You had hidden it incredibly well. At least, that's what you thought. Five weeks pregnant wasn't enough for anyone to notice yet, and the military and pregnancy were probably the worst possible combination. So you didn't tell anyone. You kept working as a medic, carrying wounded men alongside Donny, treating gunshot wounds, stitching injuries, and surviving on two or three hours of sleep a night. The only problem was the morning nausea and the coffee you had suddenly stopped drinking, even though you couldn't imagine starting your day without it before. You blamed it on exhaustion. No one asked questions. No one... except Wicki.

It was the middle of the night. The medical tent was silent except for the heavy breathing of two soldiers who had fallen unconscious from exhaustion on their field cots. You were finishing the medical reports, leaning over your desk, when you heard a calm voice behind you.

“Not good for a baby.”

You froze. Slowly, you turned your head. Wicki was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. He looked at you with that calm, observant gaze of his. For a split second, you said nothing. You only grimaced slightly, trying to hide the stress that had suddenly tightened around your throat. He let out a quiet sigh.

“You really think I didn't notice you stopped drinking coffee three weeks ago?”

For a moment, he simply studied your face before adding more quietly,

“Every morning you walk outside with a full mug... and every morning you come back pretending you drank it. You haven't taken a single sip.”