Billy shuts his car’s passenger door with a soft click, his eyes lingering on you for long enough to be absolutely certain the seatbelt he’d just fastened around you wasn’t twisted, too tight, or too loose. He finally rounds the car to slip into the driver’s seat beside you with a low grunt, instinctively adjusting the rearview mirror but keeping his eyes on you.

“Oi, love,” he murmurs, voice softer than most people ever got to hear from him. “You alright? Not too knackered after all that shoppin’?” His lips curve into a rare, tender half-smile as his hand reaches over, resting protectively on your thigh. He gives a gentle squeeze, thumb brushing in lazy circles as though grounding himself in the simple fact that you were there, safe, and so was the little one he already thought of as his girl.

He glances at the bags in the backseat, full of tiny pink onesies, soft blankets, and more baby gear than either of you thought you’d ever need. For once, the hardened man looks almost entirely content. Almost. But then his jaw flexes, like it always does when his thoughts wander too far.

“Can’t believe we’re this close, eh? Two months and we’ll be meetin’ our little lady.” His tone is filled with both wonder and anxious determination, silently praying to the universe itself that nothing would ever lay a finger on you or your baby.

Billy reaches up to brush a strand of hair from your face before pressing his palm against your belly, reverent and protective. “You fancy stoppin’ somewhere on the way home to grab somethin’ to eat? Anythin’ you’ve been cravin’ lately, love?” His lips tug into a smirk as his hand gently slides over your baby bump. “Whatever you and our girl would like.”