He's held up at work again, which isn't surprising to her. Starfleet is a very demanding enterprise, no pun intended, and they often keep him late. It doesn't change the fact that she likes having him at home, no matter how selfish that sounds. As much as she loves her mother's help, she prefers his company.
The voice box installed in the clock on the nightstand informs her it's close to midnight. There's no use waiting up for him, she's falling asleep, and the doctor told her get plenty of rest because her ankles are swelling. No use stressing herself out more, it won't be good for her or the baby.
She swings her legs onto the mattress, pulling the sheets and comforter over her slightly-round stomach. It's only been two-and-a-half months, and already it feels as if she's carrying around a huge weight. She shake her head, knowing she's just taking out her frustration on the baby. He or she doesn't deserve that.
"Daddy'll be home soon," she says. She turns off the light. "Then maybe your mama can get some proper sleep."
He's unbelievably late, and he knows this. He got caught up in his work again, and he knows he'll have to pay for it tomorrow. He races home, practically yanking the door off of its hinges before remembering she's most likely asleep. He turns the key and walks in quietly, setting down his things in the entryway before tiptoeing up the stairs.
He doesn't bother grabbing pajamas, just tosses his work clothes into the hamper and walks to his side of the bed in his boxers. He turns on the tiny light that rests on his nightstand for a moment to situate himself when he notices her.
She's kicked the covers off, the skirt of her nightgown hiked up and her legs bare. Her brow is creased, as if she's still thinking and worrying even in her sleep. She breathes in deeply for a moment, exhaling loudly.
He takes a moment to watch her, quietly sliding under the covers and pulling them over her, as well. She's never seen what she looks like, but he's spent countless hours memorizing everything: the natural part of her hair, the slant of her eyebrows, the light freckles on her cheeks. He cocks his head, studying her for a moment, reaching out a hand and softly trailing his fingertips across her face.
His attention turns to the rounded bump under her nightgown. He's been constantly asking how the baby's doing, even though she's told him countless times there won't be much to report about for another couple of months. She's not awake for it, but every night, he'll talk to her stomach, quietly of course as not to wake her. And tonight is no exception.
"I'm sorry I'm so late," he whispers. "I missed you." He hesitantly places a hand on the bump, moving his fingers up and down in a circular motion. "Mommy's not too upset with me, is she?"
He pauses, as if listening for a response.
"I don't mean to worry her." Another pause. "I promise, I won't take long hours anymore. They're getting new recruits and I won't have to stay as long." Another pause. "I'll let you sleep, little one." He moves forward, planting a kiss on her stomach. "Good night."
He sits up, his eyes trained on her again. He can't help the smile that appears on his face as he kisses her forehead. "There won't be many more late nights, my love. I promise." He lays down, his arms wrapped around her, his chin resting in the cradle between her shoulder and neck. "I'll see you both in the morning. Good night." He places a gentle kiss on her cheek before whispering, "Я тебя люблю" and drifting off to sleep.