Amara's POV:
The door opens and Steve walks through. It's still early morning, the girls are all packed up and ready to go home. He opens his arms, expecting them to run to him... but they don't. His eyes land on Dahlia who is sitting contently on Mason's lap—they linger there for a second. "We want to stay here," Isabella says, and Steve chuckles lightly.
"Too bad, Izzy." he smiles.
"Stay." Dahlia repeats, smacking her hands down onto Mason's arms which secure her.
"I feel the love, girls. I really do." Steve shakes his head with a laugh.
Izzy comes closer and wraps her arms around me. "Visit soon." she says softly.
"Promise." I smile, doing our little ritual.
Dahlia climbs into my lap and rests her head against my chest, closing her eyes. Nap time, I see. I watch as Isabella makes her way over to Mason, pausing before giving him a tight hug. He hugs her back, without any hesitation. I can see the surprise on Steve's face, and maybe even a little anger—but he smiles anyway, for his daughters sake.
"Will you come back and visit with Mar?" she asks him.
"If you want me to."
"—I do want you to."
"Okay, then I will." he tells her softly.
She smiles before making her way over to her dad, as do I. I carefully hand a now sleeping Dahlia to Steve and give Isabella one last kiss goodbye. "How are you?" he asks me.
"I'm okay. I loved having them here."
He kisses my head and squeezes my arm gently. "You really do have to visit soon, okay?"
"I will. I promise."
"Back to work tomorrow, I assume?" he glances over my shoulder to Mason.
"Yep." he nods reluctantly. I know he can't think of anything worse than looking to Steve as a boss.
"Good."
I close the door behind him and take a deep breath in. The quiet seems strange now. I walk to the fridge and open it, looking for something, anything to eat—I think we forgot to actually feed ourselves this morning. "There's nothing there," I groan. "They ravaged this place."
Mason chuckles and makes his way over to me. "We can go to the store." he suggests as he leans against the counter. The idea gets me excited. Which is really sad, come to think of it. I don't know why it's the simple things with Mason that make me so happy. I think it's the normality of it—shopping with your partner. Among all the craziness, there's that piece of normalcy.
—————
As we wander around the store at a snails pace, like every time Mason and I go shopping together, I hear my name. I look up from the cart to see a face I didn't think I'd ever see again—Jen, more commonly known as my therapist.
"Amara! You look amazing. It's lovely to see you again." she says softly with a wide smile.
"Jen, thank you," I return the gesture. "It's lovely to see you too."
"I couldn't find the fruit ones, will these do?" Mason interrupts as he returns with a box of cereal. He looks up to see Jen, and her face drops completely—making a confused look appear on his face.
It was at this moment I realised. I can see her processing. The accent, the tattoos, the down to a T description that I gave of him countless times solidifying who is standing in front of her. The very man she helped me grieve when I was positive that he was dead. Breakdown after breakdown, sobbing into her leather chair and begging her to make the pain stop. To say she looks shocked is an understatement.
She clears her throat and sends us both another warm smile. "Are you doing okay?" she asks. "And that reoccurring problem we had, still an issue?"
It's obvious that she decided not to ask about Mason, or the nightmares directly. Confidentiality and all. "Yes, I am. I'm doing much better," I tell her. "And I don't have them as often anymore."
She nods and looks between us. "How about another session, just to catch up? I can mark you down for your progress."
"I don't know," I shift uncomfortably. "I didn't plan on coming back to therapy."
"Just think of it as a check up, no pressure." she suggests.
"Yeah, okay." I nod.
She nods in approval. "Great, I'll give you a call."
"—It was lovely to meet you, Mason."
"That was your therapist?" his brows raise as she walks away.
I nod.
"She looked like she saw a fucking ghost."
"She did." I shrug.
"Yeah," he sighs, placing a kiss on my forehead. "I guess she did."
"Maybe this will be good, another session." he tells me as he grabs a bottle of water from the shelf.
"How so?"
"Just to talk it out."
I look away. "Let's just finish shopping."
—————
Mason's POV:
I decide to go to the hospital, see if Amara wants to go for Lunch. Our lunch breaks rarely match up, her schedule is way too fucking unpredictable for that—but I have nothing else to do.
I make my way around, before someone catches my eye. "Hey, you." I call out, watching as the man turns round with a cautious expression. "You work for Amara, right?"
"I'm Doctor Woods' intern, yes." he coughs.
"I'm not going to bite," I furrow my brow. Why is he so fucking nervous? "Do you know where I can find her?"
"She's with a patient right now, you can wait down here."
"I can't go up there?" I ask.
"No, sorry."
"Alright." I shrug, tapping my fingers against my leg.
"So... hows your day going?" I ask, and his brow raises.
"Its okay..," he cocks his head.
"And Amara? How is her day going today?"
"Okay, I think?" he mumbles. "Maybe you should ask Doctor Woods yourself."
"Didn't she tell you she hurt her back?" I raise my brow.
"No, she didn't." his expression turns to confusion.
"Yeah. She isn't supposed to use the stairs for a few weeks." I nod slowly.
"That's okay, we have elevators." he smiles idiotically.
"Oh?" I raise my brow. "I didn't know the elevators went up to there."
"To the ICU? Of course they do."
"Mm," I grin. "Well, nice chat."
As I walk off—I wait for it, and I wait for it... and- "Hey! Wait!" There it is. The magical sound of the fucking penny dropping. I make my way there and find Amara, she's standing outside of a room with a man, a patient I'm guessing.
I watch as she talks to him from a distance, not wanting to interrupt. Within a split second I notice him become aggressive, and my guards go up. I begin to make my way over there, my blood boiling—I have to intervene. But before I take another step, Amara puts her hand on his shoulder, and he begins to sob.
I stop in my tracks and watch. I take a step back in surprise, my eyes glued on the man as he sobs into her chest. She sits him down on a chair and offers him water, being as kind as she always is.
She spots me in the distance and comes towards me. "What the hell was that? He can't speak to you like that." I say lowly.
She sighs. "His wife is brain dead, Mason. I just told him that there's no activity and that he should consider whether he wants to switch off her life support. He wasn't angry at me, he was angry at the situation."
"She's dead?" I furrow my brow.
"Technically, yes. Her brain is, and her body isn't breathing on its own. Once the machine is turned off, she'll pass away."
I get a feeling in the pit of my stomach that I don't like. "How long have they been married?"
"Eight years. They were trying for a baby."
My face screws as she speaks. "How aren't you more affected by this?"
"I am, Mase," she sighs exhaustedly. "But I do this every day. I have to become desensitised to an extent—if not, I couldn't do the job."
I nod. "What are you doing here, anyway?" she asks, giving my arm a gentle squeeze.
"I just wanted to see if you could grab lunch."
"I can't, I'm swamped," she groans. "Dinner?"
"Sure."
She balances on her toes and kisses me on the nose before hurrying off. I turn to walk away, but I don't. I look around to make sure nobody is watching before inching closer to the room Amara had just left. I peer through the window at the woman on the bed, tubes down her throat and wires coming from everywhere. Her husband, the man from before—he's hunched over the bed, over his wife as he cries a cry that I don't think I'll ever fucking forget. He rubs her arm with his thumb, whispering to her. I look at the machine. How the hell can he be expected to decide that? Whether the woman he loves lives or dies? Even if she's already gone—she's breathing. How fucking awful. The thought of being in that position makes me feel nauseous.
I get back to work, but I can't stop fucking thinking about that couple. I grab some water and drink almost the whole bottle, I'm exhausted. I move to a new area to check the blueprints and hear two men talking. Talking about Steve, nonetheless. So of course, I listen in.
"He fired him because he was sleeping with one of our contractors while he has a wife and kids at home." one of them says.
"He can't do that, it's none of his business." the other replies angrily.
"He said it was because of fraternisation, a conflict of interest at work. But we all know it wasn't, he just felt guilty for the guys family."
"He's a hypocrite." he responds cattily.
"What do you mean?"
"I heard he cheated on his wife, you know the one that died. Days before their wedding." he whispers.
"Who told you that?" I interrupt.
The man shrugs and they both look away, because I know Steve. Nobody talks to me about shit around here.
"Who told you that?" I repeat more sternly, my blood boiling.
"I can't remember, it was a rumour years ago." he shrugs.
"Then that's all it is," I say, taking a step towards them with a knitted brow. "Oh, and don't bring Carol into another one of your fucking conversations, am I clear?"
He scoffs and looks away. I take a breath and turn back to my work. I feel sick to my stomach. I hate Steve, but I don't think he would cheat. Not on Carol. He worshiped the ground that woman walked on. My blood boils at the thought. There's no way I can bring this up to Amara. After all, this rumour is about something that probably didn't even happen at least 20 years ago. Carol doesn't seem like the kind of woman to stick around after her fiancé cheats.
Fucking rumours.
—————
The whole time at dinner my mind was on other things. Why the fuck am I so distracted? I take a seat on the couch beside Amara who is looking at me like her brain is going to explode. "What are you trying not to tell me?" I raise my brow.
"Okay, fine!" she chirps as she jumps excitedly from her spot, reaching behind us. "I got you something."
I furrow my brow as she hands me a black gift bag, before returning to her spot next to me with crossed legs. "Open it."
I reach inside and pull out a pile of soft, cotton, short sleeved shirts. Charcoal, black, grey. She reaches over and holds one up to show me with a smile on her face. "I know it's not much... but I noticed you didn't have many since you moved back here, so I thought I'd buy you some. I know you only like darks."
"And look!" she chirps, showing me the collar. "I removed the labels, I know they irritate you."
I smile. It may just be shirts, just plain old black and grey shirts, but it's so much more than that. The labels were something I mentioned in passing within our first month of knowing each other, just that I hated the way they felt. It wasn't even something I remembered saying until now, and I certainly didn't know that she took notice.
I'm not a gift guy. I know that, and she knows that. The simpler the better. And this, a pile of label-less shirts—was just one of the reasons I love her.
I place them back into the bag and sit them on the floor. "Thank you." I smile, kissing her with gratitude.
She leans back and places her head on my lap, turning on a movie for us to watch. I watch her, as she watches the romantic comedy she was so desperate to see. I run my fingers through her hair as she strokes my free hand with her thumb, still fully engrossed in the picture ahead of her. She smiles every so often, never stopping the small circles she draws on me with her fingertips subconsciously. I look to the TV for what I only now notice is the first time in a while; because I have no idea what's going on, or what this movie is even about. I had just been watching her.
"I love you." she mutters quietly, her eyes still glued in place—like she just had to say it. And by god do I love her. I love her in the way that it hurts. I love her in the way that I never knew I could love. I love her in the way that feels like I'm taking a bullet to the chest whenever I think about my life without her.
"—I love you too."
"One day I'll kiss you for the last time, and we might not even know it." I utter, spilling out unintentionally.
Her head snaps up and she sits upright to face me. "You think we're going to break up?"
"No, that's not what I meant."
She tilts her head and her eyes fill with worry. "Mason, you're okay—right?"
"Yeah," I shake my head. "I'm not going to kick the bucket or anything."
She sighs. "Is this about my patient?"
I nod, and shrug my shoulders. I feel fucking stupid even thinking about it.
"Mason," she places her hand on mine. "I see things like that every day. I tell people that their loved ones are dead, or dying. I know it's terrifying. But I'm not going anywhere—and neither are you."
Amara's POV:
This is so out of character for Mason, to be so scared. At least vocally. He doesn't have his guard down or show his worries. I pull him into a tight hug and he wraps his arms around me, bringing one hand to the back of my head and stroking it to comfort himself. "Its the not knowing, isn't it?"
"Yeah." he sighs.
"Hey," I hang back, stroking his face with my hand. "I promise I'll let you know if I'm gonna, you know, snuff it."
"Yeah?" he chuckles.
"Yeah!" I laugh.
"I guess I'll find the time to inform you too, if it fits into my schedule." he smirks.
I slap his shoulder. "Dick."
"Hey, I'm just being thoughtful—principessa."
I roll my eyes and smile. "It's been a while since I heard that one."
He chuckles. "I know."
"If it's our last kiss you better make it a good one,"
"That's true," he nods. "Extra tongue."
I roll my eyes. "Don't worry, I'll make it a good one." he smiles, brushing the hair from my face—his eyes lovingly on mine.
"Good."