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Bridget was pregnant. Seven, almost eight months, to be exact. And there was only one week until Christmas. Exhausted didn't even begin to describe how she felt--even when she had been pregnant with Will, all on her own, her energy had been great. She remembered dragging a Christmas tree across London all by herself, damning both men who had basically left her high and dry with almost three months left in her pregnancy.
Now, though, was different. She wasn't sure if she should chalk it up to having a toddler to chase after this time around, or the fact that this time she was carrying a girl, but this entire pregnancy had been totally different than the one she had with Will. She was exhausted all the time, and even though Mark was completely present and attentive to her, she still felt like a bloated whale. Her hips widened and she felt like all of the weight she was gaining was going straight to her face.
Poor Mark was baring the brunt of her hormones with ecstatic resilience--he had been overjoyed when he found out that they were expecting again, and he took it upon himself to be the most devoted partner to her throughout all nine months. It didn't stop her occasional outburst or sporadic crying jags, though, and Mark further proved what an amazing man he truly was. Instead of finding these moments frustrating and sometimes infuriating, he instead would take her in his arms and let her cry, or he would quietly creep into whatever room she had stormed into with a chocolate biscuit and a sympathetic look.
When they had found out that they were expecting a daughter this time around, Bridget saw a side of Mark that hadn't shown itself with Will. Yes, he loved their son more than anything in the world and showered him with affection at any given chance, but once the ultrasound revealed that it was indeed a little sister that was growing inside of Bridget, Mark’s fiercely protective side came out. He would whisper his wishes for their daughter as he laid next Bridget each night-- she will be independent, and bright, and stand up for herself. But god help the man (or woman, for that matter), who dares to break her heart. Mark wasn't one for threats, but something in his voice made Bridget believe him.
Sometimes Bridget wondered how she had even survived her first pregnancy without Mark. Now that he was around for all of the moments he had missed out on with Will, Mark was making up for lost time. He would kneel in front of her while she brushed her teeth in the morning and place the broad expanse of his hands across the taut skin of her belly. As he kneeled there, usually in a pair of crisp suit trousers and a starched button down, he would whisper good morning to his daughter, placing a kiss against Bridget's belly button. Bridget, still in a nightie with morning hair, would look down at her husband and emotion would catch in her throat. My knight in a Savile Row suit.
Even when he came home from work, Mark showed her just how much he loved her every night--he would rub her tired feet without protest, or help to massage mineral oil on her calves to ward off cramps. He would calmly intervene during Will’s meltdowns, the type indicative of toddlers not getting their way. Bridget would hear him evenly talking to their son in hushed tones while she secretly lusted after a glass of wine. It always amazed her how quickly Will’s sobs would diffuse into hiccups, just from listening to his father. Mark truly was a savior, even just for making her a cup of tea every morning (despite Jack Quant’s protests with Will). He knew exactly what she needed, exactly when she needed it.
This is why it was such a blow when he came to her mid-November with a somber look on his face.
“Bridget, we need to talk,” he said as he laid next to her in bed. She had already cocooned herself around her pregnancy pillow, her face smushed into the softness of it. Mark had been reading a novel, occasionally humming to himself, which had lulled Bridget into a dreamlike state. She could tell from the tone of his voice, though, that the hums had been contemplative ones instead of contented ones.
“What'sa matter?” she murmured, lifting her head off of the pillow.
Mark sighed and removed his glasses. “I have some bad news,” he continued, looking over at her out of the corner of his eye. “I've been asked to take on a monthlong case in Honduras. It's a human trafficking case, and the office has led me to believe that I'm the only one who can actually make an impact.”
Bridget was now fully awake, staring at him intently. “When would you leave?” she asked bluntly. Long ago were the days when she would dance around confronting him--they were a family now, and that meant stating the facts up front.
“Monday,” Mark replied.
“But Mark, it's Thursday. And you'll be gone for a month? You'll miss Christmas!”
Mark ran a hand down his face as he looked in her direction. She could see the sadness in his eyes, and despite her fear and frustration, she couldn't help feeling sad along with him.
“I know,” he whispered, clearly too ashamed to make eye contact with her.
Bridget chose her words carefully. Gone were the days of outbursts and arguing. Mark asked for nothing in their relationship, and she knew that his main focus was providing for his family, no matter the circumstances. It took her a long time to realize that these moments weren't selfish, vindictive assaults on her sanity, but rather selfless sacrifices Mark made to ensure a good life for her and his children.
“Mark, if you really need to, I won't protest. We'll miss you terribly, but I know you have to do this. Will it be safe?”
Mark looked at her with gratitude in his eyes. “I’ll miss you, terribly. More than I can tell you. I’m going to miss out on an entire month of your pregnancy, and it’s killing me that I won’t be here on Christmas morning to see Will’s face when he comes downstairs. The entire situation is absolute shit.”
“Honduras, though...you won’t be in an awful lot of danger, will you?” Bridget couldn’t stop fixating on the possibility of something happening to Mark, and even though she sympathized with him on all of his points, she needed to know he would be safe.
Mark reached across the sheets to take her hand. He gave it a gentle squeeze as he allowed a sad smile to cross his lips. “I’ll be fine, my love. Nothing too unsafe...mostly office work and the like. It still doesn’t make it any easier being away from you all, though.”
Bridget sighed, allowing herself to relax a little. “Can I ask a favor?” she asked, lying back down on the pillow.
“Of course. Anything for you.”
“Can you help us put up the tree this weekend? Since you won’t be here to do it? I think it will help ease the pain of you not being here on Christmas…”
Mark smiled at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It would be my honor to help you put up the tree this weekend.”
“And maybe let me take one more bath before you leave? I’m talking up to an hour’s soak. With bubbles and one of those fancy bath bombs?”
“I’ll personally take you to that place Miranda told you about to let you pick out as many bubbles and bath bombs as you want.”
Bridget grinned at her husband, and Mark smiled back at her. He leaned over and kissed her gently on the lips, cupping her chin with his hand. “Love you,” she murmured. Mark kissed her again and said, “Not as much as I love you.”
Bridget forewent the pregnancy pillow that night, opting instead to prop her ever-growing bump on Mark’s torso as she wrapped her legs around his. She fell asleep in his arms, thankful for the best husband she could ask for.
Almost four weeks later, Bridget found herself surprisingly capable of being a single pregnant parent. With the help of her friends, she had managed to not only order most of her Christmas gifts ( Thank god for Amazon ), but also head into town to make sure she got Mark the perfect gift. He was constantly taking photos of Will with his phone, so Bridget decided to upgrade his camera to an actual DSLR. She had even sprung for a monogrammed leather strap to go with it. She knew he would love it.
Jude had popped by a few times with her own brood to help Bridget wrap gifts, and Tom had stopped by to help her decorate the outside of the house. As always, Shaz had just been the reliable one to keep her sane and laughing instead of distraught and crying. She was very thankful for her friends this holiday season--she wasn't sure that the holidays would have even happened if it weren't for them.
As with any business trip, Mark FaceTimed her and Will religiously. London was six hours ahead of Mark in Honduras, so he would FaceTime them right before his got his day started. Usually Bridget and Will were eating lunch as Mark was wolfing down a breakfast on the go, but it brought some normalcy to their days. It helped ease the ache in Bridget's chest when she woke up each morning and realized he wasn't next to her. Will’s face especially lit up when he saw Mark’s face on Bridget's phone. Hearing the two of them babble to each other excitedly was enough to make her heart explode. She could hear the longing in Mark’s voice when he would end the call with two fingers pressed to the screen after gently placing a kiss on them.
Now they were only one week away from Christmas, and Pam Jones, in a selfless act of compassion, offered to take Will for the weekend so that Bridget could get some last minute tidying done before the holidays. Bridget readily jumped on the offer, and packed her son’s overnight bag to send him off to Grafton Underwood. She was convinced that she was going to get a ton accomplished, and she was thankful for the chance to be distracted from the fact that Mark wouldn't be home for Christmas.
Their FaceTime date the day before was a little more somber than the others had been. Bridget had tried incredibly hard to not bring it up, but she could see in Mark’s eyes that he was being unforgivably hard on himself. They had ended the call with a sad smile to each other, Mark’s two fingers lingering on the screen longer than normal, and Bridget pressing her own kiss up against them. It was nowhere near as satisfying as she had hoped.
Now, though, she had a distraction. The decorations had been up for weeks, but Will’s toys were everywhere, and laundry was piled up higher than she cared to admit. She was thankful for the quiet and the calm that would allow her to get everything done before Christmas Eve, and she busily (if slowly) got to work. The laundry got folded, the toys put away, and she even got to dust the furniture in the living room. Unfortunately, she didn't realize just how long it would take her.
By 8:00 that night, Bridget collapsed on the couch in a huff of exhaustion. “Bloody hell,” she muttered, pushing a stray strand of hair out of her face. The Christmas tree Mark had helped decorate before his departure glowed in the corner of the room, and Bridget felt a happy ache in her heart. He loves us so much, she thought smugly to herself as she looked at the tree. Mark had been able to put the star atop it without even using a ladder. The memory made her smile. He'll be home soon enough. Just a few more weeks and then we'll have him home.
Bridget could feel her eyes getting heavy as she sat in the warm glow of the tree. A little lie down couldn't hurt , she thought sleepily to herself as she rubbed a hand across her stretched stomach. Her daughter kicked against her hand, and Bridget smiled. “Daddy will be so surprised to see how big you've gotten,” she murmured down to the jabs against her ribs. She missed the way Mark would pay homage to them both in the mornings. If she tried hard enough, she could almost feel the stretch of his hands against her stomach, and the soft kiss he always placed there.
Swinging her feet up onto the couch, Bridget settled herself down to rest. She pulled the throw off the back of the couch and tucked it around her. Before she knew it, she was completely out. She slept deeply, her body finally getting the rest it had been avoiding for weeks.
Bridget dreamt of Mark, his face vividly in front of hers. She could see the darker brown flecks in the honey brown of his eyes, and the dimples that appeared when he grinned that crooked grin at her. She could almost feel the smoothness of his cheek under her palm as Dream Bridget gently ran the pad of her thumb across his cheek. Mark’s hair was fluffy and soft, like on the days he didn't go into work. Dream Bridget raked her nails through it, taking pleasure in the small parts of her husband that she missed so much. Even in her dream, she could feel the extensive space his hands covered as Dream Mark caressed her belly. She felt his lips on hers, and it was so real that she subconsciously found it alarming.
Bridget's eyes flew open, startled by the way the dream made her feel. It was as if Mark had been right in the room with her...and when Bridget's eyes flew open, what she saw startled her even more.
Mark was in the room with her, kneeling next to the couch so that his face was even with hers. He looked travel worn, but so, so happy. He had a white v-neck t-shirt on underneath a heavy blue cardigan, and his hair was soft and mussed. His glasses sat on his face, now inching up towards his hairline as he grinned at her. The apples of his cheeks were still red from the cold outside, and the color gave him a boyish look. Bridget could feel the solidity of his hand against her bump, and she felt their daughter give an enthusiastic kick into his hand.
“ Mark?” she gasped, sitting up as quickly as she could.
“Hello my darling,” he whispered.
“What are you doing here? You’re not due back to London for another two weeks.”
“Well, I made some arrangements with the younger barristers that went with me, and I was able to fly back today instead of when I was supposed to. I couldn’t bare the thought of spending Christmas anywhere else besides here, with you and Will.”
At this declaration, Bridget’s eyes immediately filled with tears. “Oh, Mark,” she rasped, throwing herself forward to fling her arms around his neck. He smelled like warm spice and citrus, and she could feel his pulse against her cheek. Mark wrapped his long arms around her, squeezing her with some reserve--Bridget knew that he was always vigilant of the baby inside of her, and she couldn’t help smiling at him holding back from squeezing her any tighter. She took it upon herself to squeeze him with force, making up for the both of them. Mark placed a kiss against the smooth part behind her ear, holding it there for quite some time as Bridget’s senses continued to be overwhelmed with Mark’s presence.
Mark pulled back, his hands squeezing the upper part of Bridget’s arms. “God, I’ve missed you,” he murmured, his eyes searching her face as a small, happy smile played on his lips. One of his hands came up to her face, and he used his pinky to wipe away a tear that had started to snake its way down her cheek. Bridget caught his hand in hers, not wanting it to leave--she kissed his knuckles, then held the back of his hand against her cheek as she stared into his face.
“I can’t believe you’re here.”
“Did you really think I would leave you alone on Christmas?”
“I didn’t think you wanted to, but I figured you had to. We would have managed...Will’s actually with my mum right now, so I could get things done. And Shaz, Tom and Jude have been a huge help. Really, there isn’t much else to do. I think I would have survived.”
Mark laughed and shook his head. “Stop being so pragmatic,” he teased, kissing her forehead. “I meant it from a sentimental standpoint, but I guess it serves me right that you immediately jumped to the logical end of things...I don’t do emotional declarations well.”
It was Bridget’s turn to laugh now, amused at how Mark’s way of thinking had started to seep into her own thought process. “Sorry. Guess I was just caught up in all of the things I had to do." Bridget paused. "I don’t think I could’ve managed Christmas without you, in all honesty. I could barely manage these past few weeks without you.”
“I couldn’t manage without you. Which is why I’m home.”
Mark stood up from his kneeling position and held out his hand for his wife. Bridget took it, feeling Mark’s long, square fingers enclose hers. A happy shiver ran through her body and she willed the tears away that were threatening to come back. Now that they were both standing, Mark took it upon himself to properly embrace her--bump withstanding, Mark was able to wrap her completely in his arms, and Bridget tucked her head underneath his chin to properly nestle into his chest. She could hear his heartbeat against her ear. He’s really here. Right here in the living room. Bridget closed her eyes, happily soaking up being in Mark’s arms again. Their daughter gave an enthusiastic kick, to which Mark laughed.
“I see you’re not the only one who missed me,” he murmured into Bridget’s hair.
“Oh, definitely not the only one. If Will were here, he’d be beside himself with joy.”
Mark kneeled down in front of Bridget, and she couldn’t suppress the grin that spread across her face. With ceremonious precision, Mark lifted the fabric of her t-shirt so that her pregnant belly was exposed. He splayed his fingers across the width of her, and placed a gentle kiss against her belly button. “Hello, my darling girl. It’s your dad here. I’m so happy to be home, spending Christmas with you and your mum. I hope you didn’t miss me too much...I missed you terribly, but you’re more important than I am.” He placed another kiss against Bridget’s bump, and they both felt the baby kick against Mark’s hand. Even from her vantage point, Bridget could see the grin cut across Mark’s face.
Satisfied with his greeting, Mark stood up to look back down at Bridget. His eyes crinkled as he smiled at her, and his Adam’s apple bobbed with emotion. Unable to stop herself, she went up onto her tiptoes to properly kiss her husband, letting him know just how much she had missed him. Mark moaned a little into her mouth, clearly enjoying the welcome wagon that Bridget had rolled out. She could feel his hands roaming up underneath her shirt, and she couldn’t stop her own hands from raking through the short hairs at the base of his neck. Mark pulled her in closer--as close as he could get to her with her bump between them--and cupped both hands around her face. When he pulled back, the boyish flush in his cheeks was still there, and his eyes practically glittered.
“I love you, Bridget,” he murmured as the reflection from the Christmas lights played upon the lenses of his glasses.
“I know,” Bridget replied, running a palm against his stubbly cheek. “You’ve made this the best Christmas ever.”