[Trust him, Rachel. This is the best way to accomplish what they both want. He'll take a Monday, and then he'll take the entire week when you think you're ovulating. He only hopes that you aren't too stressed to conceive. Maybe he'll pick up one of those ovulation monitor things, so they won't get their hopes up for nothing.]
Even using the word bitch in reference to her is so far out of line that it's practically in another universe, and he knows that. Fuck, he knows that. He's irritable and tired and he fucking knows that he was at work when she was ovulating and he's not sure when this baby thing went from not right now to borderline obsession, and he's pissed. At himself, at the situation, at the NYPD, at the world for refusing to stop for five fucking minutes so that he can be with his wife after all the shit they've endured.
[All that being said, she did practically attack him because he asked about Brody. He's fucking insecure right now, okay? He's that stupid little kid who just wants everything to be okay.]
"You jumped down my fuckin' throat," he counters mildly. "I'm sorry, Rach. I shouldn't have said - what I said. I - I love you, and this sucks." He's getting thinner, the muscles standing out on his frame and he's practically surviving on coffee. They're both stressed, sleeping little, working long hours, and it's taking its toll on both of them, on their relationship. "I should be home in a couple hours," he murmurs, reaching out to stroke her cheek again with gentle fingers, his gaze pleading. "Go, have some tea, go sleep. Call me when you get home so I know you made it safe, okay? - Unless you want one of the guys to drop you off. I can ask." I'd feel safer, he doesn't say, but he'll be content with just a phone call.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2013-02-06 03:08 pm (UTC)Even using the word bitch in reference to her is so far out of line that it's practically in another universe, and he knows that. Fuck, he knows that. He's irritable and tired and he fucking knows that he was at work when she was ovulating and he's not sure when this baby thing went from not right now to borderline obsession, and he's pissed. At himself, at the situation, at the NYPD, at the world for refusing to stop for five fucking minutes so that he can be with his wife after all the shit they've endured.
[All that being said, she did practically attack him because he asked about Brody. He's fucking insecure right now, okay? He's that stupid little kid who just wants everything to be okay.]
"You jumped down my fuckin' throat," he counters mildly. "I'm sorry, Rach. I shouldn't have said - what I said. I - I love you, and this sucks." He's getting thinner, the muscles standing out on his frame and he's practically surviving on coffee. They're both stressed, sleeping little, working long hours, and it's taking its toll on both of them, on their relationship. "I should be home in a couple hours," he murmurs, reaching out to stroke her cheek again with gentle fingers, his gaze pleading. "Go, have some tea, go sleep. Call me when you get home so I know you made it safe, okay? - Unless you want one of the guys to drop you off. I can ask." I'd feel safer, he doesn't say, but he'll be content with just a phone call.