Caradoc’s scrubs felt cool against his skin.
He groaned softly, dropping his head to his hands. Elbows on his knees, he was most definitely quite a picture; another overworked nurse sitting defeatedly on the rickety plastic chairs of the small town’s only hospital as he recuperated in the brief seconds of respite he received. His heart thudded in his chest, eyes making their protests to being kept open known. How dreadfully exhausting.
And he wasn’t even the one who gave birth!
Mary, beside him, told him as much, grinning above his head. Her long nails scraped over his tense shoulders soothingly, kneading them with her as-always surprising strength. “Poor sweetheart,” she cooed to him teasingly, “Was the baby cute? The lady?”
“Cute,” his sigh was belied by the softening of his tone as he finally looked up, meeting her eyes. They were focused slightly to his left and he shuffled accordingly, a hand draping over her knee. “Cute… weirdly.” He agreed slowly.
”Oh?”
He squeezed her kneecap, sitting up. “Weirdly as in… the lady must’ve been a sailor, weird. Your type of weird.”
Mary tipped her head back, toothy laugh directed to the ceiling. A strand of curls fell free of her scarf and Caradoc leaned over, tucking it beneath her under-cap. “So then…”
Silver, his ring glinted on his finger, as he leaned in close, a thin layer of chiffon defending her ears. He smirked. “So, would you curse me as much as she did her husband, if I were to do the same as him?”
The words hung in the air for a second. Then, Mary guffawed, reaching for her cane. Unable to feel it out, she sufficed with gently hitting his stomach with the lunch she had brought for him.
Breathlessly, she shook her head fondly, a silent mockery playing out in her eyes as she waited to find words. Yet, he had heard her already.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Three taps contained her meaning. For the rest of his dragging shift, Caradoc carried those three beats in his fluttering heart.
I love you. Cheeky shite. Dare.