The only Kiwi I'm not allergic to.

62

A few hours passed and finally the doctor knocked on the door. The doctor stepped fully into the room, giving a small nod to Hoppo before focusing on Amy. "Good morning, Amy," he said gently. "We've got your test results back."

Amy's pulse quickened, Harrison's hand tightening around hers. Hoppo shifted slightly, his chair creaking, and Harrison leaned closer, both of them hanging on every word.

"You're going to like this," the doctor said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "The baby... it's alive. Heartbeat is strong, and everything looks stable for now."

Tears sprang to Amy's eyes, and she whispered, "It's... okay?"

"Yes," the doctor said, nodding. "It's okay. You've been through a lot, and you need to take it very easy. For the next few days, strict bed rest. No lifeguarding, no heavy activity, nothing that could put you at risk. After that, we'll ease you back into light activity. Nothing strenuous until we're sure you're fully recovered."

Harrison exhaled, a weight lifting off his chest. "You hear that, Ames?" he murmured, brushing a damp strand of hair from her face. "You're okay... and the baby's okay."

Amy blinked rapidly, letting the relief wash over her. "I... I can't believe it. I... I thought..." Her voice faltered, tears spilling freely.

Hoppo reached over, resting a steady hand on hers, fatherly and grounding. "You hear that? You're going to be fine. The baby's fine. You've got to let yourself heal, just like the doctor said. We'll take care of the rest."

Harrison leaned his forehead against hers gently, holding her close. "We've got you, Ames. You don't have to do this alone. Not ever."

Amy squeezed his hand weakly, a small, shaky smile flickering. "I... I'll try."

Hoppo gave a faint chuckle, still gentle. "Try isn't good enough, kiddo. You will rest. You will heal. And you will come back stronger. That's an order."

She let out a small laugh through her tears, nodding. "Yes, sir."

The doctor gave a last nod, glancing at Harrison and Hoppo. "We'll check in again in a few hours, monitor both of you. But for now, just rest."

As he left, the room softened, the tension easing slightly. Harrison and Hoppo exchanged a glance, and then Harrison settled back against the pillows, holding Amy's hand, finally letting some of his exhaustion take over, comforted by the knowledge that she, and the baby, were safe, for now.

******

Three weeks passed. In that time Amy was released from the hospital, her parents came, and so did Harrison's. The house felt full again, loud with family, and it gave Amy something else to focus on besides the pain.

Amy spent most of her days tucked into the safety of their home. She wasn't showing yet, but she felt pregnant in every bone of her body. Scents she'd never noticed before suddenly made her nauseous. Foods she once loved turned her stomach. Some mornings, she could barely stand the smell of Harrison's coffee brewing in the kitchen. She'd joke about it sometimes with her mom and his mom, and his mom would make her herbal teas swearing that it would help her. 

With all their family at their home and their friends and coworkers coming to visit everyday, she felt safe, protected, but whenever she was alone her hand would rest on her stomach, quiet, protective. 

Harrison had gone back to work. Not because he had to, and not because he didn't want to stay home with her; because he did, he really wanted to spend every minute with her.  But at home, every time his eyes found Amy, he saw it all over again; the gun, the blood, the moment she collapsed in his arms. The memory replayed like a knife twisting in his chest, and sometimes, if she shifted too quickly or winced when standing, his heart would stop cold.