since they could run into friends there. Regardless, he was far more likely to pick somewhere with sawdust on the floor than somewhere that relied on multiple forks for a meal.

Billie rubbed her forehead to stop the stream-of-consciousness rant. She was stalling. And spiraling. But mostly stalling.

Dress, she told herself, stern, and forced her feet to move back into the bedroom.

The problem was that Gigi had almost always been a buffer, literally sitting between Billie and Conrad’s bodies. And the few times Gigi hadn’t been physically present, the two of them had been in a group of friends, or Marshall had been with them, or they had been in the hospital café. They had never been alone.

Except for once: the day after the medical board hearing; the only day she could remember as just the two of them, alone. And that had been… different. She barely remembered that day, more worried about Trevor than she was about herself, and terribly tongue-tied telling Conrad the whole, horrible tale.

Trying to condense twenty-seven years into a manageable story was hard. She started and stopped and restarted so many times that she was terrified Conrad would get impatient. But he never did. He barely even asked questions and only let himself do that much after she had gotten through the whole thing once.

She knew they had eaten—they had spent nearly fourteen hours together—but she would never be able to tell anyone what they had eaten or where.

Luckily—or unluckily maybe—she had spent the entire day leading up to their date mentally sifting through her wardrobe. So, she knew exactly which dress she was going to wear. She had decided black would be too stark, too fancy for the type of place Conrad was likely to choose. She had opted for a slate blue a-line dress that hit just below her knee, with a sweetheart neckline and fluttery little sleeves. Paired with small jet studs, the delicate necklace she wore every day, and ankle boots with the tiniest of block heels, Billie thought she managed to look understated and modest, casual enough for a pub and yet elegant enough that she was obviously dressed for a date.

Standing in front of the mirror, Billie smoothed her hand down her hips, feeling the silky fabric of the dress, and scrutinizing every last detail of the outfit. Satisfied and disproportionately proud of herself, she gave her reflection a smug nod and went downstairs to tell herself she wasn’t nervous in a different room.

She was getting a glass of water in the kitchen when Conrad’s knock sounded through the first story of the house. Billie hesitated at the sink, glass hovering, and wondered why she was surprised. Had she really thought he would use his key? He always had before when picking Gigi up, or the two of them were coming over for movie night, but things were different now.

Were they? Of course, they were. Right? Yes. They were different.

For God’s sake, move, she told herself, when she realized she had left him standing at the door for far too long.

She straightened her shoulders and set the glass down in the sink. Then she turned and walked to the door, head as high as she could get it and not be looking down her nose at anything.

His bashful smile was firmly in place, eyes on the wooden boards of her porch, as she opened the door. “I almost used my key,” he admitted to the porch. He looked up, shaking his head “But then I thought—”

His words seemed to dry up as he took her in. She knew she was smiling too wide. She probably looked like she was having a manic episode. But he was so adorable. How was she supposed to resist grinning at him?

“Wow,” he said on an exhale.

Billie’s cheeks heated. She wanted to say Come on, Hawkins. You’ve seen me dressed up before. But she bit the teasing back, recognizing that this was one of those moments they would never get to have again, and she didn’t want to ruin it out of nerves. So, she took a beat to absorb his expression.

“You clean up well, yourself,” she said.

And he did, but she already knew that. Despite the fact that his preference was to live in jeans and a Henley, she had seen him dressed up on a number of occasions. Kit and Bell’s wedding, of course, but other times, too. Forcing tense conversation with him at the first-year residents reception. Flipping through photos from his wedding to Nic. Seeing him leave for a date with Cade straight from a shift. Catching his eye across the room at fundraising events Kit drafted them both to attend.

But Conrad had never dressed up for Billie. His black button up, grey pants, and shiny leather boots were wreaking havoc on her poor heart, which was now beating three times faster than it should be. And he was still staring, lips slightly parted, having not seemed to register her words at all.

She tilted her head. “Do you want to come in?”

He pointed vaguely over his shoulder to his car at the curb. “Reservation.”

Her nerves spiked again. Reservation? But she forced out a nod and held onto her smile. “Let me get my jacket.”

Her hands were shaking again when she pulled open the coat closet. Her hand floated for a moment between her leather jacket—what she had assumed she would wear—and a light shawl collared coat—something more appropriate for the places Conrad’s pants were implying. She didn’t know which to choose. Since when did Conrad Hawkins make reservations?

“You okay?” he called to her.

He couldn’t see her from his vantage point. Between the front door and the door to the closet, his view was entirely blocked. But she knew she had hesitated too long—again. She grabbed the leather jacket and shut the closet, snagging her purse off the entryway console on her way back to Conrad.

“Peachy,” she said and stepped through the front door and into her date.

#

What is happening? Billie thought to herself as they pulled up to the valet stand.

She knew exactly where they were, even though the restaurant (rather famously) lacked any type of signage. Instead, the entire front of the building was a glass wall, encouraging anyone from the street or sidewalk to look in at the patrons.

The nerves that had been strumming along in her chest—eased by the conversation in the car—flipped on an amplifier and began slamming out power chords. Her fingers spasmed around the seat belt before she forced them to relax, unhook the clip, and open the door. Conrad handed the keys to the valet and then held his hand out to her. She slid hers into his grip readily, but she was so flummoxed that she barely felt the contact.

Le Ciel was not where Billie had expected Conrad to take her.

Le Ciel was so famous that The New York Times had written an article solely about how famous it was.

Le Ciel was a prix fixe menu that used words like “truffle foam” and “deconstructed.”

And Le Ciel was a sea of two-top tables lit with candles. No four-tops in sight, and definitely nothing larger. Not at Le Ciel. Because Le Ciel was widely considered the most romantic restaurant in Atlanta.

How had Conrad even gotten a reservation? Le Ciel booked up months in advance. James had once idly mentioned that the waitlist for a Valentine’s Day reservation was running three years out.

“I treated the owner’s son when I worked concierge,” Conrad murmured to her as he held open the door. “I called in a favor.”

She stared at him, lips parting, and he gave her a modest, half-shrug in response. Then he tilted his head towards the coat person, and she nodded, slipping the leather jacket off. He took care of checking their jackets and then put a hand on the small of her back to approach the hostess stand. The young woman nodded when Conrad gave his name and led them to a table in the corner by the massive windows.

It was very clearly the best table in the house, and Billie was abruptly certain she would not be able to eat anything. She couldn’t even remember if the fish fork was the one placed randomly on the righthand side with the spoons or if that was the seafood fork.

“Can I interest you in our signature cocktail?” the hostess asked.

“Um…sure,” Billie said, then shook her head. “Actually, no, just water for now, please.”

“Water would be great,” Conrad added.

“Of course,” the hostess said. “Your server will be right over with an amuse bouche. Bon appetit.”

“Thank you,” Conrad said, as Billie managed a faint smile.

As soon as the hostess was gone, Billie’s eyes locked on Conrad’s face. He was watching her, alert, as if he could sense something was off. And maybe he could. She had been quieter than usual in the car, shocked at the mention of a reservation, which didn’t fit inside her expectations for the night at all.

Confused. She was confused. And slightly shaken. She had mentally prepared for a pub. She had even worried her dress was too fancy for whatever Conrad had planned, and now she was sitting in Le Ciel feeling underdressed. She wasn’t—her dress was a silky, flowy fabric, and the coat check hadn’t even blinked when Conrad had handed over their leather jackets.

She licked her lips. “This is nice.”

His eyes crinkled, but he managed not to laugh. “Isn’t it?”

“Did you give this guy’s son your kidney?” she asked.

“No,” Conrad said, eyes still dancing in the candlelight. “I didn’t do anything special. I think his son just liked me.”

“This is the nicest table in the place, Conrad,” Billie said, feeling herself relax the more they spoke. “You clearly went above and beyond.”

“No organs were involved,” he said. Then he stopped to think. “No organs from outside his body, anyway.”

She chuckled, then looked around self-consciously. “It’s so quiet.”

“It’s like a library,” Conrad said.

“Good evening,” their server said, seeming to materialize out of nowhere next to them.

Billie grabbed at the edge of the table, while Conrad jumped a little and then smoothed the motion out to look like he had just been leaning back in his chair. They both murmured something along the lines of good eveningback and listened as the server introduced himself, and then verbally prepared them for the menu they were about to eat, which sounded amazing but included seven courses and complicated wine pairings. When he was done, he gestured to someone behind him, and another person came forward with two ceramic spoons that they set on the table in front of Conrad and Billie.

And in the center of the table, they placed a basket of…leaves?

The server stepped forward again. “In front of you, you’ll find salmon roe atop roasted octopus brined in watermelon juice. We recommend chewing the mint leaves between each course to truly cleanse the palate. Bon appetit.”

As the server faded into the dimness around them, Conrad braced his hands on the table, palms flat on either side of the ceramic spoon.

“Are you going to eat it?” Billie asked. “Or challenge it to a duel?”

Conrad’s bashful grin spread across his face. “I didn’t understand what half of that menu meant.”

“Me, either,” Billie said and lifted her spoon. “Bottoms up, Hawkins.”

“Bottoms up,” he muttered back.

They clinked their spoons together and tossed the spoons back at the same time. As weird as the combination sounded, the effect was delicious. Billie chewed as she watched Conrad nod thoughtfully and swallow.

“Chewy,” he said.

She nearly spit out her own octopus in laughter, clapping a hand over her mouth at the last second. She managed to swallow and took a sip of her water to clear her airway.

“So, you loved it, huh?” she asked.

God she loved him. The feeling was overwhelming, and so familiar after the past two years that she very nearly shoved it down like she always had before. She was so used to hiding it that she fidgeted at the knowledge that it was out there for everyone to see, for him to see. But she loved Conrad so much in that moment that she let it all shine through her eyes.

But he looked away from her, sending her stomach into freefall. A month ago, she would have retreated. She would have set her walls firmly back in place, reminded herself that Conrad wasn’t hers, picked a nice neutral topic to distract them, and then avoided him for a day while she got back on course.

But Conrad had kissed her and brought her out to the fanciest restaurant in town. Both very clear signals that he returned her feelings. So, Billie set her hand on the table and tentatively slid it forward along the tablecloth towards the middle. He met her halfway, his fingers gently tangling with her own.

He opened his mouth, leaning forward, and she heard buzzing. They both furrowed their brows, letting go of each other to seek out their phones. As doctors, they didn’t have the luxury of letting the call go to voicemail.

“It’s me,” Conrad told her, pressing the button to answer. “Devon. Everything okay?”

Billie’s breath caught as fear spilled into her chest. Gigi.

“Does she have a fever?”

Immediately, Billie started looking around the restaurant, trying to spot their server through the dimness. She listened with one ear as Conrad continued his conversation with Devon.

“…wasn’t herself earlier, but she’s been in a mood the past couple of days. I didn’t think she…”

Finally, she spotted the server, lingering at the hostess stand near the better-lit foyer. Billie narrowed her eyes at his back, willing him to turn around.

“…be there soon.”

“Go,” Billie said, as soon as she was sure Conrad had hung up. “I’ll get the check. Call me and tell me how she is, okay?”

She felt Conrad’s gaze on her face, but she was still busy trying to catch their server’s eye. He was still leaning against the hostess stand, had barely moved in the fifteen seconds Billie had been staring. The hostess was gorgeous, of course, tall and willowy.

But good grief, Billie thought, eyeing the server.

After a moment, Billie realized that Conrad hadn’t budged, and she looked back at him, confused. He was gazing at her.

“You’re not leaving,” she pointed out.

“I…” He shook himself. “Yeah, I just… Why don’t you—No, I mean, can you come with me?”

“Yes,” she said, telling herself not to stop and think. “Hold on.”

She stood, setting her napkin on the table, and marched across the restaurant. Smile, she reminded herself. Easy. Your server is a glorified child likely trying to put himself through college. Do not eviscerate him for something he had no part in. Deep breaths. In and out. That’s good.

But Gigi needed Conrad, and their server was still flirting with the hostess. Gigi wasn’t well. And Billie shoved the panic down deeper in her soul.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said, smoothly stepping in front of the server so that he would have no way of ignoring her. “But we need our check.”

Nerves flashed across his face. “Is everything all right? Is your food—”

“The food is fine,” she said. “But our sitter just called, and my date’s daughter isn’t feeling well. So—”

“No problem at all,” he said, face clearing and empathy stitching a frown onto his face. “I can bring the card reader to the table.”

“Thank you,” Billie said, relieved.

“I’ll get your coats,” the hostess offered.

“Thank you,” Billie said again, this time a little more sincerely.

#

As soon as Billie buckled her seat belt, the car was moving with Conrad tense and restless in the driver’s seat. She should have offered to drive, but she never drove when she, Conrad, and Gigi went anywhere. Even if she had thought to offer, it would have felt entirely foreign to be behind the wheel while he sat in the passenger seat, leg jumping up and down as his brain ran through all the possible medical explanations for his daughter’s symptoms.

“I heard you tell Devon that she’s been off the last few days,” Billie said.

His swallow was audible across the car. “I was going to talk to you about that.”

Her gaze sharpened on his profile. “Talk to me about what?”

Billie had known when he spoke to Gigi about them dating earlier that week. He had murmured it in her ear one morning while they were waiting for the screens to load with scans in the CT room. They hadn’t had a chance to discuss it, since Devon had barged in, and then they had each been called on separate critical issues. And her OR had been so busy the rest of the week that she hadn’t had a chance to see Gigi since the conversation.

She had been a bit surprised that Conrad had already spoken to his daughter. Particularly since Billie and Conrad never had the conversation. It had all been vague and implied, and they had each known what the other meant—we’re together now—but it hadn’t been said per se.

Part of her was disappointed. She had wanted to be there when he told Gigi. She didn’t know how Gigi was going to respond. She knew Gigi would understand the basics after her father’s relationship with Cade. It was different with Billie, though, and she had wanted to be there to reassure the little girl.

But it wasn’t her place to ask, only to be invited, and Conrad hadn’t, so Billie hadn’t said anything.

“When I told Gigi about us, she was excited, but I don’t think she really understood,” Conrad said. “She just seemed to think it would mean sleepovers like…”

He trailed off, and she stifled a laugh at his discomfort. “Like Cade used to?”

“Yeah,” he said on a groan. “I tried to explain the difference. I told her you would be coming over more, and, yes, there might be sleepovers and, no, you wouldn’t be sleeping in her room.” He paused to grin as Billie laughed, then continued, “But everything I mentioned you already do with us, everything Cade did, aside from the sleepovers. Like going on our weekend outings or coming over for movie night. And you take Gigi for an overnight once or twice a month. So, none of it was helpful.”

He sounded frustrated with himself again, frustrated again about how much time he had let lapse by running from his feelings. Billie ran a hand down his bicep, a swift gesture of comfort. Then she pulled her hands back into her lap. She told herself not to ask, but she had to know.

“But she was excited, right?”

“Yes,” he said, firm. “Ecstatic.”

“Good,” Billie murmured, pleased.

“Did you expect different?” Conrad asked, tone teasing. He didn’t give her a chance to respond. “She did ask if I would kiss you like I did Cade.”

“She did?” Billie asked, surprised.

Conrad nodded. “I told her yes and asked if she wanted to talk about that. But then she asked about dinosaurs because they’re doing a unit in school. So, I thought she was fine.”

“Since then she’s been off, though?” she prompted.

“It started a couple of days later. She’s been complaining about a stomachache the last two days, wheedling to stay home from school.” He shook his head. “I let her yesterday, and she spent the whole day in bed, but I couldn’t find anything medically wrong with her. And she’s done this before when she was nervous about something. So, I thought sending her to school was the right thing to do, and she seemed fine when I left tonight.”

“What’s she nervous about?” Billie asked.

She wracked her brain, but they were in a quiet period in terms of Gigi’s afterschool activities. No holidays. No events. She was excited to start day camp when school let out for the summer, but that didn’t start for a couple of months, and her next belt wouldn’t be for at least four.

“I’m not sure,” Conrad said on a sigh. “I thought getting a night with Devon might be so exciting that it would shake her out of whatever this is. But it’s been two days, Billie. I don’t…”

He trailed off, and she heard everything that he wasn’t saying.

…know what to do.

…know if I did the right thing.

…know how to help her.

“You’re a great dad,” she reminded him. “Maybe she just needs some time to tell you what it is.”

He shook his head. “I think she tried, and I just didn’t get it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Last night at dinner, she talked a lot about Cade,” he said.

“Cade,” Billie repeated in surprise. She turned to stare out the windshield, brow furrowed. “I didn’t think she and Cade were close.”

“They weren’t,” Conrad said. “I’m not even just telling myself that. They weren’t close. They liked each other fine. But Gigi never asked for Cade to tuck her in or read her a book or anything like she does with you and Devon and AJ.”

All of which was the impression Billie had gotten of their relationship from Gigi herself. And she had always thought that was due in equal measures to Conrad shielding Gigi from his first relationship since Nic and Cade having trouble opening herself up to people.

“But Gigi’s asking for Cade now?”

None of this was making sense to Billie. And clearly not to Conrad if his frustrated tone was anything to go by.

“No, not really asking for her,” he said. “Gigi had a lot of questions about the breakup, and what it meant. Why weren’t we seeing Cade anymore? When were we going to see her again? That sort of thing.”

He stopped, gathering his thoughts, and Billie waited. She wished she could ease his frustration with himself, but all she could do for him was listen.

“I think she was trying to ask me something else, not about Cade at all, but it wasn’t making much sense,” he said, as though admitting a sin.

“Okay,” Billie said slowly. They were getting close to Conrad’s and running out of time. “How did you explain the breakup to her?”

He shifted restlessly as they stopped at a red light. “I told Gigi that Cade and I were going to be friends, but that Cade wouldn’t be around as much because we weren’t dating anymore. So, she wouldn’t be spending the night or going out with us anymore. And that it had nothing to do with Gigi, and that we both still cared about her. I tried to make the conversation about Cade and the conversation about you separate. I spaced them out over a few days. I don’t know if that helped.”

Billie’s brow was still furrowed. “It sounds like you handled it right,” she said.

Conrad blew out a breath. “Apparently not.”

The light turned green, and Conrad drove the last few blocks to the house in silence. Billie turned everything over in her mind, trying to find an explanation for Gigi’s anxiety, but she came up blank. She would have understood if Cade had meant a lot to Gigi, but she hadn’t. Could it just be the change? Kids didn’t do well with change, right?

As they stepped from the car, Conrad came around to her side, gently shutting her door. She grasped his jacket, pulling him close. Without prompting, he leaned down and rested his forehead against hers, exhaling shakily into the night, hands cupping her shoulders.

“Why didn’t you talk to me about all of this?” Billie asked.

Conrad always talked to her about Gigi things and not just Gigi—everything, really, even Cade. She shoved down the hurt that he hadn’t this time. She could feel the tension vibrating through his body into hers. This hadn’t been about Billie; it had been about Conrad, and she needed to understand.

“I wanted tonight to be about us,” he said, voice gravelly and low.

Oh, she thought.

“Conrad, Gigi is part of us,” Billie said. She let go of his jacket and cupped her hands around his face, pulling him far enough away that they could see each other. “Nothing is ever going to change that. Always talk to me about Gigi.”

His eyes looked wet as she ran a gentle hand down his jaw to rest against his neck. Before she could tell for sure if it was just the moonlight playing tricks, he blinked and looked away.

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what?”

He shrugged, smiling at the driveway. “Loving us.”

“You really need to stop thanking me for that,” she said, injecting a little levity into the conversation. “You’re going to give me a complex. I’ll expect it daily with my cup of coffee.”

“God forbid,” he murmured.

Then he took a deep breath and stepped back. Her hands trailed from his cheek and neck, falling to her sides. But he held out his hand for hers milliseconds later, and she interlaced her fingers with his. She loved that he seemed to want to hold her hand as much as she wanted to hold his. She would take any excuse.

He gave her a wry smile. “Let’s go.”

When they stepped through the front door, Devon was slowly pacing the living room with Gigi cradled in his arms. Her face was buried in his neck, and Billie’s heart twisted.

Devon caught sight of them as he turned to begin pacing in the opposite direction, and his eyes lit up with relief. “Hey,” he said. “I think she’s out again.”

“Let’s put her back in bed,” Conrad said. “If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Devon said, brow furrowed with worry.

“Talk to me,” Conrad ordered, hot on Devon’s heels.

Billie followed behind Conrad, doing a deep breathing exercise to quell the pounding of her heart.

Conrad thinks it’s just nerves, she reminded herself.

But the sight of Gigi looking so small in Devon’s arms, her little face hidden from the world, was branded across Billie’s brain.

“She seemed fine when you left,” Devon said as they got to the top of the stairs. “We played with the telescope for a while, then got ready for bed. I tucked her in, read a book, but then she asked for another one. And I know you said only one, but—”

Conrad cut him off. “It’s okay. So, you read a second book.”

Devon settled Gigi on the bed, and the little girl rolled over into a fetal position. Billie felt the tension ratchet up in the room.

“We read four,” Devon said. “She tried for a fifth, but I told her it was too late, and she needed to close her eyes and try to sleep. I offered to stay with her, but that’s when she started saying that her stomach hurt. No fever. Pupils are fine. I palpated but didn’t feel anything off. I took her downstairs and gave her some ginger ale. But then she asked me to pick her up…” Devon stopped to swallow, arms crossing tightly over his chest.

“Like she used to,” Conrad finished for him.

Devon nodded. “So, I tried walking her like we did when she was a baby, and that seemed to work better than anything else. She had only been asleep for a few minutes by the time you got home.”

Billie had been watching Gigi’s face and saw the little girl’s eyes blink open. She was kneeling next to her before she consciously told herself to move.

“Hi sweetie,” Billie murmured to her. “Everything’s okay. You can go back to sleep.”

But Gigi was already sitting up, little face crumpled, arms held out to Billie. She slid next to Gigi and pulled the little girl into her lap, holding her close and making soothing noises as Gigi started to cry. Conrad came to sit next to Billie, and Devon hovered with an anxious face, clearly at a loss as to what his role was.

“Bubble, talk to me,” Conrad said, his voice a thousand times softer than when he had said the same to Devon.

To Billie’s utter shock, Gigi squirmed away from her father and cried harder as her arms squeezed around Billie’s neck. A deep hurt spasmed across Conrad’s face, and Billie wanted to reach out to him, but her hands and arms were full of Gigi, whose tears were so profound that Billie could feel the skin of her neck getting wet. Billie caught his gaze with hers instead, trying to send him love and strength through just that contact.

“Sweetie,” Billie murmured, rubbing a hand on Gigi’s back. “You have to talk to us. Is it your stomach?”

Gigi nodded, hiccupping against Billie’s neck.

“Can you sit up for me?” Billie asked. “We need to take a look at you.”

Gigi shook her head.

“You don’t want us to examine you?” Billie guessed.

Gigi stayed still against her.

“Okay,” Billie said. “We’re not going to do that, okay?”

Gigi’s arms loosened slightly.

“Do you want to talk to me about why you’re mad at your dad?” Billie asked gently.

She kept her eyes on Conrad’s face, and she saw the words hit him like a physical blow. But it was the only thing that made sense, and, knowing Gigi and how much she idolized Conrad, Billie could definitely see the unfamiliar feeling tying Gigi’s stomach in knots.

Billie felt Gigi shake her head, and Billie ran a soothing hand down Gigi’s hair. “I think you’d feel better if you talked about it.”

“I’m going to go downstairs,” Devon said. “I’ll give you guys a minute.”

Conrad stood and walked with Devon to the door. “You can go home,” Billie heard him say. “We’ve got it from here. Thank you for…”

Their voices trailed off as they got further down the stairs. Gigi let go of Billie’s neck, and the little girl sat back in Billie’s arms. Her face was streaked with tears, big eyes miserable.

“Baby,” Billie said, cupping Gigi’s cheek. “What’s going on?”

Gigi’s small fingers reached out to play with the ends of Billie’s hair. In the end, Billie had decided to leave it down, and it was damp from Gigi’s sobbing. But Gigi gently curled one lock around her tiny finger and held onto it.

“You and Daddy are dating?” Gigi asked.

They both knew it wasn’t a question. Conrad had explicitly told Gigi that he and Billie were together. Billie knew that she should have Conrad handle this conversation with his daughter. But Conrad was downstairs, and Gigi was asking her. So, Billie nodded slowly.

“Yes, sweetheart.”

Gigi’s face crumpled again, and Billie pulled her close. Heart shredded, Billie told herself Gigi was only five-going-on-six. She couldn’t possibly know how deeply she had just hurt Billie, and it wasn’t Gigi’s fault. But Billie just didn’t understand the reaction. Conrad had said Gigi was excited when he told her. Billie had thought Gigi adored her; she had thought they were each other’s favorites.

“Baby, if your dad and me dating bothers you this much—” Billie took a deep breath, swallowing down the words she wanted to offer. Then we won’t. I promise. Curious that her heart was still beating when it was dead in her chest. “Why don’t we talk about this with your dad?”

Billie caught the movement of a shadow and looked up as Conrad appeared in the doorway. She knew her face was a wreck, and she saw the fear on his, but she wasn’t sure how much he had overheard. And, so, when he started forward into the room, she shook her head at him.

Gigi was sobbing hard now, and her words were barely intelligible. “No…away…Cade…”

“What?” Billie whispered. “I’m sorry, baby, I didn’t hear that.”

Gigi pulled back again, with her hand still tight on the curl she had never let go of. “You’re mine,” she said, and the words were not only clear but fierce.

A very inappropriate flash of amusement swept through Billie, and she recognized it as giddy relief. She swallowed it down as she saw Conrad lean against the doorjamb out of the corner of her eye, something about his body loosening like a rope that had been stretched taut and then released.

“I am yours,” Billie assured her. “And I will always be yours, no matter what happens with your dad.”

Gigi’s face was still screwed up into a stubborn moue, but Billie saw something ease in the little girl, too, and the tears slowed. Her fingers worried the curl still tight in her grip.

“Cade went away,” Gigi said simply.

And, abruptly, it all made sense to Billie. Part of her brain wondered if this made it click for Conrad, too, but she was focused on Gigi and didn’t want to spare him a glance. They needed to have this conversation, and she didn’t want to clue the little girl into the fact that he was there since all of this seemed to be aimed at her father.

How in the world was she going to explain this to Gigi? How could she possibly explain the confidence she had in her relationship with Conrad? They still had never been on one complete date, and somehow Billie was one hundred percent sure that he was it for her. He and Gigi were Billie’s home. But even if he wasn’t, if—God forbid—he left her and decimated her heart, they would all still be okay.

Gigi has to come first. The words reverberated through Billie’s brain, and they weren’t hers. They were remembered from a long-ago conversation with Nic about how to do the hard things after Gigi was born.

Nic had licked her lips and continued, “Before me. Before Conrad. Honestly, sometimes I think I would shove him in front of a bus to save Gigi. Does that make me a bad person?”

And Billie had laughed and said, “Don’t worry. If someone needs to shove Conrad in front of a bus, I’ll do it for you. That’s just the kind of friend I am.”

“Oh my god,” Nic had said, but she had been laughing. “Just save Gigi, okay? If it’s a choice between me and the baby. Pick the baby.”

“Like you even have to tell me that,” Billie had said, genuinely offended.

Billie squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, Nic’s face flashing through her mind with that reassuring smile—the one that always said I adore you, Billie Sutton, you maniac.

Taking a soothing breath, Billie did her best to save Gigi. For Nic, sure, of course. But mostly for Gigi because, well, Gigi was the best thing that had ever happened to Billie.

“Breakups are really hard, sweetie,” was how Billie began. “Sometimes, after a breakup, one of the people needs to… to not see the person they were dating. Because it hurts too much to see them and making that hurt a little less is all that matters. Grownups call it getting space.”

Gigi still wasn’t looking Billie in the eye, and Billie felt like she was floundering. But she steeled her spine and kept trying.

“Cade needs space right now. She cared about your dad and you,” she said, stressing those last words, “a lot. It’s hard for her that she and your dad aren’t dating anymore.” She hesitated before saying the next, sending a silent prayer out to the universe that she was right. “Cade and I are not the same.”

Gigi’s eyes flicked up to Billie’s and then back down to the curl.

Bingo, Billie thought.

“We’re family. You, me, and your dad. But you and I are different,” Billie said. “And I don’t think I can explain that to you. And I know you hate it when we tell you that you’ll understand when you’re older, but, baby, I didn’t get it until I was close to forty.”

Gigi rolled her eyes, but her lips were pulling into a little smile at the corners.

“I didn’t get it until I met you. Nothing in the universe could make me stay away from you,” Billie said. “If your dad decided to break up with me, that wouldn’t change. You and I will never change. I will never need space from you. You’re mine, and I’m yours. Forever and always.”

When Gigi wrapped her arms around Billie’s neck again, her body was loose, and her grip was easy. Billie knew they hadn’t solved the problem. One conversation wasn’t going to be enough, but it was a start. The rest would take time.

She cleared her throat. “Can you talk to your dad? He loves you so much, and he’s really worried about you.”

Gigi nodded and slid from Billie’s lap to sit cross-legged on her unicorn sheets. Billie pressed a kiss to Gigi’s hair and whispered, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Gigi said.

She stood, smoothing the skirt of her dress out of habit, and met Conrad’s gaze. As Conrad stepped past her, his eyes looked bruised. He paused as if he wanted to say something to her, but she tilted her head towards Gigi.

“Later,” she murmured and stepped into the hallway.

Conrad and Gigi didn’t say much. Gigi was too sleepy. And Billie couldn’t see what was happening around the door that she had pulled halfway shut, but she imagined they did a lot of cuddling.

She was leaning on the wall outside Gigi’s room, hands braced behind the small of her back, when Conrad stepped out and eased the door shut behind him. She tilted her head to the side and studied his face.

“Are you okay?” he asked, beating her to the punch.

“Not really,” she said, knowing her smile was wan. “But I feel better knowing what’s wrong. You?”

His face collapsed. “I really messed this up. With Gigi.”

“No, you didn’t,” Billie said.

“With Cade,” he continued. “With you.”

“No,” Billie said again. “You didn’t.”

He stared at her. “How can you say that?” he murmured. “We could have… If I hadn’t been running from this, then I never would have dated Cade—”

“You don’t know that,” she interrupted him. “I can’t speak for Cade. But I can speak for me, and I feel like I can speak for Gigi. We’re going to be fine, Conrad. It’s just going to take some time.”

“But—”

She gathered both of his hands in hers. “The choice you made when you started to date Cade was what you needed at the time. A casual relationship with someone you were attracted to and liked as a person, with the potential for more. Someone you could build a future with, one step at a time.”

“Back up. You think I still would have chosen Cade if I had known how you felt about me?” he asked, studying her.

“I don’t know,” Billie said, shrugging one shoulder.

“Well, I do. And I would not have.”

“Okay,” she said. “But maybe that would have been a mistake.”

He stared at her, mouth working.

“We,” she said, stressing the word, “are full of stakes. We have so much to lose here. There was no way to make us casual or ease into something real over time. We were going to be serious from day one. That’s just how it is. Maybe you weren’t ready for that.”

He started to speak again, and she cupped his cheek to still him.

“If so,” she said, “that is completely understandable. Did I like it? No. Did it hurt me? Yes. Did it make me unreasonably angry at the time? Hell yeah. But do I hold it against you? Absolutely not.”

Annoyance flashed across his face. “We’re going to argue about this later,” he said, stubborn. “Because I definitely would have chosen you, and I’ve been thinking about it for a few days now, and I’m slightly pissed that you didn’t tell me how you felt.”

She sighed quietly. “Okay, we can argue about that tomorrow night.”

“Saturday,” he muttered. “You have three surgeries tomorrow.”

But he had never let go of her hand, and he was absently playing with her fingers in his. And she was so far gone on him that the fact he was scheduling an argument with her—with thoughtful consideration for her stress level, no less—made her want to rise on her tiptoes and seal her mouth to his. But they weren’t done with this discussion.

“Uh-huh,” she said. “My point is that we’ll never know what would have happened. We only know what did happen, and where we are now. Thinking through what ifs and if onlys will never help us. Remember?”

She saw the moment he remembered their conversation from four years earlier.

“We can’t keep doing this,” Billie had said.

Conrad’s beard had been soaked with tears. Her arms had been wrapped around him, trying to hold all the broken pieces of him together as he wept. Both of his hands had been pressed to his mouth so that Gigi wouldn’t hear from her crib upstairs.

Billie had been on a date—half-heartedly going through the motions of trying to reenter normal life—when Conrad had called. Gigi had taken her first steps. And Nic hadn’t been there to see it.

Billie had barely explained the situation to poor Dave—a setup that Kit had only convinced Billie to accept by assuring her Dave wasn’t looking for a long-term relationship, just someone to take around while he got to know Atlanta. But making polite conversation without talking about the defining moment of her life—losing Nic—had been exhausting, and Billie had quickly realized she hadn’t been ready. She had driven like a bat out of hell to Conrad’s house and had found him an absolute mess on the floor.

He had sputtered out what Nic would have done, what Nic would have given to see Gigi’s first steps. He had talked about the things they would have been doing—he and Nic—if she had been there. He had outlined all the ways they would have celebrated, the next steps, what Nic would have thought and said and done. And Billie had wrapped her arms around him, trying to fill the holes she could feel in both of them, despite knowing it was an impossible task.

She had waited until the tears stopped to say it. And Conrad had barely even looked at her.

“Doing what?” he had asked, hoarse from the crying jag.

“Wondering what could have been,” she had whispered back. “Nic isn’t here, and I hate that. Torturing ourselves with the what ifs and if onlys is—”

“I can’t just stop thinking about her, Billie,” he had snapped, pulling away from her entirely.

“I know that,” she had snapped back. “I never said that, Conrad. But what if Gigi came downstairs right now, or heard you crying?”

He had looked away from her, stubborn and angry and silent.

“You want to be mad at me?” Billie had snarled at him, trying to keep her voice at whisper level. “That’s fine. Be mad. I can take it, Hawkins. Yell at me. Call me names. I’m still not going anywhere. I loved her, too, and I will never stop missing her. But we have to stop torturing ourselves. She isn’t here, Conrad. We have to live with that and find a way to move forward. Find a way to remember her and honor her that doesn’t leave us paralyzed.”

His throat had worked.

“For Gigi,” Billie had added. “If not for yourself. Gigi has to come first.”

“I know,” he had snapped, but some of the heat was gone from his voice.

Billie had taken a chance and reached out to grasp his wrist. She had kept her grip strong, a reminder that he could lean on her, and not too soft because she had thought he might shake her off if she tried that. He hadn’t moved, letting her touch him.

“You’re doing great,” she had said. “Nic would be so proud of you and the father you’ve become. But you are all Gigi’s got, and she has to come first."

At that, his head had fallen back against the wall with an audible clunk. Billie had forced herself not to wince in response, telling her neuro-self to shut it. But then he had nodded his head.

“No more what ifs,” he had agreed.

They had both known she was making it sound too easy. And Billie had known he was only agreeing to try. But agreeing had been enough. Trying had been enough. And, together, they had muddled through.

Standing outside of Gigi’s door, five years hovered around them. All of the rough moments that Billie and Conrad had muddled through together had shaped them into the two people standing there staring at each other, able to show each other their raw, unfiltered selves. Their history had grown like a living thing between them, each hard decision and uncomfortable conversation and touch of solace and piece of advice and kick in the ass had become a vine that entwined around them, through them, pulling them tighter and closer until Billie had no longer been sure where her world began and where Conrad’s ended.

Finally, Conrad nodded his head, just as stubborn and reluctant to concede as he had been four years prior. Her hand slid from his cheek down to rest against his chest. His heart thudded under her palm as they stared at each other.

“Where did you come from?” he whispered. He reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear.

Her eyebrows knit together. “You’ve asked me that before,” she murmured back to him.

“Have I?” But he didn’t really seem to be paying attention. “I’m really sorry we had to cut our date short.”

She blinked at him. “Who said it was over? What, because we changed venues? You’re not getting off that easy, Hawkins.”

He didn’t laugh, like she was expecting. Didn’t even smile. But he did lean forward.

He moved so incrementally that, at first, she didn’t think he was moving at all. Then he braced a hand on the wall next to her head, and she realized he was easing into her body and closing the gap between them. Sweet anticipation spun through her chest, gathering up like cotton candy.

His second kiss was as slow as the first had been. She was better prepared this time, though, for the dueling waves of tenderness and heat that swamped her body.

His lips were soft, barely a whisper, brushing against hers once, twice, a third time. Then he settled in and pushed closer, mouth opening over hers. He still tasted like the mint leaves from Le Ciel.

Time seemed to stretch and lengthen as his lips moved against hers. Billie wasn’t sure she had ever been this happy. She had yearned for this with an acute ache for so long—the feeling of Conrad against her, of him wanting to be in her arms—that a part of her honestly couldn’t believe it was really, truly happening. But here he was holding her with soft hands, lips languid against hers—half comfort and half desire.

She felt a lump rising in her throat, and he seemed to sense that she needed a moment. Maybe her lips had started to tremble. He eased his mouth away, trailing soft kisses across her cheek. Her head slowly tilted to the side of its own volition, and Conrad followed the silent directive with more gentle kisses.

As his lips brushed down her neck, she let out an involuntary hum of pleasure that made his hand clench at her waist and pull her closer to him. She realized then that he wasn’t quite as relaxed and languid as she had thought. His control was on a tight leash.

But the sound had also reminded Billie that they were standing mere feet outside his daughter’s bedroom.

“Conrad,” she whispered. “Gigi.”

He pulled his mouth away from her skin but rested his forehead in the curve of her shoulder on a groan. “Right.”

The feeling of his fingers still clenched at her waist made her bold. “Change venues again?” she asked.

“God yes,” he muttered, and she stifled a giggle.

But as they both turned to put distance between themselves and Gigi’s door, they found the darkened doorway to Conrad’s bedroom staring back at them. Billie froze, immediately going rigid.

Conrad settled a hand in the curve of her lower back, radiating calm and soothing energy. “Not tonight,” he said.

Every muscle relaxed in Billie’s body. “Not tonight.”

“We go slow,” he said, using the hand on the small of her back to urge her body closer again.

A wide, brilliant, happy smile spread across her face as she rested both hands against his chest. “Slow,” she agreed.

Conrad smiled back, and they stood there in the hallway, simply smiling at each other for a long time. Heat simmered in his eyes, but the lines of his face were easy. She wondered what he saw in hers.

“Making out is slow,” Conrad said.

“True,” Billie said. She considered and then said, “As long as no clothes come off, that’s slow, right?”

Conrad paused, as if thinking this over, and he said, “I think there need to be hard lines, though. Tonight, first base. No further.”

“We just did that,” Billie said, pointing towards where he’d had her pressed against the wall.

“But I don’t think we’re ready for second,” he said.

“Really?” she asked, genuinely surprised. Then she narrowed her eyes at him. “Not ready, or too ready?”

He didn’t respond to that but took a deliberate step backward. “Why don’t we get a snack? That octopus thing was not very filling.”

“Yes, please,” she said. “Though, honestly, if all the courses were that size, we would have been in serious trouble even if we hadn’t been called away. Thank goodness we stuck to water.”

“I thought you loved places like that,” Conrad said, as he followed her down the stairs. “You donate to the ballet. You took Gigi to the opera gala last year. James took you to that experimental menu…thing.”

“Pop up,” she supplied, surprised he remembered that.

She glanced at Conrad as they moved into the kitchen. It had never occurred to her that he might be comparing them with her and James. But his face was calm—serene really—and she couldn’t discern a clue to his thoughts.

“Every once in a while, it’s nice to get dressed up and do something different,” she said, partly agreeing with him.

He nodded, back to her as he opened the fridge. She watched his muscles move under his button-up as he pushed things around inside, then let her eyes glance down at the grey trousers and dress shoes. He had looked almost foreign to her when she opened the door earlier that evening, so out of character.

It had been bugging her all night—until the distraction of Gigi’s crisis—that he had taken her to Le Ciel of all places. Why? Conrad was Waylon’s, through and through. He was shots of whiskey and always in motion. She had assumed there would be some sort of activity followed by a burger, with Conrad dressed in jeans and a cotton shirt. Instead, she had gotten Ultimate Romance Ken Doll on her porch, and now he was mentioning James and saying he thought she liked—

And it clicked into place for Billie.

Billie would have happily gone axe-throwing because Conrad would have enjoyed axe-throwing. She would have been terrible at it, fighting the nagging urge to remind him that beer and sharp weapons should never be paired, but she would have loved it because he would have been happy. And Conrad had happily pulled the few strings he had at his disposal to get a reservation at the nicest restaurant in the city because he thought she would enjoy it, even if it was entirely outside of his comfort zone.

She reached out and snagged the waistband of his pants as he passed her. He glanced down at her hand with clear surprise but tossed the bag of bread he was holding on the counter and crowded into her personal space. He settled a hand on the counter on either side of her body, caging her in with his full attention locked on her. Exactly how she liked it.

“If I had to pick the perfect date,” she said, palms finding his waist. “I’d pick you in jeans and a Henley any day.”

His brow furrowed in confusion, though he looked pleased anyway. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said, suddenly remembering to be embarrassed. “Shut up and kiss me.”

“Gladly.”

[kaitidid22]

Fanfic: Midnight Picnic (Conrad/Billie)

Summary: Billie celebrates New Year's Eve with toddler Gigi and Conrad. (Canon-friendly & set in the lost years.)

A/N: Is anyone else a little irritated with Conrad's "everyone but me" comment?

Billie knocked on the door, shivering in the unseasonably cold evening. A freak snowstorm was headed towards Atlanta. The storm wasn’t supposed to hit land for another day, but the cold spell had hit them several days earlier, dropping the air to well-below any normal late-December temperatures.

When Conrad opened the door, a warm breeze caressed her just before the smell of dinner hit her nose. She had no idea what he was making, but the smell alone made her stomach growl. Before he could speak, she held up the bottle of champagne in her right hand, left still tucked as far behind her as she could get it.

“Happy new year,” Billie said, waiting for his reaction.

Conrad’s eyebrows rose. He would drink champagne—she had discovered—but mostly because it was there, or because the occasion called for it, not by choice. As she watched him strive to look enthusiastic for her sake, she couldn’t maintain the straight face, though. She broke into laughter as she revealed the six-pack of his favorite beer in her other hand. He rolled his eyes, but she saw his lips fighting a smile.

“Sorry,” she said. “I couldn’t help myself. I worked a thirteen-hour shift today, with two major surgeries back-to-back, and I’m punchy as hell. Seemed like a good idea when I was driving past the store.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, dry as he took both the champagne and beer out of her hands. “Come on in, you menace.”

She stepped inside, shut the door, and shrugged out of the jacket before trailing after him deeper into the house and open plan bottom floor. Conrad shoved the champagne and beer in the fridge and came back to gather her jacket out of her arms, leaving her empty-handed and hovering in the space where the hallway gave way to the living room.

A twinge of discomfort prickled along her skin before settling deep in her stomach. She licked her lips and surreptitiously glanced around. Even a year and a half later, she sometimes felt like Nic was going to dash in from the backyard, baby chick in hand, laughing about something Conrad had said. Or come floating down the stairs at top speed to greet Billie, moving in that way that only Nic had—simultaneously rushed and more graceful than anyone else Billie had ever met.

Billie could feel her best friend’s presence in every corner of Conrad and Gigi’s home, and it paralyzed her at the foot of the stairs. Conrad didn’t seem to notice as he hung her coat over one of the bar stools at the kitchen island.

She wanted to remind him that he had a coat closet. But he seemed so relaxed that she didn’t want to ruin it with the wrong joke or too much teasing. Not on the first real New Year’s Eve since Nic’s death. The year before, they had all been so dazed by grief the entire holiday season had passed in a blur. Conrad hadn’t even been the one to invite Billie over, so she felt unsure of her footing.

“Your date is in her room if you want to go get her for dinner,” Conrad said over his shoulder as he made a beeline to the pans on the stove.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Billie murmured and escaped.

At Gigi’s door, Billie slowed and watched her goddaughter rifle through a pile of toys on the floor. Gigi really was a gorgeous toddler, and sometimes Billie wondered how a hodgepodge of genetic material could have turned out something so perfect.

Despite merciless teasing, A.J. could never convince Billie that she was biased. Because she wasn’t, and she knew that (perhaps deep down) he knew it, too. Gigi was the funniest, smartest, most beautiful child who had ever existed.

The toddler’s hair was loose around her shoulders, likely still air drying from an earlier bath. Her hair was the longest it had ever been in her short life, nearly brushing her collar bone when she sat still enough for it to settle against her body.

But the thick curtain of blonde was getting in her way, blocking her view as she leaned over the toys, and Billie could see Gigi begin to get frustrated, slapping a toy down on the rug. Billie was about to step into the room and offer to pull Gigi’s hair back when the toddler straightened up and sighed gently. Then her small hands came up, fingers and palms flat against either side of her head and smoothed her hair back in a gentle scrape.

In the span of a millisecond, Billie’s chest collapsed under an avalanche of grief. One hand reached out to brace herself against the doorjamb, and the other settled over her mouth, ready to muffle any noise she might make.

It didn’t happen all the time. Gigi’s personality was so very much hers that Billie rarely looked at her goddaughter and saw anyone except Gigi herself. Every once in a while, though, under certain lights or at specific angles, the shadows would settle just right on her face, and Gigi would become a tiny replica of Nic.

And that gesture, smoothing back her curtain of blonde hair with both hands—more to curb her frustration than tame her hair—had been so Nic. Billie had seen her do it thousands of times.

The sight had been a punch to the solar plexus. She averted her face, dropping her hands and smoothing out her expression in case Gigi looked up to find Aunt Billie destroyed in the doorway.

A hand slid onto Billie’s shoulder and squeezed, gentle but firm, in silent support. I’m here, the squeeze seemed to say. And, without thinking, Billie reached up and put her hand over his wrist, wrapping her fingers around until they brushed the soft skin just beneath Conrad’s palm.

Conrad murmured somewhere to the left of Billie’s ear, “It’s crazy, right?”

Her words were thick as they slopped out of her mouth. “Nature versus nurture is a crock.”

Conrad’s laugh was just a puff of air against the top of her head. He used the weight of his hand on her shoulder to urge her to turn away, and she was glad for the excuse. She needed to fix her face. She needed to sooth herself so that Gigi didn’t see the effect that one small gesture had had on Billie. She was two. She wouldn’t understand.

Conrad’s eyes were bruised as they raked over the pain Billie knew was etched across her face.

“I really miss her,” Billie whispered.

She knew he knew that already. They had spent most of the first year Nic was gone talking about little else. But they had both agreed that, sometimes, all they could do was say it out loud and hear it back.

“Me, too,” he murmured.

His hand squeezed her shoulder again, and she wondered how he could make one gesture so comforting. But, she was learning, that was just Conrad. When he was with you, he was so present that nothing and no one else in the world had his attention; maybe the world outside had ceased to exist—Billie would have believed it.

Then his hand slid away, and he suggested, “Why don’t you go splash water on your face? Meet us downstairs?”

Billie nodded, brushing tears away with her fingers. She used the bathroom upstairs, knowing he wouldn’t mind her wandering through his bedroom. His was the bathroom with the tub, so she had been giving Gigi baths in there once or twice a week for the past year and change. His room was practically as familiar as her own, and she wasn’t surprised to find his bed neatly made and not a single sock or shirt on the floor.

Her apartment was similarly neat, but that was because she employed a maid who came in three times a week.

She almost didn’t want to look in the mirror once she got to the bathroom. But she flicked on the light and checked the damage. Strangely, her face was nowhere near the wreck she thought it should be. Yes, her eyelids were puffy, and the whites had turned pink. Yes, her eyeliner had gone patchy, and mascara had leaked under her lash line.

But Billie still looked like Billie. She was still recognizable as a person, with cheekbones and nose and chin intact and in place. And how was that possible when it felt like someone had reached down her throat and yanked part of her heart out?

She splashed some water on her face, as suggested, then rubbed the mascara out from under her eyes, and told herself smudged eyeliner was all the rage. Then she drew her shoulders back and flounced out of Conrad’s bedroom and down the stairs with as much attitude as she could manage.

Conrad was sitting on the floor with Gigi, who climbed to her feet and toddled over as soon as Billie came down the stairs.

“Aunt Billie!”

Ls were still hard for Gigi, and Billie sounded a little more like “Biwee,” but she thought it was the sweetest sound in the world. Gigi laughed her still-babyish giggle as Billie swung her up into her arms. Relief spread through every inch of Billie’s body.

“It’s my very favorite person!” Billie said. “I was so excited when you called and asked me to come over.”

“Me, too!”

“Are you ready for dinner?” Billie asked. “I heard your dad yelling at the oven to shape up or ship out, so I think it’s ready.”

Gigi giggled again, then held her arms out to her father, who scooped her out of Billie’s arms without hesitation. Still, at the table, Gigi insisted on sitting in Billie’s lap, and they wound up sharing most of Billie’s dinner before Conrad intervened.

“Do you want another plate?” Conrad asked, eyes laughing silently as he clipped the table back onto Gigi’s highchair.

Billie shook her head. “I’m stuffed.”

“Gigi did hand feed you about nine hundred olives,” Conrad said with faux seriousness. “Makes sense.”

Billie felt giddy happiness bubble in her as Gigi lit up at the mention of olives. “All gone,” Billie said to the little girl. “You ate them all.”

“No more olives ever,” Conrad told his daughter.

Gigi looked crestfallen until her father plopped a pink, sparkly cup of juice down in front of her. Content again, Gigi picked it up and sipped at it gently. Then Conrad stood and collected Billie’s plate and his own.

“Thank you for dinner,” she said. “It was delicious. Can I help with the dishes?”

“So formal,” Conrad cried out, making Gigi giggle.

“So formal!” Gigi parroted despite having no idea what her father meant.

Billie couldn’t help but laugh with them. “Manners are a dying art,” she said.

“The dishes,” Conrad said, with a meaningful look at the dishwasher next to him, “are taken care of. But thank you, gentle lady, for the kind offer to scrub my cutlery.”

“You’re very welcome.” After a moment, she added, “Kind sir.”

Conrad grinned as he leaned over to open the dishwasher. Billie watched Gigi carefully lift the cup, both of her tiny hands wrapped around the sparkly plastic. Suddenly, she felt adrift—the only one without something to occupy her hands. Pushing herself to her feet, Billie picked up a few of the dishes off the table and walked them over to the sink.

“I just said you don’t have to do that,” Conrad said, but the lines of his face were easy, unbothered.

On occasion, the knowledge that Conrad Hawkins was her friend, and a good friend no less, would strike Billie as unfathomable. The feeling was a holdover from the early days of knowing each other—back when she thought he was a pompous, arrogant jackass with one set of rules for himself and another for everyone else. (She didn’t like to think about what he had thought of her, mostly because she suspected he had been right.)

Their animosity was so well-known that when Nic finally met him, she called Billie to apologize and explain. Of course, Nic had fallen for him immediately. And, at the time, Billie had found herself weirdly unsurprised because the two of them together somehow made perfect sense—even when she despised the very air Conrad Hawkins breathed. Her worst nightmare, of course. But an understandable nightmare. And, though she had grumbled about it, she had tried her best to ignore it and support Nic however Nic needed.

And then everything had gone down: almost killing Conrad’s patient, losing her job, nearly losing her license, converting to trauma surgery with Partners in Health, operating for three years in an active war zone, and massive amounts of intensive therapy and self-reflection. And, finally, her redemption.

“If you can get your job back at Chastain, you can get along with my husband,” Nic had said, like it was that simple.

And Billie had told her, “I will bet you even money that Hell freezes over before Conrad and I are friends.”

Instead of taking offense, Nic had just smile. “You can do anything, Billie Sutton.”

And, as usual, time had proven Nic right. Oh, Billie and Conrad hadn’t been friends really—friendly, sure, but not friends—before Nic passed. But they had respected each other as doctors and as people. Given her time with Partners in Health and the things she had experienced in Syria, she and Conrad understood each other in a way that the others in their small circle—in their lives—didn’t. As much as Billie hated to admit it, even Nic, whose empathy had known no bounds, could never really understand what it was like practicing medicine in a war zone.

The toll it took on your soul. The real-life horror movies that played on the backs of your eyelids. The decisions that haunted you for the rest of your life. The people you just could not save.

But Billie was ninety-five percent sure that she had won Conrad over simply by how pure her own love had been for his wife and daughter. He had had a hard time keeping her at arm’s length when she had constantly bugged him to let her hold the baby. And he had agreed when Nic insisted that Billie be Gigi’s godmother—Nic had even shared with Billie that he hadn’t argued for a minute, just nodded and told Nic he knew how much Billie meant to her.

“Huge improvement!” Nic had declared. “You have no idea.”

Still, despite all that, the idea that Billie knew Conrad’s favorite brand of beer, or what the tightness around his eyes or a wrinkle between his eyebrows meant during a heated debate, was wild.

Only losing Nic could have done that, brought them together like this, made them close friends. Because losing Nic had left a gaping hole in both of them, and they had grabbed onto each other desperately to fill that gap with the memories each had that the other didn’t. Almost like hearing new stories of Nic, learning new things about her, and hearing her advice on things each of them hadn’t thought to ask, kept her with them longer. Kept her real and not just a ghost. They told themselves it was to keep Nic’s memory alive for Gigi, but that’s what it had become, not how it had started.

And the part that made Billie uncomfortable was the realization that she wouldn’t trade Conrad for any other friend on the planet. As difficult as he was, as intense and argumentative as he could be, his heart was as big as Nic’s. He just chose not to show it until he decided you were safe to show it to.

He had become one of her favorite people over the last year and a half. And she still wasn’t sure she was one of his.

When Billie shook off the thoughts and surfaced out of her reverie, she found Conrad staring at her, hands braced on the counter. He was quietly waiting for her to come back to herself, watching the expression on her face.

And when her eyes focused on him again, he asked barely above a whisper, “You okay?”

She forced a smile. “Yeah. I’m just tired. Sorry. It was a long day.”

“If you’re not up for this, Gigi will understand.” His half-smile was wry. “I don’t think she actually knows what New Year’s Eve is. She just wanted an excuse for you to come over.”

Billie laughed quietly. “Are you kidding? This will be fun.” She swallowed and took a deep breath. “I’ve been looking forward to it all day,” she said, and tried not to feel like she was exposing her soft center.

But she was rewarded when Conrad’s wry smile turned into a grin. The kind of grin that crinkled the skin around his eyes. A real grin—the kind you had to earn with Conrad.

Then she turned and scooped Gigi out of her highchair. “What do you want to do, my love? We have so much time before bed!”

#

Gigi—the living embodiment of the Talkative Twos—had literally fallen asleep in the middle of a sentence, face down on the floor of the living room. Billie eyed the little girl, bone deep exhaustion seeping through her own body in response. Sleep looked good.

“Should we take her upstairs?” Billie asked from her corner of the sofa.

Conrad took a sip of his beer. “Nah. She’s fine.” At Billie’s shocked look, he added, “I promised she could stay up for the peach drop. If I take her upstairs, we’ll have a tantrum on our hands.”

“You told her she could stay up until midnight?” Billie started to laugh. “Conrad, she’s two.”

“Exactly,” he said. “No stakes promise. I can wake her up right before the drop, and then I’m a superhero, and she’s had a full night’s sleep. Win win.”

“I’m impressed you think that you’re going to make it to midnight,” she said, checking the time on her phone. “It’s only eight-thirteen.”

“That’s why I have you,” he said, with a serious expression. “You’re going to wake me up at eleven-fifty-nine and forty-five seconds.”

She took a moment to let that sink in, that he expected her to stay until midnight, even with Gigi asleep on the floor. “You really think it’s only going to take five seconds to wake her up?”

Conrad narrowed his eyes at her. “Five?”

“She’s going to want the countdown, Hawkins,” Billie pointed out. “Eleven-fifty-nine and forty-five seconds gives you five seconds to get a disoriented, groggy baby into sitting position.”

Conrad scoffed around his beer bottle. “Fine,” he said. “Wake me up at eleven-fifty-nine and thirty seconds.”

“That’s much more realistic,” Billie said, scrunching down into the corner of the sofa.

On the television, one of the bands was taking the stage. The camera swung out over the crowd and then back towards the stage. When the music started, Conrad lowered the volume on the television.

“Who are these people?” Conrad asked.

Billie stifled a yawn. “Australian band. Big with the tween set.”

“Huh,” he said, sounding disgusted.

#

Thirty minutes or so later, they were both up and pacing past each other in the hallway. “I can’t believe we fell asleep,” Conrad said, keeping his voice low so he wouldn’t wake Gigi.

“We’re the worst,” Billie said, as she brushed past him.

“We have three hours left,” Conrad said. “We have to stay awake.”

“We could just set an alarm,” Billie said.

“What if Gigi wakes up? Sees us asleep and thinks she missed it?”

“No, you’re right,” Billie said, immediately horrified at herself. “Of course.”

They both stopped and stared at each other. Billie raced through all the ways she had kept herself awake in med school, despite the crushing workload and her driving need to be perfectperfectperfect.

“Calisthenics?” Billie asked.

Conrad’s lips twitched and the crinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes. Through her bleary, exhausted gaze, Billie realized he was laughing at her.

“Or not,” she said faintly.

“Let’s start with coffee,” he said, brushing past her to head towards the kitchen. “If that doesn’t work, we can move to jumping jacks.”

She trailed after him because she knew she couldn’t sit back down on the sofa without falling asleep a second time. She watched him fill the coffee pot, vaguely jealous he had a task to focus on, and then wandered to the glass doors that overlooked the backyard.

She blinked, trying to clear the haze of sleepiness from her eyes that made everything slightly blurry. But she couldn’t seem to get her eyes to focus. And then she squinted. The backyard looked…wrong. Greyed out but too bright, like someone had turned a light on close to the ground. Or like the ground was glowing?

She stared for a few beats before her brain finally clicked on, and she realized what was happening.

Oh no, she thought. She licked her lips and said, “Conrad?”

He grunted at her from his spot at the counter. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Conrad.”

Her voice was stronger this time, and she knew he heard the urgency because what he said was, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s snowing.”

He was at her side in less time than it took her to blink. He absorbed the view, then swore under his breath. He strode to the television and turned the sound back up.

“—likely delayed unless this blows over. The good news,” the anchor said, “is that 5 Seconds of Summer has agreed to stay for another set! We’ll be back after a short break. Don’t go anywhere.”

Conrad’s chin slowly came up as he turned to meet Billie’s gaze.

“It’s only nine,” she said quickly. “This could blow over before midnight.”

He nodded. Then he looked bleakly at the counter where the coffeepot was starting to hiss. “And we have coffee.”

“Yeah,” Billie said, as soothingly as she could. “We have coffee.”

#

Conrad pulled out a deck of cards and taught her how to play Hearts. Then they played Gin Rummy. Then they resorted to Go Fish around ten-thirty when they realized that their ability to count had been brutally reduced by exhaustion.

They each kept one eye on Gigi. She slept peacefully, undisturbed by the sound of the television, which Conrad had decided to leave at a reasonable volume so they could hear the announcements. They took turns eyeing the snow through the window, which ebbed and flowed over the next two hours but remained constant.

Just before eleven, the anchor came back on the screen, and they both dropped their cards to lean forward in anticipation.

“We’ve just learned that the peach has frozen in place,” the announcer said. Tension was obvious in her pinched expression, even through the blindingly white smile she had plastered in place. “Until we get a break in the snow, the fire department has said it’s too dangerous to allow anyone to climb to the point. But the good news is 5 Seconds of Summer will be back with another set after these messages.”

Conrad squeezed his eyes shut on a groan.

“I’ll make more coffee,” Billie said, patting his forearm. “You can mute it. We won’t miss anything.”

He picked up the remote as she walked towards the coffee pot, and all sound ceased behind her.

#

Eleven forty-seven p.m.

“Truth,” Billie said, cradling her cup of coffee. “I don’t have energy for a dare.”

Conrad laughed. “Fair point. Okay. Truth. What would you have done if, five years ago, someone had said you would be spending New Year’s Eve with me after letting my baby eat your dinner?”

Billie’s stomach twisted with nerves. They never really talked about the Before of their relationship.

“Well… I probably would have pointed out that it’s a very specific scenario,” Billie said. “And I never would have believed them.”

“But what would you have done?” Conrad pressed.

She could tell he was as exhausted as she was, and she assumed he was grasping at conversation. Otherwise, she wasn’t sure where he was going with this.

“I don’t know,” she said truthfully.

He gave her a look that said he thought she was obfuscating, and she held up a hand to ward off his irritation.

“I really don’t,” she told him. “I’m not the same person I was, and it’s really hard to put myself back in her shoes.” She hesitated, and then decided to go ahead and say it. “But I can tell you that when Nic told me she met you, and that you had asked her on a date, and she wanted to go… I told her she should.”

His eyebrows slowly rose up his brow.

Billie ducked her chin, suddenly self-conscious under his steady gaze. “She was excited. I could tell she liked you. And she knew my opinion of you. I hadn’t been quiet about that—”

She cut herself off, inwardly wincing. But, to her surprise, Conrad chuckled, apparently completely at ease with the idea that Billie had once hated him. And his ease made her nerves fade.

“So, knowing all of that, if Nic saw something in you that made her want to give you a chance…”

Billie trailed off, helpless in the face of explaining something that was unexplainable; a connection that had been steadier and purer than anything else she had ever experienced. Conrad waited, quiet in his corner of the sofa.

“I trusted Nic’s opinion of people,” she said finally. “She was always a better judge of character than I was. Yes, she could see the best and that meant she sometimes missed flaws or chose to ignore them… but it also meant she ignored mine, for which I was very grateful. And she knew her own limits. She was good at setting boundaries. So, yeah, I supported her decision to see you.”

Billie shrugged, circling back to his question, with her eyes locked on the coffee in her mug. “I don’t know what I would have done if someone had told me I’d be spending New Year’s Eve with you and your baby. No idea.”

Silence rang in her ears for so long that she squirmed. But Conrad continued to be silent until she looked up and found him watching her.

“You are a constant surprise,” Conrad said, voice serious.

It felt like approval. Not as Gigi’s godmother, or Nic’s best friend—both roles making her an inevitable part of his life rather than a decision he had made for himself. His words felt like approval of her for her, as a person, someone he had chosen to let in.

She felt herself flush with pleasure. But she covered by flashing him an arch look. “Just keeping you on your toes, Hawkins.”

His lips twitched up on one side. “Duly noted.”

#

Twelve-oh-five a.m.

“I hated this rug,” Billie said.

Conrad’s face squished up in confusion. “What?”

Billie reached out a toe and tapped it against the living room rug. “This rug. Nic sent me a picture when she was thinking about buying it. I told her I hated it.”

“You hate my rug,” Conrad said. He was so expressionless that she couldn’t tell if it was a question or a statement.

“No, not anymore.” She gestured around the room. “Once I saw it in the space, Nic was totally right. It tied the whole room together.” Billie shook her head and sat up straighter. “This isn’t the point.”

“I should hope not,” Conrad said.

For a moment, she was terrified that she had angered him. But when she turned to look at him, his eyes were dancing. The tension eased from her shoulders.

“My point is that Nic didn’t always favor my opinion over yours,” she said sternly.

“Only, like, ninety percent of the time,” he argued.

“Eighty,” she countered.

He barked out a laugh, and then slapped a hand over his mouth. They both turned to look at Gigi with bated breath, but the toddler stirred only for a second before sinking back into slumber.

#

Eleven-forty a.m.

“Conrad,” Billie said.

She didn’t want to tell him this. She really, really did not want to tell him this. Their conversation had dried up fifteen minutes before, and neither had made an effort to restart it.

He looked miserable. His eyes were half-open, and even his hair lay flat, the gel having given up an hour before.

“What?” he asked absently scrolling on his phone.

He had mumbled something about Twitter, and she assumed he was hoping to find news on the delay.

“I’m starving,” she said.

His entire body went rigid. He hadn’t even looked up from his phone yet, eyes still trained on the screen. As if to punctuate the moment, her stomach growled—long and loud.

“I’m so sorry,” she said.

Conrad’s eyes finally turned to her. “My kid ate your entire dinner, feeding you nothing but olives. You’ve managed to stay awake after a thirteen-hour shift and two surgeries just to make my daughter happy. And you’re apologizing for being hungry at almost one in the morning.”

She blinked. Her voice was tentative—because she wasn’t quite sure what she was agreeing with—when she said, “Yes?”

“Where did you come from?” he asked, eyes searching her face. Then he shook himself. “Sorry. I’m really tired. I’m not even sure what that meant. Sandwich?”

“Leftovers are fine,” she said. She pointed over her shoulder. “I could just heat up a plate if you don’t mind me rummaging in your fridge.”

“Rummage away,” he murmured. But when she stood, his said, “Wait.”

Then he shot off the couch, and she hovered in place as he strode to the stairs. He took them two at a time and disappeared around the bend at the landing. Billie glanced down at Gigi, not sure what to do.

He was back almost as soon as he had gone, a blanket in his arms. Billie watched as he spread it on the living room floor, right next to where his daughter lay, dead to the world. Then he pointed at it.

“Sit,” he said.

And she did. She watched as he headed to the kitchen, flung open the fridge, and started piling things onto the counter. Bread. Cheese. The Tupperware of olives she had legitimately hoped never to see again. An assortment of other packages and containers that she couldn’t recognize the brands on from so far away. He pulled a tray out of one of the cupboards, piled everything unceremoniously onto it and carried it back into the living room.

“I was planning to take Gigi on a picnic this weekend if the weather warmed up,” he said as he settled onto the blanket across from her. “Given the snow, I doubt we’ll make it. Dig in.”

“We should wake her up,” she said.

Conrad stared at her with a level of suspicion that made her choke down a laugh. “But the peach—” he started.

“Is so not happening,” Billie said, interrupting gently. “And if we have a midnight picnic, and she doesn’t get to come? She’ll be devastated.”

Conrad didn’t even bother admitting she was right out loud. He just leaned over and rubbed a hand on Gigi’s back, speaking softly to her until the toddler rolled over and sat up. She rubbed her tiny fists against her eyes.

“Peach?” she asked.

“I’m so sorry, sweetie. The peach isn’t dropping this year,” Billie said, running a hand over Gigi’s hair.

“It’s snowing,” Conrad said. “So they can’t do it.”

“Snow?” Gigi asked, perking up. “Sled?”

“It’s still nighttime,” Conrad told her. “But once it’s light, we can go check out the hill.”

Gigi smiled, still sleepy but happy. And Billie forgave the snow.

“We decided to have our own celebration,” Billie told the little girl. “A midnight picnic!”

“Yay!” Gigi said.

Billie glanced up and watched Conrad gaze adoringly at his daughter. “It was your dad’s idea,” she added and watched a smile twist at Conrad’s lips.

Gigi shifted until she was leaning against Conrad’s thigh. Billie wished Nic could see the pure trust and love in Gigi’s tiny body; Nic would have been so proud. But Billie roughly pushed that thought away as soon as it occurred to her because she was tired and didn’t trust herself not to cry in front of Gigi if she thought about Nic and everything she would miss.

“Dig in,” Conrad said again, this time to both of them.

Conrad busied himself with opening packages and cutting pieces of bread, and Billie fed bits of cheese to Gigi. She popped a few in her own mouth, as well, but it was so much more fun to feed the baby that she kept getting distracted.

“Eat,” Conrad told her at one point. He held out a piece of bread with goat cheese, tomato, and arugula that she had thought he was fixing for himself.

She shook herself and took it out of his hand. “Right. Yes. Thank you.”

Immediately, Gigi pointed at the bread in Billie’s hand. She opened her tiny mouth, but Conrad beat her to it.

“Gigi, let her eat it,” Conrad said.

His tone wasn’t scolding but firm, and Billie glanced down at the little girl’s crestfallen expression. Then she borrowed Conrad’s knife and cut a small piece off. She carefully left off the tomato since Gigi always spit tomato back out again and the arugula because… well, what kid liked arugula?

“You don’t have to do that,” Conrad said as Billie held the smaller piece out to Gigi.

“It makes her happy,” Billie said with a small shrug.

They watched the toddler try to stuff the whole thing in her mouth at once. Even Conrad had to chuckle.

“It’s a phase,” Conrad muttered and rubbed his forehead. “She wants whatever you’re eating.”

“It’s normal,” she said to reassure him.

She sounded confident, and Conrad nodded, appeased. But she had to admit to herself that she actually wasn’t sure. Gigi was the only baby that Billie had spent time around consistently through their development. Maybe Gigi was weird, but it was so cute that Billie just didn’t care. It made her feel like Gigi’s favorite. And she really, really wanted to be Gigi’s favorite.

Billie made it halfway through her own share of the cheese bread before Gigi spotted the tub of olives. She got on all fours to reach her hand inside the Tupperware, and Billie knew what was coming even before Gigi sat back on her knees and held an olive out towards Billie.

Billie swallowed a groan as Conrad smothered a laugh behind his hand. But Gigi looked so happy and hopeful holding the olive between her tiny fingers that Billie leaned over and let Gigi pop the olive in her mouth.

“Mm,” Billie said around her nine hundred and first olive of the night. “Delicious.”

#

Gigi fell asleep as soon as Conrad and Billie stood to clean up the picnic. Conrad carried her to bed without making her brush her teeth.

“One night won’t kill her,” he had muttered, and Billie had reassured him, “No. It won’t.”

She finished wiping down the counter, while she listened to Conrad moving around upstairs. She was just pulling on her coat when she heard him step back into the kitchen behind her.

“Whoa,” he said. “What do you think you’re doing?”

She turned, fixing the collar of her coat. “Going home,” she said.

“Absolutely not. You’re exhausted,” he said, hands finding his hips. His brow furrowed into the stern expression she knew so well. “You’re staying here. Take my bed. I’ll take the couch.”

“If I’m staying here,” she said, then paused, “and thank you for that because, yes, I am exhausted. But if I’m staying here, then I’m definitely taking the couch.”

They looked at each other, both stubborn and unyielding, and Billie could literally see the moment he gave up.

Conrad sighed. “Fine. I’ll get the blankets.”

“Fine,” Billie said. “I’m going to steal one of your pillows. The good one.”

“Which one is the good one?” he asked as she followed him up the stairs.

“The fluffiest one you have,” she said. And it was the silliest conversation they had ever had, punctuated by Conrad snort of a laugh.

He paused at the linen closet, and she brushed past him into his bedroom and grabbed a pillow off his bed. But when she turned back, his bedroom door was closed.

“Go to sleep,” he called through the door quietly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Her brain thought through the puzzle. She could open the door and follow him downstairs. But if she insisted on the couch, that would lead to an argument. And Conrad was more than willing to fight dirty. If he laid down on the couch and refused to get up, what could she do? She couldn’t bodily move him.

She swallowed the lump in her throat that she couldn’t quite explain and called back, “Good night, Conrad.”

She stood at the door for a while, one hand on the wood. But he didn’t respond, and she never heard him pad back down the stairs.

As she climbed into his bed and closed her eyes, Billie told herself she wasn’t trying to sniff out any lingering hint of the floral perfume Nic wore or the peppermint shampoo she had used for a decade.

It had been a year and a half. Of course, Billie wasn’t doing that.

[kaitidid22]

Fanfic: Thunder (Conrad/Billie)

Summary: Conrad misses daycare pickup, and Billie comes to the rescue. (Canon-friendly and set sometime in season 5.)

A/N: More Billie & Gigi goodness.

Thunder

The thunder was loud enough that Billie could hear it through the thick panes of Chastain’s ICU windows. She checked all the monitors again, carefully taking note of each level and measurement. No change since the nurse had checked them five minutes earlier, but two heads were always better than one. Or so Billie told herself on especially hard days.

Normally, Billie loved summer storms. She loved how they cleared out the humidity for a few hours and the sound of the rain hitting wet pavement, the excuse to curl up in a chair and do nothing for a day, the smells of wet dirt and wood smoke from chimneys.

But today’s storm had brought in a flood of critical condition survivors from a thirteen-car pile-up on the expressway. Among them had been six head and three spinal traumas, all of whom had other injuries and two of whom—boys barely older than Gigi—had required Billie’s OR; one to relieve cranial pressure and another to repair a broken vertebra. Another patient, an adult female—Billie was angry at herself for her relief it wasn’t a third child because the feeling was completely inappropriate—had coded on the way from the ED to the OR due to unforeseen complications and was now laying in the ICU being monitored until she was strong enough for her own turn on Billie’s table.

Exhaustion beat through Billie’s bloodstream, making her joints ache and her back stiff. The OR had been booked solid since mid-morning with perforated intestines, a torn aorta, a collapsed lung, compound fractures, and other messy, mostly successful procedures. And all the patients had needed neurological exams, of course, because that was standard with unconscious trauma victims and car accidents in general. But Billie always hesitated to call something of this magnitude a “car accident.” It didn’t capture the sheer terror and devastation.

Ultimately, though, of the thirteen badly injured patients, Billie only became responsible for the three. She hadn’t lost any of them. It had been touch-and-go with both boys, but they were stable and in recovery by nightfall. The nursing team was waiting for them to wake up, and Billie would need to do a post-op exam for neurological deficits. She wouldn’t be surprised, though, if neither of them fully woke until morning given the complications during surgery and the traumatic experience of the day overall. The more rest the better, and Billie was hopeful they would both enjoy a full recovery.

She could have gone home, but there she was, haunting the ICU. She felt a pressing need for the woman’s levels to stabilize and rise out of the danger zone for organ failure so that they could book the OR.

Billie wasn’t going anywhere until she saw a change. Good or bad.

She wasn’t sure why this one patient—a patient Billie hadn’t even operated on—was getting to her like she was. Maybe because she was around Billie’s age and in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe because the EMS team had said they suspected the victim was brain dead, and she wasn’t. That they had assumed no human could have survived the series of impacts and flips that had turned her car into the crumpled wreckage they found on the expressway. But after the fire department was done sawing through her door with the jaws of life, they all found that she had.

This woman had already defied the odds. She was a fighter. Fighters deserved to win.

Or maybe it was because this woman’s poor, battered body reminded Billie of Nic that horrible night—a Nic that Billie could maybe save this time if the universe gave her a fair chance. But that was selfish, and Billie hoped she wasn’t that selfish anymore.

Besides, since when is the universe fair? Billie thought.

Recoiling from her own bitterness, Billie pulled out her penlight to check the patient’s pupils yet again. Still even.

Good. Small blessings, she thought.

Billie’s phone buzzed in her pocket, and she absently fished it out as she scanned through the chart notes for a seventh time, hoping for some sign of improvement that she already knew wasn’t there.

When she glanced at the screen and saw GG Daycare scrolling across the top, she nearly hung up on them as she fumbled to hit the button and raise it to her ear at the same time.

“Dr. Sutton,” she said, voice flinty and chipped to a sharp point by her own fear.

“Hi, Dr. Sutton,” a sweet, familiar voice said. “This is Marion from the daycare at Chastain Memorial.”

Billie lips pursed as she turned to stride toward the elevators. As if she didn’t know who Marion was? As if she didn’t have the daycare’s number saved in her phone? Billie took a deep, calming breath before she spoke again.

“Hi, Marion. How can I help you?”

The daycare had her information as Conrad’s backup contact for pickups, emergencies, or other less acute situations like forgotten lunches. The same had been true with Conrad’s in-house childcare. Billie was at the top of every emergency contact list for Gigi.

The order was always the same: Conrad, Billie, Marshall, and Devon.

But any of the scenarios being the reason for this call translated into the fact that Conrad hadn’t answered. And no one—not a babysitter, nor the daycare—had ever needed to use Billie’s contact information because Conrad always answered his phone.

It was six p.m.—the cut off for daycare. Conrad had missed the pickup window. And that meant Billie needed to be downstairs fifteen minutes ago.

“I’m calling because you’re the secondary pickup contact for Gigi Hawkins,” Marion continued, moving the conversation forward at a pace of three steps behind Billie’s thought process.

“Is she ok?” Billie asked as the elevator doors slid open.

“Gigi is fine,” Marion said soothingly. “We haven’t been able to reach Dr. Hawkins, though. Would you be able to—”

“I’ll be there in two minutes,” Billie said.

“Great,” Marion said, still in that soft, overly gentle voice that drove Billie up the wall. “See you soon.”

“Yep,” Billie said, hanging up the phone.

Immediately, she opened a new text to Conrad. Grabbing Gigi from daycare. We’ll be in my office.

By the time the elevator opened again, and Billie had walked to the wing where the daycare was housed, Conrad still hadn’t responded. Marion and Gigi were the only two left in the daycare, with Gigi perched on the pretty lady’s lap as she furiously colored in something on the page in front of her.

Billie’s heart squeezed for a moment. The idea that Gigi could be worried about Conrad or self-conscious that she was the last to be picked up ate at Billie’s insides.

But as Billie came close enough to see Gigi’s expression, she realized that Gigi didn’t look bothered at all. When the little girl glanced up from her drawing and spotted Billie, she shot off Marion’s lap and across the room like a flash.

Billie crouched in preparation for the little girl’s hug and smiled widely as the tiny body slammed into her own. Somehow, Gigi made everything a little bit brighter, no matter what kind of day Billie was having.

“Hey, sweetie,” Billie said, taking a surreptitious whiff of that special Gigi scent of baby shampoo, crayons, and happiness. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah!” Gigi said, excitedly. “I didn’t know you were picking me up today!”

At nearly four, everything Gigi said came out as an exclamation when she was excited. Billie grinned, keeping her face and posture easy, despite the anxiety worming its way around her insides.

“Why don’t you grab your stuff?” Billie suggested.

When Gigi ran over to the cubbies, Marion approached, holding out her hand as if she and Billie had never met before. Billie took it, her face hopefully betraying none of her annoyance. She and Marion had spoken the week before during a planned pick up. The woman should know Billie for goodness’s sake.

“Thanks so much for coming, Billie,” Marion said, interrupting Billie’s thoughts. “I heard today was busy in the operating rooms.”

Or maybe Marion was just overly formal, and Billie was being a jerk because she was worried about Conrad.

Self-awareness sucks, Billie thought. Two years of therapy under her belt, and sometimes she felt like all she had learned was how to spot her own flaws. She had thought she was paying to learn to fix them.

“Of course. I always have time for Gigi,” she said, hoping her tone wasn’t as arch as it sounded to her own ears. Then she lowered her voice so that Gigi wouldn’t overhear. “Did you get a hold of Conrad?”

Marion gave her the world’s tiniest head shake, and Billie nodded. She told herself that she wasn’t worried—yet—because she knew Conrad. The only way he would miss pick up for his daughter was if he was in the middle of running a code. And the day had been one from hell for everyone in the ED. They were probably just getting to the last of the survivors from the crash, the ones with less life-threatening injuries. The “lucky” ones.

Billie cleared her throat. “I texted him,” Billie said. “But if he comes here first and you’re still here, can you let him know I have Gigi in my office?”

“For sure,” Marion said.

She itched to cross the hospital’s small campus to the wing that housed the Emergency Department. She told herself she would just peak in, make sure he was there—make sure he hadn’t been sent out with the Go Team and never came back.

But then Gigi ran back up, jacket and backpack in hand, with a wide-open smile and innocent eyes. And Billie shored herself up and shoved the fear back down, keeping her face calm for Gigi’s sake.

But first, eat the humble pie, Billie thought to herself.

Marion was assigned to the younger children so had clearly volunteered to stay with Gigi. Billie reminded herself that she should feel grateful, and she had not been gracious. But, despite her best efforts, the worry was still so acute that she was going through the motions as she said, “Thank you so much for waiting with her, Marion. And for calling me.”

“Happy to do it,” Marion said, with her sweet smile. “Good night, Gigi.”

Gigi waved happily at Marion and skipped after Billie out the glass double doors of the daycare. “Are we going out to dinner?” Gigi asked as they made their way to the elevators.

On Billie’s nights with Gigi, the girls always ate out. It was a well-known fact to both father and daughter Hawkins that Billie did not cook. Nic had once teased Billie that her refrigerator was where takeout cartons went to die. Billie had shot back that knives were dangerous to a surgeon’s precious fingers.

“Your dad and I didn’t talk about it,” Billie said, holding out her hand to take Gigi’s backpack.

To her surprise, Gigi slid her own hand into Billie’s instead. Gigi had recently declared handholding to be “for babies.” While Billie’s heart had broken the first time Gigi complained about having to hold hands in the hospital hallway, Conrad had been pleased as punch at the small rebellion and had been encouraging what he saw as a headstrong desire for autonomy.

“I want her to grow up strong and independent,” Conrad had said, explaining his rationale to Billie and Marshall over a post-bedtime cup of coffee in his kitchen.

“Got it,” Marshall had said.

Conrad’s father had seemed completely unfazed by the entire conversation, and his expression had registered no surprise at all when Conrad had relayed the new rules to them. If she had been thinking clearly, she probably would have put two and two together and realized that Conrad’s childhood rebellions had been much more extreme than refusing to hold his father’s hand.

But she hadn’t been thinking clearly. She had been thinking that Gigi could get hit by a bus, or grabbed off the sidewalk by a stranger. She had been thinking that adults held children’s hands for a very good reason.

“Sure,” Billie had said, tapping her fingernail against his dining table. “No handholding.”

Conrad’s brows had twitched, eyes flicking down to her hand with an irritated gleam that he had tried to quell with a very visible, deep breath. “No handholding.”

“Except in critical situations, of course,” Billie had said.

“Critical situations?” Marshall had echoed.

“Like crosswalks,” Billie had said. “In crosswalks, there’s handholding.”

Conrad’s lips had pressed together before he answered. “Yes, Billie. Except for crossing the street.”

“And large crowds,” she had added.

Conrad had nodded slowly. That gleam had seeped from Conrad’s gaze, but she still had to force herself not to squirm in her chair as he had eyed her.

“And the mall,” she had said, unable to stop the stream-of-consciousness list.

“You know,” Conrad had said, settling back in his chair with a casual shrug. “This is going to be one of those context-based, spur of the moment, fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants decisions you love so much, Billie.”

Conrad’s father had coughed into his hand, looking away.

“Hilarious, Hawkins,” Billie had muttered.

“Are you on board?” Conrad had asked.

As crazy as she knew it to be, for a moment, Billie had felt like he was asking for her permission, or at least her approval. As she had studied his face, unsure how to proceed, she had realized that the tightness around his eyes hadn’t been irritation. Or maybe it had been, but it had shifted. Because, abruptly, all she had been able to read in the set of his face had been uncertainty pinching the skin at the corners of his eyes. And that had been what reminded Billie of her job, of their dynamic, of her promise to him.

“Of course,” Marshall had said.

But Conrad had barely seemed to register his father’s words as he continued to wait for Billie’s opinion, eyes locked on her face. So, she had set aside her own fear and pasted on a smile. “I’m all in, Dad.”

But what she had meant was You’re doing fine, Conrad. Nic would be proud. and they had both known it. Relief had spread across his face like an ink stain.

“And she can wear whatever she wants,” Conrad had added. He had raised an eyebrow at Billie. “Even if it’s ugly. Or doesn’t match.”

She had raised her hand to her heart and pasted on a solemn, earnest expression. “It will physically pain me. But I’m behind you.”

And the relief had finally given way to amusement.

Coming back to the present, Billie folded her fingers carefully around the little girl’s, marveling at how tiny Gigi’s hand felt. Even though she knew only a few weeks had passed since Gigi’s declaration, it felt like years since Billie had held Gigi’s hand. She was surprised at how much she had missed something so simple.

“We can ask your dad when he’s done,” Billie said, finishing her thought about going out to dinner.

She suspected she already knew the answer—not on a school night—but it couldn’t hurt to ask. He was going to get an awfully late start on dinner if he didn’t get Gigi home soon anyway.

“Can I push the button?” Gigi asked, as they stepped onto the elevator. When Billie nodded, Gigi stood on her tip toes to reach the high floor, but never let go of Billie’s hand. “What’s he doing?”

“Your dad? He���s with a patient,” Billie said

Gigi’s fingers relaxed against Billie’s palm. Belatedly, she realized Gigi had been worried after all.

“I’m glad,” Gigi said. “Daddy can save anybody.”

Billie smiled. “Sure can.”

“Like a superhero.”

“That’s right.”

“Or an alien with healing powers,” Gigi said thoughtfully.

“Uh-huh.”

The doors slid open as Billie fought back a smile. Gigi let go of Billie’s hand and took off like a shot down the hall towards Billie’s office. The lights were still on, as Billie had only intended to pop down to the ICU to check on the patient’s status before returning to finish off the mountain of paperwork she needed to complete after the day’s surgeries.

By the time she reached the doorway, Gigi had already flung her backpack on the couch and shed her coat. Billie watched her goddaughter open a drawer in the desk and pull out the stack of coloring books and crayons Billie kept in there for Gigi.

Abruptly, it occurred to Billie that Conrad usually gave Gigi a snack while he made dinner. “Are you hungry? We could go to the cafeteria,” she offered as Gigi came back across the office towards her.

Gigi shook her head. “Marion gave me an apple. Will you color with me?” Gigi asked, dumping everything onto the floor in the middle of the office.

Billie had about seven reams of forms to complete, and she had planned to sneak in a nap on her office sofa in case the ICU patient’s levels came down enough for the surgery that night. But staring at her goddaughter’s upturned face, all Billie wanted to do was get on the floor with Gigi and color.

“Absolutely,” Billie said.

After a few minutes, though, Gigi grew bored with coloring inside the lines and pushed the book away. “Do you have any paper?”

“Let me grab some,” Billie said.

Clambering to her feet without groaning felt like a major win for Billie, and she made it through the doorway without limping. She lucked out and no one was at the nurses’ station, so she was able to pop open the paper drawer to their printer and sneak a few pages out.

They’ll never know, Billie told herself, even though she knew fully well that they would. Somehow. Nurses knew everything.

And it was on the tails of this thought that a throat cleared behind her. Billie nearly leapt out of her skin. She was already pleading her case as she turned, “I’m only taking a few pages for Gigi.”

No one would begrudge Gigi a few pieces of paper. Billie was fairly certain the entire hospital knew Gigi because the entire hospital knew Conrad… who was currently staring at her with more than a little amusement from the other side of the desk.

“If it isn’t the notorious paper bandit of the thirty-eighth floor,” he said.

Her answering grin was wide and giddy at both his silliness and her relief that he was standing in front of her without a scratch on him. “Pesky doctors. They’ll never catch me,” she said.

He jerked his chin towards the stack of paper in her arms. “You might not want to walk around holding the evidence.”

“This? This is a red herring,” she said, leading him back towards her office. But she kept the pace slow, eking out a few extra moments with him and him alone.

“Throwing them off the scent, huh?”

“Exactly,” she said. “If I walk around with paper all the time, why would I need to steal it?”

To her surprise, he reached out a hand and gently grasped her elbow, pulling her to a stop far enough away from the door that Gigi wouldn’t have spotted them yet. She turned to him, tipping her face back to look him in the eyes. But he was staring at the floor. He didn’t say anything for a long time, and Billie waited as he sorted through his thoughts.

“Thanks for tonight,” he said, voice quiet.

“Of course,” she said. “Are you okay?”

He nodded, but the movement was slow, like he was moving through molasses. “There was a…” He shook his head, looking a little lost.

“Code,” she supplied. At his surprised look and nod, she shrugged. “I figured that’s the only reason you would miss pickup.”

A wondering smile flirted with the edges of his mouth, slightly obscured under his beard, but there. His eyes were too bright on hers, studying her, trying to find something in her face. But he couldn’t seem to find whatever it was, and he squeezed his lids shut as the smile cleared.

“The thing is,” he said, swallowing hard. “I saw the clock. Seven minutes after six. And I knew I had missed the pickup window.”

Billie put a hand on his bicep—not gripping or squeezing, just resting against his scrub shirt, letting him know she was there.

“And my first thought was just a string of panicked swearing,” he said, with a wry smile that didn’t look at all amused. “But then I thought ‘No, it’s okay. Billie’s got her.’”

Billie’s heart stopped.

“I knew you were still waiting on that patient in the ICU, and the boys are still out in recovery,” Conrad said. He rubbed a hand over his forehead. “And I just…”

When he trailed off, she licked her lips. “Conrad—” she started, but he interrupted her.

“I knew I could count on you, Billie. I trusted you to make sure my daughter was ok when I couldn’t.” He shrugged, smiling in a somewhat helpless way that was entirely charming and utterly devastating all at once. “So, thank you. For being my backup.”

And, before she could recover from any of that, his arms were slipping around her.

In day-to-day situations, Conrad was not the one to initiate hugs. With Gigi, yes, he did all the time, and with his dad every so often (usually on holidays). But not with Billie. He accepted them from her—seemed to welcome them even. And he was always ready with a warm hand on her shoulder, a squeeze at her elbow, any number of comforting gestures that kept him a safe arm’s distance away.

But Billie could count on one hand the number of times he had initiated an embrace. And somehow it felt entirely different when he was the one leading the way.

He was warm against her. Solid. His biceps were more defined than she remembered them being, and his chest was a hard wall against her body. Billie had a vague memory of a conversation about stress relief, kinesthetic learning, and how he worked through enigmatic differentials as her brain spun at the close contact.

He smelled like pine needles and musk and slightly smoky. The latter wasn’t normal, and she wondered if he had been sent out as part of the Go Team after all.

Conrad’s arms were firm around her, his hold strong but gentle. She had never felt so comforted and so loved in her entire life.

Tears prickled at her eyelids, and panic began to swoop through her. No way in hell could he see how much that hug meant to her. But almost as if he could hear her, could feel the intention to pull away, his arms tightened.

“Not yet,” he murmured, then laughed at himself like he couldn’t believe he’d said it.

What Billie did next, she did without thinking. At least, that was her excuse later. She did it all the time to Gigi, an attempt at comfort and an innocent gesture of soothing. She had done it for Conrad, too, during some of the times she had held him while he cried over Nic’s loss—the times when his pain had been its most acute.

Bringing her hand up, Billie let it smooth over his hair in a slow path from the crown of his head, down to where she could feel the velvety skin of his neck under her fingers and palm. His hair was soft, and his skin was warm. It felt so good that she did it again, just once more.

To her surprise, on the second pass, his fingers curled. His hand had been cupping her shoulder, arm wrapped all the way around her body, and, as she smoothed her palm down the back of his head, she felt his fingers there curl inward until his hand was a fist against the fabric of her scrubs. Before she could much more than register that it had happened, Conrad was pulling away.

No, not yet, she thought.

But she forced her arms to let go of him, and he slipped away from her body. In fact, he stepped backwards right out of her personal space. As if touching had been a little too much, and he needed to double the distance to make up for it. But his face was still conflicted, and his eyes were black.

“Bad day, huh?” she asked to ease the tension.

“The worst,” he agreed, voice gone gravelly with some emotion she couldn’t quite pinpoint to put a name on it.

He turned to look through the windows of her office, watching Gigi flip through the coloring books. Billie cleared her throat.

“I know something that could make it better,” she said.

His eyebrows rose before he turned his gaze to meet her. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“A tiny blonde who’s really into aliens,” she said, smiling brightly at him.

Some of the tense lines carved into his face eased. “She sounds like just my type.”

Billie laughed a little and led the way into her office. “Look who I found,” Billie told Gigi.

The little girl leapt to her feet with a grin and ran to her father. “Hi, Daddy.”

“Hey, Bubble,” Conrad said, crouching to hug his daughter.

“Can we go out for dinner with Aunt Billie?” Gigi asked immediately.

Conrad chuckled but let his daughter down easy. “We have leftovers to get through at home, and Billie has a few more things to do tonight.”

“This weekend?” Billie asked, settling back on the floor where she had left Gigi.

Gigi dropped down next to her, a hand finding Billie’s knee, and looked up at her father hopefully. Conrad smiled, and it was the first uncomplicated smile Billie had seen on his face that night.

“Sure,” he said. “I think we can swing that.”

When Billie put the stack of paper she was still holding down, she realized it had become crinkled from their hug, and she briefly considered going and stealing more. But having her father back was a sufficient distraction for Gigi, and the crayons lay forgotten on the carpet.

Billie listened as Gigi chatted easily about her day, listing off all the things she had done since her father dropped her at the door of daycare. It wasn’t an immense list, but Gigi milked it for all it was worth and included every detail with the same reverence—what each of the kids ate for morning snack, what games of pretend they played, what pictures each of her friends drew.

Even though the couch was a few feet away, Conrad had settled on the floor with Gigi and Billie, closing the circle. The cadence of the little girl’s stories lulled Billie, each muscle in her body relaxing more the longer Gigi’s sweet voice filled the office.

Then Billie’s pager went off, and she straightened, swallowing a groan as her back creaked. She checked the message and shot to her feet, forgetting her exhaustion immediately.

“My ICU patient is awake,” Billie said. “I have to go.”

Billie felt Conrad’s eyes on her like a heat lamp as she remembered to crouch and give Gigi a hug goodbye. “Thanks for hanging out with me tonight,” she said to the little girl.

“Are you going to operate on someone?” Gigi asked, squeezing her arms around Billie’s neck.

“Yes,” Billie said, hoping it was true, hoping that the patient’s levels would remain low.

Gigi leaned back to grin at Billie, arms still around her neck. “Go get ‘em, tiger!”

Billie blinked. “What?” Gigi had never said any such thing before. Conrad had never said any such thing before. Billie glanced up at Conrad with a wrinkled brow. “What?”

Conrad made a valiant attempt to smother his obvious glee. “She watches this cartoon— Nevermind,” he said, letting the grin free. “It’s so much better if I don’t explain.”

Billie gaped at him, then shook her head. Not in denial. As a way of shaking herself out of her stupor.

“Okay, well. I have to go, you goofballs,” Billie said, kissing Gigi’s cheek and straightening to her full height.

“Save some lives, Aunt Billie!” Gigi said, arms in the air with fists of triumph.

A pang went through Billie—the same pang that always stabbed at her when she thought about the fact that she was usually the last line of defense. By the time a trauma patient reached her OR, they were about as injured as they possibly be and still breathe. Cracking open a trauma patient’s skull was generally a stop-gap, not the thing that would ultimately save their lives.

Billie’s survival rate was good—better, in fact, than most neurosurgeons, which should have been a point of pride. But saving a life was about more than making sure they survived—which Billie had learned the hard way—and she had zero confusion around what it meant when they said when the air hits your brain, you’re never the same. She didn’t cut unless she had to, and, when she did, it rarely felt like triumph.

“I’ll do my best,” Billie promised Gigi. She ran a finger down the girl’s soft cheek and tried to commit Gigi’s trusting eyes to memory. “Have a great dinner.” She glanced at Conrad and found him still watching her, a shuttered look on his face. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Bright and early,” he said in an upbeat tone.

She forced a chuckle. “Don’t I know it.”

She waved vaguely at them and turned, striding to her office door. But then Conrad’s voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Hey, Billie,” Conrad said.

She looked over her shoulder at them, and her breath stuck in her throat as she was struck by their identical expressions: heads tilted slightly to the side, soft smiles playing with their lips.

If she hadn’t seen them side-by-side, she would have labeled Conrad’s expression inscrutable and decided she would never know what it meant. But she knew Gigi like the back of her own hand, and Gigi’s face screamed her thoughts out loud to Billie: I love you and you’re the greatest and your best is more than enough.

But Gigi was an almost-four-year-old. Gigi was easy and cuddly and so well-loved that she loved freely in return, no questions and no hesitation.

Conrad was complex, weathered, calloused by war and grief, and having the best, happiest life he could ever have imagined for himself yanked right from his fingers without warning. Conrad was never easy.

Their smiles couldn’t possibly mean the same thing. But there they were, side-by-side, identical.

“What’s up?” Billie asked, pasting her own smile on for them.

“Your best is pretty great,” Conrad said, voice low and gravelly.

Billie’s mouth worked as she tried to come up with an appropriate response. Her chest ached as his words ricocheted around inside her before settling into a tiny hole in her heart she hadn’t even realized was there.

The only words her brain seemed able to conjure and force out between numb lips were, “Thank you, Conrad.”

Then she fled the room before Gigi could see her start to cry.

[kaitidid22]

Fanfic: Peaches (Conrad/Billie)

Summary: Billie takes Gigi for their annual peach picking trip, and Conrad shows up unexpectedly wanting to talk. (Canon-friendly & mention of Conrad/Cade.)

A/N: Don’t get me wrong, I love that we finally have forward momentum in this ship. But I wish we had seen more of Conrad’s feelings, or he and Billie outside the hospital, or at least together with Gigi. 

It’s implied that Billie is super aunty always on call for Gigi Time (and kind of a defacto co-parent, if she’s picking Gigi up from school), which is so sweet and makes complete sense. I kept expecting more scenes of Billie with Gigi throughout season 5 and now 6 but never got them. 

Anyway, I have all these brain worms of what those scenes might have looked like. So, I decided to write a few of them. There’s no point to these little vignettes. Just fun.

Peaches

Billie held open the bag and let Gigi drop a few more peaches into the nearly full canvas.

“We’re going to need another bag,” Gigi said seriously.

Billie patted the coat pocket where she had stowed her extra canvas bags. “I’m all over it,” she promised.

Gigi grinned before turning and darting away again. Billie watched Gigi’s sequined Uggs sparkling in the sunshine, bright hair streaming behind her as she ran down the line of trees.

We should have braided her hair, Billie realized, kicking herself for the amateur mistake.

She made a mental note to take a brush to it before lunch. She was supposed to drop Gigi at home by three, and Billie didn’t want to leave Conrad stuck with detangling the inevitable knots before he put Gigi down for a nap, or took his daughter out for whatever he had planned that evening.  

Billie felt lucky that Conrad had let her take Gigi for such a large chunk of his day off. He was home and usually, if he had nowhere to be or adulting errands to run, he spent all his free time with his daughter.

Billie knew it was irrational, but she didn’t want to give Conrad any reason to pull Gigi back from her relationship with Billie. And she knew he wouldn’t because of a few knots in his daughter’s hair—she knewthat, she really did. But things were different now. He had Cade, and where once there had only been the three of them, now there were four. Billie was the odd man out, and she was still finding her feet in their new dynamic.

Maybe Cade remembers to braid Gigi’s hair, Billie’s brain said in a nasty tone.

And that was stupid and insecure and jealous because she didn’t even think Cade was close enough to Gigi to braid her hair. Conrad had mentioned Cade generally slipped out early in the morning before his daughter was even awake. It had been a point of frustration with him as he tried to integrate Cade more fully into his life.

Billie shook off the maudlin thought, not wanting to ruin her good mood. Today was special. Today was the start of peach season. Bad thoughts weren’t allowed on Peach Day.

Warm spring air pressed against her skin, the Atlanta humidity just beginning to rear its head. The beginning of peach season had been Billie’s favorite growing up. As a little girl, the time in between peach picking days—only one year, less than really—seemed to stretch out in front of her like an infinite highway. She had been just like Gigi: vibrating with excitement as the day grew closer.

That had been before everything. Before the rape. Before the birth. Before Billie and her family moved away, and she lost touch with Nic. Before her mother died and her father grew lost.

Billie knew they were just peaches. They weren’t really a time machine. But, for one day a year—when the tree branches were heavy with ripe fruit, the air was sweet with the smell of peaches, and the sun still a soft, warm kiss and not summer’s molten fury—Billie could remember what that hopeful little girl had felt like.

“Hey.”

Billie spun at the sound of his voice, the heavy bag of peaches swinging back more slowly than her body and whacking her in the knee hard enough that her leg collapsed. Conrad took an involuntary step forward, hands outstretched to catch her, as if afraid she would fall.

She didn’t. Her other leg stayed strong beneath her weight. But she cursed under her breath and reached down to rub her knee. She forced a self-deprecating smile because she was, in all honesty, happy to see him.

“Hi,” she said.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Conrad said.

His deep voice was always pitched low, and he rarely raised it to show emotion unless he was excited and happy. It was smoky and smooth, and Billie had to fight the way her stomach twisted at the sound. When it went gravelly, though, it meant he was worried, and she could feel the weight of it in his gaze, too. She had first seen it when he found out about the rape and Trevor—a constant watchful, searching look in his eyes. Like he thought that if he looked away, she might disappear.

Or maybe fall apart, she thought, chastising herself.

It was one of the reasons she so rarely told anyone about what had happened to her. The fear of someone not believing her had never been quite as great as the fear that they would always see her as a victim. Weak. She wasn’t either of those things.

But she hadn’t needed to worry about that with Conrad. The look had faded over the weeks that followed the medical board meeting. He had slowly reverted back to the usual teasing glances and elbow jostling when he thought she was being too serious. Plus, he had been distracted falling for Cade—though Billie hadn’t realized it at the time.

“It’s fine,” she assured him, steadying herself. She ran her eyes over him, looking for clues. “This is a nice surprise.”

A slow smile spread across his face, and he ducked his chin before glancing at her from beneath his lashes. The day she had realized that arrogant, combative Conrad Hawkins could be bashful had been the very last gasp for Billie’s poor, wasted heart.

It was just too much. He was too much. She couldn’t keep him out anymore.

Conrad reached out and gently tugged the bag of peaches out of her hands. His fingers brushed hers and, like the lovesick idiot she was, she cleared her throat to cover a tiny gasp at the contact.

Cade, she reminded herself, shoring up her spine.

As much as Billie hated to think about the what ifs, there was a distinct possibility that Cade was going to be Gigi’s stepmother someday. And Billie needed to remember that.

“I thought you were meeting Devon for lunch,” she said as she turned and began meandering down the line of trees again.

Billie scanned through the orchard for Gigi’s sequined Uggs. She had told Gigi that the one rule of peach picking was that Gigi had to stay in sight of Billie at all times. Gigi was a good kid, so Billie knew she wouldn’t have gotten far.

Finally, she spotted the boots one row over and halfway down the line of trees. Conrad followed as she changed direction.

“I was planning on it,” he said, ducking under a few branches.

When he didn’t elaborate, Billie glanced at him. “Did he get called in?”

As a surgeon, Billie was always on call. It was the nature of the job. With internists and ER doctors, though, the schedule was a bit different. The ER doctors were usually only on-call for night shifts because weekends were generally covered in full at Chastain due to the trauma center load.

She’d had a lot of experience with Conrad’s schedule over the past five years, as well as his rare, vaguely panicked calls asking for her help with Gigi when the sitter wasn’t available. She had never seen Conrad called in for coverage—sometimes for an existing patient, and many times for the Go Team, but never to cover a shift or because the ER was overloaded.

But it could happen, she thought to herself.

“No,” Conrad said, shaking her out of her thoughts.

Okay. The word drew out into a drawl in her mind.

The cagey answers were making her intuition tingle. And she was self-aware enough to admit to herself that if anyone else were sidestepping her like this, she would be irritated for a moment and then dismiss them. Few people she had ever met made her want to spend more than a few minutes in their company. But Conrad was one of them. And she was starting to get worried.

Her eyes narrowed on his profile. The bashful look was back on his face—the one that made her stomach turn somersaults.

“Conrad Hawkins,” Billie said in as teasing a tone as she could manage. “Did you want to pick peaches that badly? So badly that you crashed your own daughter’s peach date?”

He laughed but looked away, and Billie felt her stomach drop. She was close to the truth. She hadn’t hit it yet, but it had something to do with Billie and Gigi’s peach date. It wasn’t that simple. She knew him well enough to know something else was going on.

But she also trusted that he would tell her when he was ready—she just needed to wait him out. So, she pushed the worry aside as best as she could and tried to make him comfortable.

“Peach Day was my favorite growing up,” she said.

“I know.”

Her lips parted in surprise. “How?”

“Gigi told me today at breakfast,” he said. “She was really excited. I think it might be her favorite now, too.”

“She didn’t stop talking about it for weeks when we went last year.”

“Months,” he said, this time with a grin that looked easy on his face. “I swear I still have some of the peaches frozen in the basement.”

“I swear I tried to limit her to two bags, but she’s just so darn cute,” Billie said.

Conrad laughed. “She’s a menace.”

“She’s the best,” Billie said, smiling back at him.

“I can only hope she continues to use her powers for good and not evil.”

A comfortable silence fell between them as they smiled at each other. After a moment, she looked away, eyes finding the sequined boots again among the trees. God she loved this. She loved the days they were all together, when it felt like they were…family.

You’re still family, a voice that sounded disconcertingly like Nic’s said in Billie’s mind.

I know, Billie told her.

“You’re always welcome to join us,” Billie said, staring resolutely at his daughter.

“You sure?” he asked.

And there it was: whatever was bothering him. She could hear it in his tone—to anyone else the words would probably sound light and teasing, but she could hear the real question there, the seriousness he was trying to gloss over. He wasn’t quite ready to reveal the full extent of his fear, but he was reaching out anyway, hoping she would reach back.

And she did because, with him, she would always reach back.

“Of course.” She met his eyes with a smile that she knew was a little too soft and added, “Always.”

His eyes latched onto hers with that sharp searching gaze, capturing her, not letting her go. She told herself to look away, that he was seeing too much. But then he opened his mouth, and her eyes dropped to his lips, leaning forward as if to read the words he was about to speak. Somehow, she knew that whatever came out next was important, and she couldn’t miss a second of it.

“Daddy!”

Billie jerked back, putting distance between her body and Conrad just as Gigi threw herself and an armful of peaches into her dad’s arms. He caught her with the ease of a five-year veteran and straightened to his full height, the peaches safely cradled between their chests.

Gigi demanded a kiss, which her father granted with a grin. Then the little girl leaned her forehead against her father’s, armful of peaches squeezed between them. She stayed there for a moment that was no longer than the span of a breath but that still managed to twist Billie’s heart in chest, and then Gigi wriggled to be let down again.

“Give Aunt Billie your peaches first,” Conrad said. “We don’t want to drop them.”

Gigi turned big eyes towards Billie in a silent plea for help, and Billie pulled the next canvas bag out of her pocket.

“I gotcha, kiddo,” Billie said.

She reached between their bodies and gently tugged the peaches out of Gigi’s vice grip. Father and daughter were pressed close together, and she had to ignore the few times that her fingers brushed against Conrad’s chest.

His shirt, she told herself. Nothing but cotton.

When the peaches were all safely stowed, Conrad set his daughter back down on her feet. Gigi stared up at him as she leaned back against Billie’s legs, hand tangling in Billie’s coat. Billie smiled down at the top of Gigi’s blonde head, love ballooning inside her chest, pressing against her ribs like there wasn’t enough space to contain it in her body. She really had no idea she could love someone so much until Gigi. Until Trevor. She let her hand smooth down some of Gigi’s flyaway hairs, swallowing past the lump in her throat.

Billie looked up again just in time to catch Conrad’s eyes jerking away and back to his daughter.

“What are you doing here?” Gigi asked her father. “Where’s Uncle Devon?”

“Uncle Devon is at home with Aunt Leela,” Conrad said. “You made peach picking sound like so much fun I just had to come and try it myself.”

“It’s so much fun!” Gigi agreed with an excited wiggle that dislodged her from Billie’s coat. “I can show you how to find the best ones. Aunt Billie showed me last year.”

“Did she?” Conrad murmured. He glanced up at Billie through his lashes, a smile toying with his mouth.

Billie shrugged modestly. “A lifetime of practice.”

Gigi practically vibrated with energy in front of them. Billie bit her lip to hide her smile, and Conrad waved his daughter off.

“Go on,” he said. “Your old dad will only slow you down.”

Gigi rolled her eyes. “You’re not old, Daddy,” she said, but the words were called over her shoulder as she ran down the line of trees.

“Yeah, Dad,” Billie said. “You’re not old.”

“I feel old,” he said.

Conrad absently reached a hand up towards a low-hanging peach.

“Not that one,” Billie said.

Conrad looked at her, then glanced up at the peach, hand still hovering in the air. When his eyes met hers again, all humor had drained out of them. “Why not this one?”

The question meant something else to him. The shadow of seriousness had once again settled across his face. Under his scruffy beard, the corners of his mouth were turned down. His eyes had darkened to near black, his forehead had crinkled into crepe.

“It’s not ready yet,” she said quietly, eyes searching his face for any hint of what he was really asking.

At her words, his lips twitched upwards, and crinkles fanned out from the corners of his eyes. “How do you know when it’s ready?” he asked, voice gone gravelly again.

“All the green is gone,” she said, eyes trapped in his again. “And it’s just a little soft when you touch it.”

His hand closed the remaining distance to wrap around the peach and squeeze gently. His lips thinned as he pressed them together, but his eyes lightened to their normal brown.

“You’re right,” he said, eyes laughing now. “Still hard.”

“I told you,” she murmured. “I’m a peach expert.” Then she grinned at him. “That’s okay, though. There are plenty of peaches in the orchard.”

A tiny voice rang out down the line of trees, “Aunt Billie! I need the bag!”

“Coming,” she called back. She looked back at Conrad. “Try the one next to it.”

His eyebrows lifted, but he moved his hand to the next peach. She felt smug when he felt it, and she saw it register on his face. So smug, in fact, that a broad smirk spread across her face.

Something flashed behind his eyes as they met hers. Something that made her stomach dip and her toes tingle. And then he looked away, and her stomach dropped again at the feeling of rejection.

“Yep,” he said. “That’s ready.”

“Told ya,” she said over her shoulder as she walked towards Gigi. “Grab it, and let’s get a move on, Hawkins.”

“Billie.”

She glanced over her shoulder, not willing to give him all of her. But the look on his face had her turning completely back.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“We’re ok,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

She blinked. “Yes?” Hers was.

Determination settled over his features. She was used to this expression—had been since their first days as equally arrogant and outspoken interns at Chastain. Back when he had resented her for every breath she took and had to steel himself to even interact with her on the few occasions their patient load overlapped.

But this was a different Conrad, and she was a different Billie, and he was steeling himself for something else now.

“Last week…” He trailed off, hands finding his hips as if to brace himself. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he said instead of finishing whatever he had started about the week before.

“I haven’t,” she said.

And it was true. She had sought him out at work a few times, just wanting a chance to talk, catch up about their lives. She had picked Gigi up from daycare three times that week, and always passed her over to Conrad in the hospital lobby with light conversation and a dash of their usual teasing. Billie had made sure to follow up with him on the nightmares—still nothing new—and the cold he’d had three weeks before. They had talked. She had made sure of it.

He tilted his head, eyes calling her on the sidestep. “Outside of the hospital,” he stressed.

She hesitated. She hadn’t thought he had noticed. She had assumed he was distracted. She looked at the ground, eyebrows coming together as she wondered how to talk around this.

Despite AJ’s insistence that Conrad was in the dark, part of her was sure Conrad knew how she felt about him. He knew her too well not to have seen the change in her. They had come so close to discussing it so many times, always skirting around it with innuendo and metaphors that all amounted to the same thing: Billie wanted, and Conrad didn’t. For a long time, she had thought he was saying Not yet. But the night of Kit and Randolph’s engagement party, she had realized he had been saying You’re not the one.

Thoughts swirled through her mind. Possible answers presented themselves and then dissolved just as quickly. She was left with the truth—at least part of it. They talked about everything. They could talk about this.

“Touché,” she finally murmured. She sighed and turned to walk again. “I’m not avoiding you,” she said.

“Billie—” he started to say, with the infinite patience he had developed after becoming a father. Or maybe it had been before that, and Billie just wasn’t allowed to see that softness in him until he began letting her share Gigi.

“I’m not,” she stressed. “I just don’t know how to do this yet.”

“Do what?” he asked, voice a gentle murmur.

“You with a girlfriend,” she said.

Too close, a voice in her mind chided her. Too close to the truth.

He let out an awkward laugh. She rushed on so that she wouldn’t need to hear his response.

“It’s always been the three of us,” she said, gesturing at his daughter down the row of trees. “You, me, and Gigi.”

Gigi had lost interest in waiting for Billie to show up with the bag and was currently trying stuff a peach in the tiny pocket of her jean jacket. The little girl was going to be a sticky mess, and Billie felt a surge of affection—and gratitude that she had remembered to stash baby wipes in her glove box.

“Holidays,” Billie said. “Weekends. Movies and zoos and museums. We’ve always done it together, been together.”

“Right,” he said. “And Gigi loves that.”

“So do I,” Billie said.

“So do I,” he stressed.

On the surface, his deep voice was teasing, happy. But she could hear his confusion and frustration, too, and she stopped walking to face him.

“Conrad, it’s different now,” Billie said.

Is that too close to the truth? she wondered. But it was too late now. The words were floating between them, and the searching look was back on his face.

“Why is it different?” he asked.

“Conrad—”

“It’s not different,” he said, sidling closer to her. “Billie, you’re family.”

He moved slowly, as if scared she would shy away like a horse. And, for a moment, she hated how well he knew her. She did want to take a step back and away, use that distance as a buffer between her very bruised heart and this very sweet man. But he was being so vulnerable, and she knew it had to have been hard for him to bring this up. So, she steeled herself, too.

“I know,” she said. “You’re my family, too. But Cade deserves a chance to build a relationship with Gigi. And, if you think highly enough of her to bring her into Gigi’s life, then Gigi deserves that chance, too.”

Conrad’s mouth worked for a moment, as if this was the very last thing he had expected her to say. “And you think that can’t happen if we’re spending time together?”

Too close, she thought.

“I think us spending time together muddies things,” she said. She dropped her poker face and sighed, letting her own confusion be visible to him. “Don’t you think it does?”

He hesitated, appearing to struggle with something. She gave him almost a full minute, but no words left his mouth. She sighed again.

“I don’t know, Conrad. That’s what I meant when I said I don’t know how to do this yet.”

“You think I do?” he asked with a laugh. “This is weird as hell.”

She couldn’t help it—she burst into laughter. Delight lit up his face as he watched her.

“Are we as much of a mess as we feel?” Billie asked, turning to walk again.

“I think we have everyone else fooled,” he assured her. After a moment, he asked, “You feel like a mess?”

“Only about ninety-five percent of the time.”

“I never would have guessed.”

She shrugged, and a comfortable silence settled between them again. When they had wandered close enough, Gigi ran over, threw her armful of peaches in the bag, and ran off again without a word.

“Look,” Conrad said, voice barely more than a murmur. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe having you and me and Gigi spend time together while she gets to know Cade isn’t the right move. Thank you for thinking of it. I should have.”

She nodded. She hadn’t realized until this moment that she had been hoping he would argue with her. Hoping he would tell her that he couldn’t do that, that their time together with Gigi meant too much to him. Hoping he would tell her he had been wrong to choose Cade.

Stop it, her brain ordered.

“But Billie…” He paused to take a deep breath. “You’re her favorite person.”

She knew what he was saying and suddenly understood what his real worry was. “I will always be there for Gigi,” she assured him. “And she knows that.”

Relief eased his brow. “She does, right?”

Billie let herself press closer into him, wrapping her fingers around his forearm and squeezing gently. “She does.”

“Can we just figure it out together?”

Startled, her head jerked in response. Not a nod, but not a head shake either. Not a yes, and not a no. Just confusion.

“You’ve helped me figure out all this parenting stuff,” he said, a wry grin toying with his mouth and crinkling his eyes. “You can’t abandon me now.”

Her fingers tightened on his skin. “Never.” She tried to make the word light-hearted, but her breath caught in her throat.

“I thought…” He trailed off with a nervous laugh. He’d been laughing that way a lot recently.

“You thought what?” she asked, curious.

“That you were avoiding me.”

He was obfuscating again. That wasn’t what he had been about to say. But she didn’t call him on it.

“So you said. Why would you think that?”

“Because… you were avoiding me?” he asked.

She shoved lightly against his shoulder. “I just told you I wasn’t.”

“But it looked that way,” he said, slightly defensive.

“You’re my best friend, Conrad,” she said. “I’m never going to avoid you.”

It was the first time she had said the words to him—“best friend.” The second time she had said it out loud to anyone, actually.

“You’re my best friend, too,” he said, blowing past it and not catching how much the words meant to her. “Which is why I was in a panic and trying to figure out a way to fix this.”

“Is that what today’s surprise visit was about?” she asked him, glancing sideways at his profile.

He didn’t look at her. But she could see his lips twitch under his scruffy beard. “Maybe I wanted you to remember how much fun we have.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “We do,” she agreed. “Always.”

“Good.” He cleared his throat. “So, where are we going for lunch?”

“Oh, you’re joining for lunch now, too?”

“You’re going to make me haul seven tons of peaches around and not feed me?” he asked, eyes wide in shock. “Monster.”

She swallowed her giggle. “Fair point. I was planning to take Gigi to Cierra’s.”

“Barbecue,” Conrad said, genuine surprise on his face.

Billie rolled her eyes. “I’m not all tea sandwiches and white linen tablecloths.”

“Who are you, and what have you done with Billie Sutton?”

She bumped her shoulder into his.

“Kidding,” Conrad murmured. “I wonder if we can get Gigi to sweet talk Cierra into grilling up some of our peaches.”

Billie drew in a quiet breath and slipped her arm through his elbow. “Yes. You’re brilliant. Grilled peaches are my favorite.”

“Yeah,” he said in a low rumble. His eyes were light and happy and affectionate. “I know.”