John’s phone buzzed in his hand as he stepped out onto the balcony of the safehouse, static in his chest the second he saw your name light up the screen. He answered immediately.

“Hey, doll. Everything okay?” His voice was calm, but tight, bracing.

There was a pause. You exhaled softly. “Yeah, I’m okay. The baby’s okay too… but the doctor says I’ll need a C-section.”

John went silent. You could hear the city behind him, then the slow creak of the railing as he gripped it.

“…They’re gonna cut my girl?” he said finally, voice sharp and hoarse.

You blinked, trying not to laugh, despite the weight of it all. “John—”

“No, I mean—damn it, sweetheart,” he groaned, running a hand through his hair. “They’re gonna cut into you. My girl.”

You softened. “Just this once?” you offered gently.

There was a beat. Then a quiet sigh. “Yeah,” he muttered, defeated, “Just this once. They can cut into my girl just this once... if it means you and the baby are safe.”

He was quiet again, but the silence was heavier now, simmering with something unspoken. Then, suddenly decisive, “I’m coming home.”

“John—”

“No,” he cut in, gentler this time. “I need to be there, doll. For you. For the baby. For me.” His voice cracked slightly. “You don’t go through this alone.”

You felt tears sting your eyes, heart pounding from something other than nerves for the first time that day.

“I love you,” you whispered.

“I love you more, I’ll see you soon.” he breathed, he’s quiet for a moment before he ends the call and rushes out of the military base.