"No, don't get up, I can get you a drink, just sit."
"Sebastian, I'm supposed to be moving around. You heard the doctor, I need to be up and about as much as I can be."
"But I don't want you to overdo it."
"I haven't gotten the chance to overdo anything. You even tried to help dress me this morning."
"I'm already closer to the kitchen, let me get your drink."
You flop back on the couch with a loud huff. You had just had your two-week check up the day before, and even though everything was as it should be and you were healing at a perfectly normal pace, he was on edge for the entire check up and hasn't left your side since. To begin with, you found it endearing that he cares so much, but going on two weeks of not being able to do anything for yourself is starting to fray your nerves.
"The next thing I need, you have to let me get." You call to him as the kitchen door swings shut,
"He's just trying to help, honey." Your mom chimes in, lugging a laundry bag of sheets and a basket of folded towels through the door.
"But at what point does helping become hindering?" You mutter,
"I know you don't like being coddled." She sighs, sitting beside you, "You never have. But he's scared. In his eyes, he came close to losing one or both of you, so now he's holding on as tight as he can."
"And nearly smothering me in the process." Your scolding is cut short when he comes back from the kitchen with a glass of water, trying to quiet a crying Margaret,
"Ce nu e bine?" He coos,
"I think she's hungry." You say with a sigh, reaching for her, but he's hesitant to hand her over. "Seb, I guarantee you can't feed her for me."
He still falters, not wanting to let her go.
His phone begins ringing in his pocket and he sighs, finally handing her to you over the back of the couch.
"Yeah," he says into the phone, distracted as he keeps his eyes on you and Maggie, but something suddenly pulls his attention away, "You said I could have the week, what do you mean?"
He pinches the bridge of his nose, frowning,
"Fine. I guess I'll be seeing you tomorrow then." You think you hear an apology come through from the other end, but he seems to dismiss it with a cold 'talk to you tomorrow'.
"What happened?"
"I was supposed to get the rest of the week to stay with you two, but they've gotten to a point in production that they need me back or everything will come to a stand-still."
"So you're going back to DC."
"I have to leave tonight. They're texting me my travel info." A chime from his phone sounds as if on cue. He shakes his head. "I'm sorry."
"Why?"
"I should be here."
"You need to finish this job, Seb. There's nothing here for you to do that my mom can't cover for a week or however long, and your mom is in town as backup, Amy is still here and and we still have things to plan for the wedding. There's nothing to worry about. We're all fine."
"That's what you said last time." He says quietly, trudging down the hall, your assuming he's going to get packed.
"Go easy on him." Your mom says gently,
"I didn't realize I was being harsh."
"It's nice that he wants to be here--"
"And I understand his worry. I just need him to let me figure this out too. If I'm not able to do anything for myself, how am I going to get to that point?"
"Hon, you need to talk to him about this."
"He doesn't want to hear it. Every time I mention it he gets defensive. I don't mind him wanting to help. I'm grateful he's around. I really am..."
"Have you seen my charger?" Seb asks, peeking down the hall,
"The drawer in your nightstand."
He nods and goes back to packing,
"Ever thought maybe it'll wear off? The longer the both of you go without incident, the better he must feel." You're mom offers,
"It's been two weeks, mom."
"Two weeks of wondering if he's about to lose you again. Thinking that at any moment, something unexpected could surface and everything will come crashing down."
You know she's right, and suddenly, your frustration with Sebastian melts away to an understanding.
You're mom lets you work through your thoughts on your own, on the pretense of starting on lunch.
"I think that's it." Seb says, reemerging from the back room and dropping a duffle by the front door. He pats his pockets and glances around the room. Double checking that he has everything.
"Do you have twenty minutes?" You ask him out of the blue, he tilts his head at you in question, "Maggie needs to be burped, if you have time... If you want..."
His eyes brighten a little bit,
"Leaving the 'fun' for me, huh?" He jokes with a halfhearted smile, taking a seat beside you.
Taking Maggie, he tosses a cloth over his shoulder and lays her gently against it, proceeding to pat her back softly.
"You really shouldn't worry about us, Seb." You tell him quietly, he doesn't respond, but you see his jaw tighten, "I just don't want you to be unable to work or even leave the house."
"Do we really have to talk about this?" He says, standing up to bounce and sway with Margaret,
"I was hoping not, but I think we do."
"Why?"
"Because, as much as you want to be, you can't be here all the time. You have to trust that I can take care of her, and myself, and if that's not enough, trust that our friends have our backs."
He's quiet for a long time, swaying with his back to you before finally breaking the silence,
"I was so close."
He speaks so quietly you almost miss it,
"To what?"
"To losing everything."
You've heard your mother say this so many times, you're surprised at how your heart aches when you hear it come from him, but before you can say anything, offer any comfort, his phone chimes with another text. Even from your view of his back, you can see him swipe at his eyes, running a hand over his face before pulling his phone from his pocket, right as it chimes again.
"I have to get going." He disguises a sniffle with a deep breath and pockets his phone after a quick reply.
You stop him as he reaches for his bag,
"Seb."
"Huh?"
"You have to leave her with me." You giggle. He looks at the baby sleeping on his shoulder like he's not sure how she got there. Taking his time to cross the room, he lays her in your arms after kissing her forehead. She squirms away from his stubble, but doesn't wake. He kisses the top of your head, hesitantly making his way back to the door.
"Jacket." You say when he reaches for the doorknob. He grabs his leather jacket from the hook by the door and turns to you, looking like he doesn't know what comes next.
"Your bag."
He slings the strap over his shoulder with a sigh.
"I bet I can talk them into letting me stay."
"Keep this up and they'll end up killing off your character."
"They would never." He laughs, the sound putting you at ease.
"Oh, on your way already? That's impressive." Your mom says, coming back from the kitchen with a tray of food and a bag.
She passes the bag to Sebastian,
"For the road." She explains, "You haven't been eating much, I don't think your boss will be too happy if you keep dropping weight like you've been doing."
"Thanks." He smiles, looking back at you,
"Keep your phone on." You say with what you hope is an encouraging smile. He nods, and with one last deep breath, and apparent difficulty, he forces himself out the door.
.
.
.
Going on nine days since Sebastian left for DC, you've been consistently texting updates, keeping him in the loop every time Margaret did anything from yawn to spit up.
"She eating alright? ;)" came his reply to your last update,
"You're incorrigible."
"Do you not like that I want to see you just as much as I want to see my daughter?"
"It's the part of me you're asking to see that makes me roll my eyes."
"Hahaha, I'll take any part of you that you'll send... That particular part of you would be nice, though." You can almost hear his suggestive tone, not having any trouble conjuring up that lopsided smile, the look through his lashes that still makes your stomach jump to your throat.
You consider, for a moment, just sending him a picture of your hand. Flipping him off, of course.
"I'm not sexting you, Sebastian."
"I wasn't asking you to. Honest. ;)"
You don't reply immediately because Margaret stirs, starting to fuss.
You cradle her, holding her closer and rocking side to side. Your phone chimes.
"Not even a toe, huh?"
You roll your eyes at him,
"I. Don't. Like. Pictures. Of me."
"I. Do."
"Don't you have work to do?"
"Lunch break. And it's almost over. One more picture. Please?"
You want to ignore the last plea. Want to just let him squirm as he goes back to work. There's nothing he can say that will convince you to take a picture of your daughter breastfeeding.
However.
Looking down at her now as she looks back at you, eyes wide and curious, bright blue just like his; her dark, unruly hair sticking out at all angles, refusing to cooperate with your headbands and bows; you tamp down the unsettled feeling you get every time a camera is trained on you.
Grudgingly, you open the front camera on your phone. Trying not to look too hard at yourself so you can avoid scowling, you make sure you and Margaret are adequately framed and there is no backlight or glare. You focus the shot, close your eyes, snuggling into her and pressing a kiss to the side of her head as you prop her up to look straight into the camera. You press the 'capture' button, hear the shutter click, and send it before you can talk yourself out of it.
Waiting a while for a reply, you start to wonder if you missed him and he had to get back to work. Until finally, you see him start to type.
Then he stops.
Types again.
Stops.
Then finally,
"My girls." He replies simply, making your heart swell in response.
"Your girls," you reply, trying to convince yourself not to cry, though currently you're failing, "are waiting here for you. Margaret says to hurry up and finish working so you can come home and sing to her again. She must really want to heckle you some more."
Seb had taken to singing old lullabies he heard when he was little. In the near-two-weeks that the three of you had been home together, it seemed like that was the only thing that could quiet her when she woke up at 3 in the morning.
"I resent that. She loves my singing."
"That's not what she's saying now. ;)"
"Little Peg needs to tell her mommy to stop putting words in her mouth. :P"
The conversation lulls for a minute or two,
"Lunch break is over. I expect an apology from 'Margaret' when I get back." You know he's still playing along, so you don't worry.
"Hey, Seb?"
You send the message before you can think through what you're about to type,
"What's up?"
You type it slowly. You've never said it. Not to him. Afraid it would jinx something if you did. And right now everything was so perfect you just wanted to keep it that way.
You delete the text.
Retype it.
Delete it.
Not now. Not like this.
You erase your message for the fourth or fifth time in favor of:
"Just finish up so you can come home, okay?"
"Anything for my girls."
