We fell into a rhythm without planning it.
The first night, Lucy tried to do everything herself. Insisted she was fine, that she didn't need help, that she'd figure it out. By 3 AM, I heard Gabrielle crying through the wall, heard Lucy's exhausted voice trying to soothe her, heard the particular silence of someone at the end of their rope.
I knocked on her door. She opened it with shadows under her eyes and a crying baby in her arms and something like defeat on her face.
"Let me," I was offering help with those words.
She didn't argue. Just handed Gabrielle to me and stumbled toward the bedroom.
"Wake me if?—"
"I won't," I interrupted her. She needed to rest. "Sleep."
While she was sleeping, I walked up and down the hallway. Gabrielle pressed against my chest, her tiny body warm through my shirt. She was so small. She fussed for the first few minutes. Little sounds of protest, her face scrunching, her fists waving. I talked to her while I moved through the room, low and steady. I spoke nonsense words that didn't mean anything. Just sound. Just presence. Just someone there in the dark, letting her know she wasn't alone.
Gradually, she settled. Her eyes drifted closed. Her breathing evened out. Her small hand found my finger and held on.
I stood in the dark hallway and felt something crack open in my chest.
She was so vulnerable. So completely dependent on whoever was holding her. She could be crying, protesting, because somehow I am still a stranger, but she'd chosen to fall asleep in my arms, this tiny person who didn't know anything about me except that I was warm and my heartbeat was steady and I hadn't put her down.
That trust. That absolute, unearned trust. It undid me in ways I wasn't prepared for.
I thought about Lucy in the next room, finally getting the rest she desperately needed. Thought about how she'd looked at me when she handed Gabrielle over—exhausted, grateful, something else underneath that I didn't let myself name. Thought about how easy it would be to get used to this. Thelate nights. The quiet moments. The way this already felt like something I'd miss if it ended.
My attention returned to the moment. I looked down at Gabrielle, who sighed in her sleep, and then I realized that her fingers were still tightened around mine.
I brought them to the station on day four.
Lucy needed to get out of the apartment. I could see it in the way she paced, the way she stared at the walls like they were closing in. New motherhood was exhausting enough without adding isolation to the mix.
"Come to the station," I invited her, hoping she would accept. "The crew's been asking about Gabrielle every shift. They want to see how she's doing."
She hesitated for a while before saying, "I don't want to be in the way."
"You won't be. It's a quiet day." I paused. "Besides, Liam's been dying to try out his funny faces on her. He claims he can make any baby laugh within thirty seconds. Very competitive about it."
That got a small smile. "Funny faces?"
"He's been practicing. It's honestly a little concerning."
She laughed. A real laugh. God, I loved that sound.
"Okay," she said. "Okay, let's go."
The station came alive the moment we walked in.
Liam appeared first, abandoning whatever he'd been doing and hit the hand sanitizer dispenser on the wall without breaking stride—Cal had installed it the week Gabrielle started visiting—and crouched in front of the carrier. "There she is! The little firefighter."
He started making faces at Gabrielle. Ridiculous faces, crossing his eyes and puffing out his cheeks like a blowfish. She stopped fussing and stared at him, her dark eyes tracking his movements with that intense newborn focus.
"She's watching! Did you see that?" He looked up at me like he'd just witnessed a miracle. "Every time, she locks right onto me. I'm telling you, she knows greatness when she sees it."
"She's a few days old," Riley said, arriving with a stack of files. "She can barely see your face."
"She can see enough to know I'm her favorite." Liam turned to Owen. "Pay up, Mitchell."
Owen rolled his eyes but pulled out his wallet. Then he crouched down too, reaching for Gabrielle with hands that knew exactly what they were doing. Supporting her head, cradling her weight, lifting her against his chest like he'd done it a thousand times.
