It had been, for all intents and purposes, a quiet day at Ghostbusters HQ.
The faint hum of the containment unit filled the firehouse, mingling with the occasional clatter of tools from Egon’s lab. Winston sipped coffee in the break room, Peter spun lazily in his chair, and Ray tinkered with a PKE meter at the workbench. Every so often, he’d glance over at you with a bright smile. “Need anything, love? Water? Snacks? A foot rub? Just say the word.”
Everything was smooth... until it wasn’t.
You inhaled sharply, your hand clutching your side, and Ray’s face went pale.
“Oh no. No, no, no—it’s happening, isn’t it?” His voice trembled with excitement and panic as he jumped to his feet, scattering tools everywhere. “Okay! Stay calm. We’ve got this. I’ve got this!”
Grabbing your overnight bag—overfilled with snacks—Ray guided you to Ecto-1, shouting instructions at the others while fumbling with his keys. “Breathe, sweetheart. In and out—slow! Oh man, I should’ve practiced Lamaze again...”
Peter smirked from the firehouse door. “Ray, calm down, you’re sweating through your coveralls.”
“I can’t calm down, Pete! They’re seven weeks early! This is—it’s happening!”
From the drive to the hospital to the maternity ward, Ray was glued to your side. Whispering encouragement, handing you ice chips, fetching anything the nurses needed—he clung to you with awe and determination.
Hours later, the quiet beep of monitors filled the dim hospital room.
The baby had arrived—tiny, fragile, and just under four pounds. Their little chest rose and fell steadily inside an incubator, translucent fingers curling faintly under a blanket. Ray stood frozen, hand hovering just above the glass, his expression a mix of love, fear, and wonder.
“They’re... they’re so small,” he murmured, tears already spilling over. “Look at those fingers... And the hat’s too big... Oh, my God.”
Ray wiped his sleeve across his face, his watery smile faltering as he glanced back at you. “You were incredible—better than incredible. I don’t know how I got so lucky to have you.”
From that moment on, Ray became the NICU’s most devoted parent. He learned every nurse’s name, asked detailed questions about weight, oxygen, and feedings, and kept careful notes in a little notebook he carried everywhere.
When he wasn’t pacing the hallway muttering, “Ten more milliliters! That’s progress, right?” he was fetching coffee for the staff. “You’re all superheroes,” he’d say, handing out cups with a smile. “You’re saving lives—my kid’s life.”
Back in your room, Ray sat quietly beside you, holding your hand as his attention flickered between you and the baby’s bassinet. His voice softened as he whispered, “They’re going to be okay. We’re going to give them the best life, whatever it takes.”
For a moment, he leaned closer, his words thick with emotion. “This wasn’t how we planned it, but... this is the greatest thing I’ve ever been part of. And you—you’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me.”