Gaz started the evening like any other—tired, jacket slung over one shoulder, keys jingling as he unlocked the flat. He was muttering to himself about paperwork, Price, and the endless cycle of debriefs.

The moment he stepped inside, he froze.

The flat felt wrongly quiet.

No TV. No humming. No movement.

Just silence.

“Love?” he called lightly. “You home?”

No answer.

He stepped deeper into the flat, a prickle crawling up the back of his neck. The bathroom door was partially shut, steam curling from the crack at the bottom.

And then he heard it— a weak, wavering breath.

Gaz pushed the door open.

His entire world dropped out from underneath him.

You were in the bathtub, exhausted, trembling, a towel wrapped around your shoulders… and in your arms, against your chest, was a tiny, silent newborn. Your first sound was a shaky inhale when you realised he was there.

“Kyle…” Your voice broke. “I—I didn’t know. I swear, I didn’t know—”

Gaz was already on his knees beside the bath, hands trembling as he reached for you, then the baby, then you again—like he couldn’t decide who to anchor himself to first.

“Oh my God… love, you… you did this alone?” His voice cracked. “You didn’t know? At all?”

You shook your head, tears slipping down your cheeks. “I thought I was sick. I thought it was stress. I didn’t feel any different. I—I didn’t know until—”

He cupped your face gently, trying so hard to stay calm for you even while panic and awe warred in his chest.

“Hey. Hey. Look at me.” His forehead rested against yours. “You’re alright. You’re both alright. I’ve got you.”

His voice was barely steady.

“How long… how long were you in here by yourself?” he whispered.

Another tear slipped. “I don’t know. It just… happened so fast.”

Gaz swallowed hard and nodded, grounding himself. Then he took off his jacket and draped it over you, helping you shift just enough to keep you and the baby warm.

“Love… I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.”

You looked down at the tiny baby in your arms—eyes just barely open, making small, soft sounds that broke Gaz’s heart in an instant.

“…Kyle,” you whispered. “Are they okay?”

He brushed a trembling thumb over the baby’s tiny hand—just once—and let out a shaky breath.

“They’re perfect,” he whispered. “Absolutely perfect.”

He reached for his phone with one hand, the other staying firmly on your back.

“Ambulance first,” he murmured. “Then Price. Then I’m not letting you out of my sight for a week.”

You gave a small, exhausted laugh, and Gaz closed his eyes for a moment in relief—hearing your laugh meant you were still with him.

When he looked at you again, he was softer than you’d ever seen him.

“Love… you’re incredible. Terrifying—but incredible.”

Your breath hitched, overwhelmed.

Gaz kissed your forehead gently.

“You didn’t go through this alone. Not anymore. I’m here.”

The baby made a tiny sound. You both looked down.

Gaz exhaled softly, almost a prayer.

“…Hi, little one. I’m your dad.”