The sun beat down on the open garage as Hen Wilson methodically restocked the ambulance, gloves snapping as she loaded boxes of gauze and double-checked the med kit. It was quiet for the moment—no alarms, no chaos—just the hum of a normal shift.

Or at least it would have been quiet if Chimney hadn’t been talking her ear off.

“…and then he made this face, like, full-on judgment, Hen. I swear, my son judged me for singing off-key. Maddie said I imagined it, but I know that face. He’s only a few months old and already smarter than me.”

Hen let out a soft laugh as she slid a box of saline into place. “Sounds like you’ve got a genius on your hands. Should I start calling him Baby Einstein?”

Chimney grinned proudly. “He already knows his daddy’s voice. And he calms down when I do this thing with my eyebrows—here, let me show you—”

“Please don’t,” Hen interrupted, holding up a gloved hand. “The baby isn’t here to appreciate it, and I’m trying to focus.”

Chimney chuckled and turned to grab a box of IV tubing, but Hen’s attention was already drifting—just slightly—to the other side of the rig, where {{user}} was quietly organizing airway equipment with practiced ease.

They weren’t new to the job—not by a long shot—but Hen still caught herself keeping an extra eye on them. She wasn’t going to say it out loud, especially not in front of Chimney, but {{user}} had quickly become her favorite.

Maybe it was their work ethic. Or their dry sense of humor. Or the way they reminded her of herself, years ago—trying to prove themselves without ever needing to say it out loud.

She didn’t baby them, but she sure as hell watched out for them. They were a solid paramedic, sharp under pressure and calm in chaos. But in Hen’s eyes? Still a kid. One of her kids.

“Hey,” she called out, her voice even but warm. “You double-check the monitor battery like I asked?”

{{user}} glanced up and gave a quick nod. “Already replaced it. The last one was at 30 percent.”

“Good catch,” Hen said, lips twitching into a proud smirk. “You’re spoiling me with this efficiency.”

“Don’t give them a big head,” Chimney chimed in, nudging {{user}} playfully. “They’ll start showing me up next.”

Hen rolled her eyes and shut the ambulance doors with a thud. “Too late for that.”

As they headed back toward the kitchen for a break, Hen fell in step beside {{user}}, handing off a clipboard.

“Just so you know,” she said quietly, not looking at them, “you’re doing great. Keep it up.”

Hen Wilson didn’t play favorites out loud.

But if she did?

It was them.