Safe. Noncommittal. Exactly the kind of careful response that was becoming our new normal.
"L.T." Thompson appeared in the doorway of the office, holding two cups of coffee. "You look like you could use this."
I accepted the mug gratefully. Thompson had been my bar man for two years, and he could read my moods better than most people could read a book.
"Anything bothering you?" he asked, settling into the chair across from my desk.
"No, just tired." The lie came easily, but Thompson's raised eyebrow suggested he wasn't buying it.
"Uh-huh. And I'm the Queen of England." He took a sip of his coffee, studying me with the kind of direct assessment he usually reserved for potentially dangerous situations. "You've been off all shift. Want to talk about it?"
Part of me did want to talk about it. Thompson was married, he had kids, two daughters he adored. He might understand the weight of realizing you wanted something fundamental that your partner might not be able to give you.
But Thompson was also my subordinate, and this was a firehouse. Personal problems stayed personal, especially for female officers who couldn't afford to be seen as "too emotional."
"Just some stuff with Cap," I said, which wasn't entirely a lie. Cap's declining health was a constant worry, even if it wasn't what was keeping me up at night right now.
Thompson nodded, accepting the deflection. "How's he doing?"
"Better, actually. Saw him yesterday, and he seemed almost like his old self. Complaining about the hospital food, giving me grief about my paperwork. Margaret said his appetite's been good."
That, at least, was true. Cap had seemed stable during our visit yesterday, more alert and energetic than he'd been in weeks. It was the one bright spot in an otherwise confusing and emotionally exhausting few days.
"That's good news," Thompson said. "Man's too stubborn to go down easy."
"Yeah, he is."
We sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, drinking our coffee and listening to the familiar sounds of the station — Rodriguez and O'Malley arguing about something on Truck 12, the distant hum of equipment being cleaned and checked.
"You know," Thompson said eventually, "whatever's eating at you, it'll work itself out. You're too smart and too stubborn to let anything keep you down for long."
I smiled, the first genuine smile I'd managed all day. "Thanks, Thompson. I appreciate that."
"Just speaking the truth, L.T. Now, you want to tell me why you've been checking your phone every thirty seconds like you're expecting either really good news or really bad news?"
I glanced down at my phone, which I'd unconsciously placed face-up on my desk so I could see any incoming messages. Another text from Jimmy had come in while we were talking.
Jimmy
Off work in an hour. Want me to pick up dinner on the way over?
The message was perfectly normal, perfectly sweet. So whydid it make my chest feel tight with something that might have been dread?
"Just coordinating with someone," I said, which was technically true.
Thompson gave me another one of his assessing looks but didn't push. "Well, whoever it is, they're lucky to have you worrying about them."
If only it were that simple.
Two hours later, I was standing in my apartment bathroom, the morning sun shining through the window, staring at my reflection and trying to figure out how to act normal when Jimmy arrived. We hadn't seen each other since the morning after Amelia's accident, when I'd told him I wanted children and watched something fundamental shift in his expression.
Since then, we'd texted constantly, talked on the phone twice, and made plans for tonight like nothing had changed. But everything had changed, hadn't it? The easy intimacy we'd built over the past few weeks now felt fragile, complicated by unspoken questions about futures that might not align.
My phone buzzed with his signature knock at the door. I took a deep breath, checked my reflection one more time, and went to let him in.
"Hey, beautiful," he said, leaning in to kiss me softly. He smelled like the hospital — that familiar mix of antiseptic and laundry detergent — and carried a bag from our favorite Thai place.
"Hey yourself," I replied, accepting the kiss and trying to ignore the way it felt different. Not bad, just... careful. Like we were both being more cautious with each other.
