I'm a great doctor. I'm a better surgeon, but I'm a great doctor. Being how I am, or how I was, people were always shocked whenever they found out that I work with kids. Not that I work with children; I work with babies in the NICU/PICU department of Great Ormond Street Hospital, a job that I absolutely love, even if I have to take the graveyard shift every few days. 

Today, I'd swapped shifts with Yasmina so that she could go home to her sickly daughter. I was glad of the distraction because I'd really rather be here tonight than back at my houseboat. I heard Martha talking to Lottie on the phone this morning, something about coming over and teaching Martha to cook shortbread biscuits, and I knew then that I could not be around for that. 

I'd been actively avoiding Lottie since Saturday. That kiss had spun me out and I didn't know what it meant. It could have been because she was trying to shut me up when I was ranting at her for taking Martha shopping after her airport arrest, but part of me thinks that there was some other motivation behind it. No one kisses like that unless it means something but I wasn't all that good at figuring Charlotte Delaney out. If I were, I would know exactly where I stood with her. I don't, though, and I find that it bugs me more than it really should. 

What does it mean when the woman carrying your child suddenly pounces on you even though she's made it more than clear that nothing will ever happen between us? 

Pregnancy hormones. I bet that'll be the excuse she gives me. Because God forbid I actually get a straightforward answer from her on the matter. She skates around everything and I don't know where I stand anymore. I want to be part of Lottie's life beyond simply being the father of her child and coming from me, that's a big deal. Honestly, it's a bigger deal than winning the lottery. 

Before Lottie, I was content to sleep around. Alyssa had fucked me up enough that I would never allow any woman to come that close to repeating what she had done to me. Keep them at arm's length, on the periphery, where they don't hold any power over you and you'll never get hurt again. At least, that's what I thought I should be doing. All it took was one night and my whole outlook on it changed. I'd allowed someone to break down that barrier I'd put up; I'd allowed someone to get close to me and dare I say it, but I liked being with Lottie. She made everything seem better, if only for a moment. Still, she ran from me. The only person that could ever fix me and she was running from me, breaking me that little bit more. 

That's why I need whatever happens between us happen on her terms. If I pushed, I'd be giving more of myself away to her and I don't have much of me left to lose. My heart was still fragile, prone to breaking under even the slightest pressure. 

God, I sound like such a girl right now.

"I didn't know you were working tonight," my colleague, Dr. Benjamin Copeland, said as he entered the staff workroom and pulled up a chair next to me. He scanned the paperwork that was on the desk- the paperwork I've been staring at for hours- and frowned when he noticed a sonogram picture. "Gastroschisis? God, that sucks. When's the baby due?"

"Early August but we're going to induce," I explain. Leaning back in my chair, I shuffle the documents together and place it at the top of my work pile. "It's not just the intestines outside of the abdominal wall, but the stomach and liver, too. It's going to take a few attempts before we can get the little man home."

Ben frowns. "I have a percutaneous pulmonary valve replacement if you fancy that instead?" When I don't respond, Ben laughs and starts to help me get my things together. My night shift was almost over and I was dying to go home to my bed but I had just a few more things to do. Handing me a stack of work, Ben's hands move to the baby name book that I'd been flicking through earlier. "Is this yours?"

"Yes," I nod. I hadn't yet told my work colleagues about Lottie or the fact that I was about to become a father for the second time. That would mean having to explain Martha and that wasn't something I liked discussing. With Ben's eyes on me, however, I knew that I'd best give him a brief explanation before he started making up his own version of events. "I, uh... There's this woman and we're... I'm, you know..."

"I think what you're trying to say is that you're going to be a dad," Ben helped me along when he saw that I was floundering. Patting my shoulder, he grinned. "Congratulations. You're going to have to bring your girlfriend in one day so we can all meet her. The nurses will all be devastated. Not to worry, I can console them."

 After telling him that he was more than welcome to do that, I pack my bag and leave it in the staff room before heading out to check on some of my patients. One, a little girl named Bryony, was extremely poorly and I wasn't sure if she was going to pull through. She'd been born prematurely and has necrotising enterocolitis, where the tissue in the intestines has started to die and the contents of her intestines have leaked into her abdomen. She's had several infections, each worse than the last and things weren't looking good for her. 

I wash my hands and put on a hospital gown before entering the intensive care room, nodding at one of the nurses on duty tonight. Making my way over to Bryony, I reach into her intensive care incubator and softly stroke her cheek with my index finger. She stirs slightly under my touch but not enough that she wakes up. I smile at her and quickly do some routine checks, updating her charts once I was done. 

"Hold in, baby girl," I whisper to her. "I'm going to make sure that you get through this. I just need you to be strong for that little while longer. Can you do that for me, bindi?"

Bindi is an Indigenous name that means little girl, and I'm not sure where the habit began, but I use the name on most of the baby girls I treat. There isn't a similar name of boys, not that I'm aware of, so I make do by calling them 'little man'. The nurses all think it's adorable. 

"Hey, Claire, I want to know if anything changes with Bryony Carlson, ok?" I tell the staff nurse that had been on Bryony's case with me since she first arrived. "Page me if things change. I don't care if it's the middle of the night, I want to know, alright?"

Claire nodded. "Sure, Fletch. Get home. You look like crap."

Checking my watch, I see that it's almost two a.m. and I'm more than ready for bed. I made quick work of grabbing my bag and hot footing it from the hospital, taking the quickest route home. I was sure by the time I got back, there wouldn't be the possibility of seeing Charlotte Delaney but a certainty of seeing my bed. 

I was practically skipping my way to the boathouse, fishing my keys from my pocket. I should have known that there was something wrong the second I stepped onto the deck but I was too focused on jumping into bed that I hardly paid any attention to the fact that the lights inside were on. 

"Hi, Dad," Martha cheerily greeted me as soon as I stepped foot inside. "We made you some biscuits. Want to join us for our movie marathon session?"

"Us?" Turning to face my daughter, I saw that she was sitting in the armchair, a bowl of popcorn in one hand, a mug of hot chocolate, her eyes glued to whatever film was playing on the TV. Lying on the other sofa, fast asleep was Charlotte. Dropping my voice to a whisper, I try to get my daughter's attention. "Martha, why is Lottie here?"

"Biscuits and movies, Dad," Martha says in that tone of voice that tells me I really should have known the answer. "She got tired of waiting for you so she kinda just fell asleep."

Picking up the TV remote, I hit the off button and chance my luck in facing down a furious Martha. Thankfully, she didn't put up too much of a fight. Standing up from her chair, Martha comes to wrap her arms around my waist, mutters something about going to bed as she attempts to stifle a yawn, and quickly disappears in the direction of her room. 

All the while, I'm left standing in the middle of the living room, watching Lottie as she softly snores, her hand delicately cradling her stomach. I shrug out of my jacket and kick off my shoes before creeping towards Lottie. Attempting to wake her, she swatted my hand from her forehead, mumbling, "No. Sleep."

"Lottie, sweetheart," I whisper, kneeling on the floor so that I was now face-to-face with her. "You need to get up, love. You can't sleep out here."

Her eyes fluttered open slowly, blinking up at me through her sleep haze. "Hello," she says in a gravelly voice. The corners of her lips turned upwards into a smile. "You're home."

"Good, you're awake." Getting up, I move to sit on the edge of the coffee table opposite the couch. "You should take the bed, Charl-"

"I hate it when you call me Charlotte," she interrupts me, a deep line forming between her eyebrows. "I don't like it when you call me Lottie, either, but I cannot abide you calling me Charlotte. Why do you do that?"

I shrug before countering with my own question. "Why do you call me Isaac?"

"That's your name," Lottie replies. It was weird how she had the same tone as Martha in her voice. Perhaps they've been spending too much time together. "Why am I the only one allowed to call you that? I've noticed how everyone else calls you Fletch, so why am I different?"

Her observation was right. No one calls me Isaac, other than my immediate family and even then, Alice prefers to call me Fletch. Mum has a habit of usually skirting around my name, Dad calls me son, and May doesn't really talk to me enough for me to know what moniker she uses for me. My friends, though, all know me as Fletch. Once, they tried to call me Isaac but it just didn't sound right. 

"Because you are, Lottie," I whisper. There was more to the reason but that wasn't something I was going to get into at such a late hour. Getting up, I reach out a hand for Lottie to take and pull her onto her feet. "You can take the bedroom and I'll sleep on the couch."

"You just worked a twelve-hour shift, Isaac," Lottie reminds me. She tries to push against my bicep but I don't think it has the desired effect, seeing as I barely moved. "I can go home and you can have your own bed."

"Seriously?" Exasperated at her stupid talk, I stoop down and in one swift move, I pick Lottie up, bridal style, and carry her below deck. Heading for the bedroom, I ignore her protests and open the door, finally settling her down on the bed. "There. See, how hard was that?"

I heard her groan in frustration, but thankfully, Lottie doesn't argue. She scoots to the edge of the bed and I can feel her eyes follow me as I gather some extra pj's. I take a clean pair for myself and set them on top of the dresser before I turn and hand a pair of Lottie. She takes them and sets them on the bed next to her but never once did she move her gaze from me.

"Why am I the only one that gets to call you Isaac?"

"Charlotte-"

"Isaac."

I rub my eyes with the heel of my hands and let a long sigh flow from my lips. "Alyssa used to call me Sac as a nickname and after what she did to me, I hated hearing anyone else call me Isaac. Except you," I answer, looking over at Lottie. "I don't let people get too close to me, especially women. When I say that you are different, it's because you are."

"Saturday-"

"We don't need to talk about Saturday," I assure her.

"But I want to," Lottie says, her voice certain of the words she spoke. "Can you come and sit down first."

I step closer and sit on the edge of the bed, ignoring the laugh that falls from Lottie's lips. She shuffles closer and takes my hand in hers, her thumb tracing patterns on my skin. "I could tell you that I didn't mean to kiss you or that it was the hormones that made me do it but I'd be lying. You're broken, Isaac, and so am I. We're both broken in very different ways," she shakily speaks. I haven't heard her talk about her last relationship, but I knew the history between them. "You said that if anything was going to happen between us that it would have to be because I initiated it. That kiss was me initiating it. I don't think us going head first into a relationship is the way to go but I like us hanging out, I like getting to know you better, I like the fact that we're building a family. I like all of that and I like you."

I frown. "What does that even mean?"

"It means I like you, Isaac Lachlan Fletcher!" She screeches. Her hand flies to cover her mouth as her eyes move to the door, scared that Martha could have heard her outburst. When we don't hear any movement, Lottie blushes and drops her gaze to where our hands are interlocked. "I like you. More than I wanted to, if I'm honest. You make me laugh, you make me feel protected, you get along with my family-"

"I hate Sophie."

"You're not the first person to have said that," she laughs at my seriousness. "God, I've lost my train of thoughts now. What was I saying?"

"You were saying that you like me," I remind her. 

She nods. "I was saying that, wasn't I?" Silence falls over us but it wasn't awkward. Not in the least. "You don't have to sleep on the couch, Isaac. This bed is big enough for two. Well, two and a half seeing as the bump keeps getting bigger and bigger."

I reach a hand over to her stomach and lie it flat against the neat bump. "It's not that big. Ok, so if I sleep in here with you, don't be getting any ideas. Just because you like me doesn't mean you can take advantage of me in the middle of the night."

"You rumbled my master plan," Lottie jokes. "So, remind me because New Year's Eve was a long time ago now, which side of the bed do you prefer?"