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The sky is lightening from the inky black of midnight when Lucy unlocks and opens the front door. She yawns and kicks off her sneakers, nudging them in a neater pile so no one trips on them. Not that it matters, since the house is already probably a big mess.
The curse of being on opposite shifts from her husband and being too tired to hassle the kids to clean up their shit.
She gulps down a glass of cold water and pads up to the master bedroom, hoping for a shower and few hours of sleep curled up in John’s arms before the kids wake up. She’s off for a few days, which is nice and very much needed, but the kids still have school and activities and the errand list is never ending.
The only light in the master bedroom comes from the dull red glow of the numbers on John’s alarm clock and Lucy has to watch her feet to make sure she doesn’t stub her toes on any furniture.
A soft snore from the bed draws her attention - too high pitched to be her husband - and Lucy can’t fight the smile that forms when she makes out the three lumps curled up in the king-sized bed.
Jack sprawled on Lucy’s side of the bed, one foot hanging off the edge. Her pillow is covering his head and he’s got another one wedged under his arm. The foot that she can see has a tube sock hanging off of it too.
Ellie curled in a tiny ball in the middle, her stuffed bunny clutched to her face, a floppy ear covering her eyes. Her cloud of dark blonde hair is a ratty mess.
And John, half-covered by the duvet, one foot firmly planted on the floor so he doesn’t fall off the edge. Her lanky husband has maybe six inches of space on the bed and Lucy knows he’s going to complain about his back when he wakes up. He’s got one arm thrown over his face, the other resting on Ellie’s back like he had fallen asleep rubbing circles there.
It doesn’t look like her family has left much space for her, so Lucy will shower and curl up in the guest bedroom, treat it like she’s in a hotel bed and demand John cuddle her on the couch while the kids are at school. She’s been feeling clingy and needy lately and thank god she knows why.
The spray of hot water is a balm on her achy muscles and Lucy soaks it up, tipping her head back to get her hair wet. She scrubs a hand over her face, feeling the exhaustion in her eyes and closing them against the gritty, sore feeling. As the water drips down her body, Lucy imagines that it’s carrying away the stress of her shift and her patients, swirling everything bad that had happened down the drain with the soap suds.
It works and it doesn’t, her professional stress load lightened, but her personal stress still sloping her shoulders.
The bathroom door clicks open softly and Lucy’s eyes fly open, her hand wiping at the glass until John’s hazy outline comes into slightly less smudged focus. His hair is sticking up in all directions and he scratches at the days-old stubble on his face. Lucy’s heart squeezes with love for him.
His eyes are squinted against the bathroom lights and he yawns.
“Hi,” he murmurs, voice sleepy and raspy. “You just get in?”
“Mhm,” Lucy hums, pushing open the shower door and shivering when some steam escapes. “Join me?”
“Don’t have to tell me twice,” he laughs hoarsely and tosses his shirt to the floor, practically hopping out of his boxers with the agility of a much younger man. Lucy huffs a laugh that’s cut off by John’s lips sliding over hers. His hands cradle her face and she smiles into the kiss, nipping lightly at his bottom lip.
When he releases her, thumb stroking over her cheekbone, Lucy breathes, “can’t believe I missed the sleepover.”
John laughs loudly and grabs up the shampoo, lathering up Lucy’s hair while he talks. She leans into his touch, humming softly while he scrubs at her scalp. “Yeah, real fun. They both just fell asleep like an hour ago. Ellie had a nightmare, worked herself up so much that she puked and that got Jack going,” John rolls his eyes. “Thanks again for giving him that sympathetic puking gene, Luce.”
Lucy pinches at one of his nipples, making him yelp and jump back, shampoo suds flying everywhere.
“That’s not something he inherited from me,” she sniffs, muttering, “baby,” when John whines about the pain.
Her husband narrows his eyes at her and scoffs, returning to his task. “Blatantly false, but whatever. Either way, waking them up for school is going to be a shitshow,” he groans, tipping Lucy’s head back to wash the soap from her hair.
She closes her eyes and lets herself be taken care of. It’s a rarity these days, quality time with Carter limited to a hurried quickie when the kids are asleep and kisses hello and goodbye. She misses him in a way that her younger self would’ve been appalled by.
“At least,” he jokes, “there’s only twelve years until we’re empty nesters. Maybe we’ll get some quality time then.”
There’s no real humor in his joke - Lucy knows Carter loves their kids as much as she does and is going to be insufferable when they get to the independent, boundary-breaking teenage years.
He presses a kiss to her shoulder, letting his teeth graze her skin, and she can feel his cock twitch and harden against her hip. His hands wander down her sides, thumbs circling her nipples before his hands glide down over her hips and Lucy tries not to think about the extra few pounds there even though she knows John doesn’t give a shit. His mouth works at her collarbone, sucking lightly at the hollow of her throat and Lucy arches into his touch, his thumbs digging into her hipbones to drag her hips flush against his.
It’s now or never, and as much as Lucy doesn’t want to ruin the moment, she murmurs into his hair, “more like eighteen years, Carter.”
John looks up at her, water dripping down his face, hair plastered to his forehead. Lucy pushes it back with a shaky hand.
“My math skills aren’t great,” he laughs, “but I do know that eighteen minus six is twelve.”
Lucy’s smile is hesitant when she drags his hand from her hip to cover her lower stomach.
“Mhm, kindergarten math is going to be something else you need to brush up on,” she says, biting at her lower lip. “Along with diaper changes and burping techniques.”
John’s forehead scrunches and his eyebrows draw together over the bridge of his nose. Lucy can feel his fingers flex and dig into the soft skin of her stomach, can see the wheels turning in his brain.
“Turns out,” she continues, “those symptoms I thought were perimenopause? The other P-word. I’m pregnant, Carter.”
Unfortunately for him, the first words out of John Carter’s mouth are, “but you’re old! We’re old!”
Lucy rolls her eyes and mutters dryly, “gee, nine years of marriage and you still know how to sweet talk a girl.”
She knows she’s old - she’ll be 44 two months before this baby is born - but that doesn’t mean she’s any less excited about the baby. It’ll be sleepless nights and dirty diapers and round the clock feedings again, but it’s also another Carter baby to love on and how can she say no to that?
“I’m sorry,” John shakes his head like he’s trying to clear water from his ears and straightens up, his hand still flat on her belly. “That’s - I was - when…?”
Lucy replies at the same time it dawns on her husband and they chime together, “the hospital fundraiser.”
“I did say that dress was dangerous,” John mutters, a twinkle in his eye. “So, a third baby.”
“A third baby,” Lucy replies, shivering. The water has cooled off significantly and John seems to realize it at the same time. He jumps into action, flipping the water off and grabbing a towel from the basket outside the shower. He wraps Lucy up in the worn terry cloth, rubbing his hands up and down her arms.
“Shit, Luce,” a delighted laugh releases from his mouth, lips curling up in a smile. “We’re gonna be so tired.”
“What’s a little more exhaustion?” Lucy teases, squeaking a little when John pulls her against his chest in a crushing hug, kissing her sweetly.
“Daddy?” Ellie’s little voice echoes into the bathroom, Jack’s annoyed grumble, “shush!” following a few seconds later.
Lucy laughs and buries her face in John’s wet, bare chest. “Maybe if we’re quiet, they’ll go back to sleep,” she whispers against his skin, inhaling the unique scent of John Carter that’s so intoxicating.
“Daddy, my tummy!” Ellie whines and Lucy pulls back, taking in John’s wince. She’s sure her face is doing something similar.
“One second, Elle-belle,” John shouts, grabbing at his shirt and boxers. “Do not throw up in that bed or on your brother.”
Lucy watches as he stumbles into the plaid boxers, nearly tripping over his own feet. His t-shirt is on inside out and backwards and she’s reminded of the early days, their first kiss in the x-ray room, the thousands of kisses since.
The sound of Ellie’s gagging makes her wince and she presses her lips together, adjusting the towel
to wrap it around her chest. Lucy’s going to give it a minute, but it sounds like John’s going to need help in about ten seconds.
It doesn’t even take that long.
“Luce! A little help please?” John, strained.
“Mommy’s here?” Ellie, tearful.
“Mom!” Jack, relieved.
And Lucy, tired but so happy.