"We have another appointment with the realtor tomorrow, to see that place in the Palisades. Don't forget." A minute passes in silence, then, "Cooper." Another beat. "Cooper!"

"Hmm?" He turns his head, looks up at her. They're sprawled on his bed, pillows piled behind her back to prop her up. Cooper's head is on her thighs, and he's bunched her nightshirt up so he can trace his fingers over the curve of her belly.

"Are you even listenin' to me?"

He blinks, and nods, and skims his fingers over her skin again. "Yeah, I, uh… No." No point in lying - she'll see right through him. He shifts from his side to his back, his head digging into her thigh as he moves. She winces and curses softly, and Cooper murmurs an apology, then sighs heavily. "Sorry. I'm distracted. I have this patient, Annie Bishop — I've told you about her, right?"

Charlotte frowns, then nods slowly. "Little girl? Cancer patient, right?"

"Yeah. Her surgery was today, and it was supposed to get rid of the cancer, give her a fighting chance, but… it didn't. Barnes couldn't get all of the tumor, so she's looking at more chemo, and another surgery, and she doesn't want it. She doesn't want any of this. She wants… to be done." He watches the ceiling as he talks, Charlotte's fingers swirling through his hair slowly, her nails scratching lightly over his scalp.

"Done, as in…?"

"As in she doesn't want any more treatment. She's twelve; she wants to surf, and hang out with her friends, and not be poked and prodded and pumped full of chemicals for the rest of her young life."

"Well, of course she doesn't. Nobody does, Coop, least of all the kids. She's young, she doesn't understand."

"Yeah, except… I think she might be right."

"Coop—"

"No, I think maybe… I don't know." He lets loose another heavy sigh, then turns his head toward her. "She's such a smart kid. And funny, and—"

"And you're attached." Charlotte tells him - it's not a guess, not a question. It's a statement somehow both sympathetic and a little bit judgmental. "You've known her for a long time, and you care about her, and you don't want to see her hurt, or unhappy."

"There something wrong with that?" he grumbles, and she shakes her head sadly, her look saying otherwise.

Now Charlotte's the one sighing, her fingers raking through his hair one more time. "I don't want to say you care too much, because it's good that you care. It's part of what makes you a good doctor, and I hope — I'm sure — it will make you a wonderful dad. But it wears on you." She twirls the ends of his hair, tugs lightly. "Sometimes I think it wears on you too much. It clouds your judgment, and then you're not a better doctor, Coop. You've gotta be objective—"

"I'll never be objective," he protests, shaking his head. "I'm not gonna be that kind of doctor, Char. That's not who I am. My patients matter to me — every single one. They're not just names on a chart. I can't think of them that way, and I don't want to."

She frowns down at him, shifts her jaw and runs her tongue over her teeth. But she doesn't say anything, and the silence stretches between them. And then, finally, she says, "So, tomorrow. Realtor. Palisades. That's what I was sayin' when you weren't listenin'."

Cooper blows out a breath and grimaces. "Does it have to be the Palisades? That's so far from here."

"But so close to where I live now," Charlotte points out. "And to the hospital, and both our practices."

"Yeah, but…" He knows it's going to start an argument, but he goes there anyway: "I promised Violet—"

"Oh, for God's sake," Charlotte mutters, with a roll of her eyes.

"Oh, come on, Charlotte!" He pushes himself up until he's sitting, and twists to look at her. "I promised. I told her I'd be there for her, and I need to be able to do that, regardless of where we live."

"Well, you've spent the first 16 weeks of this pregnancy livin' across town from the woman who's actually havin' your child, and you managed to make that commute just fine — when it mattered to you. I'm sure you'll manage the same for Violet."

"You're really not willing to compromise on this?"

"I'm really not," she tells him, crossing her arms tightly. "Palisades. Malibu. Santa Monica. That's where we're lookin'."

"Charlotte—"

"Okay, how about this," she says, stepping on whatever he was about to say to her. "If my previa gets worse, and I get stuck on bed rest, do you really want to have to drive all the way across town if there's some kind of emergency? Or would you rather have me be within twenty minutes of the hospital?"

She presses her lips together, lifts her brows. She's challenging him, but she's already won. She has a point there, and if he fights her on it, he'll look even worse than he does. So he sighs, and shifts until he can flop down face-first onto the pillow next to her.

"Fine," he mutters into the padding. "We can stay on the west side."

She makes a satisfied little noise and the bed shifts slightly as she wriggles and settles more comfortably into her pillows. "Good."

Cooper lets out a defeated sigh, figuring if he has to lose this battle, at least he can have a good pout about it.

But she has to go and ruin it.

She reaches over, and rubs her hand over his back once, her voice soft and sincere when she says, "I'm sorry about Annie."

Cooper turns his head, contorting until he can see her. "Thanks."

The smile she gives him is sad and sympathetic, before she says, "Why don't we get some sleep." It curves into something more smug as she adds, "Want you all bright-eyed-and-bushy-tailed when we see that house tomorrow."

Cooper grunts and flips his head back the other way.

Charlotte just laughs.