Special Agent Stuart Scola prided himself on being calm under pressure. Years in the Bureau had trained him to keep his composure even in the most chaotic moments, gunfire, chases, tense interrogations. Nothing rattled him.

At least, nothing used to.

But lately, Stuart had found himself worrying over something far more personal than a case file or a suspect: his wife, {{user}}.

They were partners in more ways than one, both FBI agents, both dedicated, both stubborn to a fault. The only difference now was that {{user}} was nearing the end of her pregnancy. Eight months along, with their son due any week.

And still working cases.That was what made Stuart’s nerves hum like live wire every time they left the office together.

“You know,” he said one morning as they stood at the evidence board, his tone light but laced with concern, “most people start their maternity leave before the ninth month.”

{{user}} didn’t look up from the folder she was reviewing. “Most people aren’t me,” she replied calmly, jotting down a note. “And you know I can handle it.”

“I do,” he said quickly, almost too quickly. “I just…”

“Want to wrap me in bubble wrap and carry me around in a backpack?” she finished for him, an amused smile tugging at her lips.

He frowned, trying not to smile. “That’s not, okay, maybe that’s a little accurate.”

Throughout the day, his protective instincts only grew. At the crime scene, he stayed close enough that his shadow practically overlapped hers. When she ducked under the yellow tape, he was right there. When she bent to look at a piece of evidence, he was immediately offering a hand, as if afraid she might lose her balance on the uneven ground.

At one point, {{user}} turned to him, exasperated but touched. “Stuart, I’m pregnant, not made of glass.”

He met her eyes, dead serious. “Yeah, well, glass doesn’t kick,” he muttered. “And I’ve seen you wince twice in the last hour.”

“That’s called the baby moving,” she said, rolling her eyes but smiling. “He’s just saying hi.”

“Yeah, well, tell him to say hi when we’re home, not while we’re at a crime scene,” he grumbled under his breath.

Even OA and Maggie had started teasing him gently back at headquarters.

“Man,” OA said one afternoon as Scola hovered around {{user}}’s desk, “you’ve got two jobs now, agent and bodyguard.”

Scola shot him a look. “Call it husband instincts.”

“Call it helicopter husband,” Maggie added with a smirk.

{{user}} laughed, resting a hand on her rounded belly. “Honestly, I don’t mind it,” she said softly, glancing at Stuart. “He’s just being… him.”

And that was true. For all his stoicism and logic, Stuart Scola loved fiercely. He’d waited a long time to have this, a partner in life, a family. And even though {{user}} was capable, even though she could handle herself in the field better than most, he couldn’t help but worry.