Carry On Mxb Mpreg

Elena heard tires screeching behind her, but she didn't bat an eyelash. It wasn't apathy simply that it didn't matter anymore. 

Everybody around her contributed to how she got to right now vendors yelling, horns blaring, and children running towards the street without thought or care but none came close to her. She had to make herself innocent. 

With two grocery bags hanging from each hand she walked down the busy streets of Chicago with confidence. A dog barked nearby. A voice screamed, at a cab that had parked on the street. Somewhere a window above the bakery that sold cakes and pastries was open. Elena still walked without urgency. Her step had a purpose. It was a symphony.

Elena had a particular knack for picking up little details that people tended to miss—a forgotten baby sock tucked inside the furry head of the animal being washed down the drain, a teenage girl hiding an injury behind her sleeve, and an old man selling roses no one bought. Each detail registered in her head, through the beat of her heart, so she would remember it.  

Officer Paul Rivera, not far away, had yet to close the door of his patrol car. The end of his patrol officer shift had been over twenty minutes ago, due to paper work and a disagreement with his supervisor. He removed the tie that wasn't overly tight, and turned toward the light spilling through the window. 

He despised this part of town. So many people pretending they didn't need help. So many fake smiles masking deeper wounds. And the politics? He didn't even want to go there. Angry taxpayers. Empty apologies. It's all performative.

He was about to head to the coffee shop on the corner when he saw her.

Standing in front of the tamale cart, holding on to her purse with one hand, grocery bags hanging off her wrist. The world flowing by her like a river and there she was, completely untouched... totally unbothered.

Her relaxed state had a magnetic draw to it. It stopped him.

Paul found himself walking up to her, without even thinking about it.

"Hey," he said, casual but genuinely curious, flashing a half smile - part charm, part nervous smile. "You live around here?"

Elena looked up, caught off guard, but not surprised. She squinted at him. "Why do you want to know?"

Paul shrugged while eyeing the tamales he could hear sizzling on the griddle. "You don't exactly look like you belong."

A little smile tugged at her lips. "Maybe I don't need to belong."

That was it.

A challenge.

A spark.

Paul didn't realize it at the time, but something clicked.

After that, he kept returning. At first serendipitously, later purposefully. Some days, he went coffee at the corner just to catch a glimpse of her, and other days he created reasons to patrol that street, hoping to see her.

Small talk developed into long conversations. Elena didn't open up at first, but when she did, she was intentional with her words. She usually listened more than she spoke, but when she said something-it meant something.

Paul was more open, sometimes brash, always energetic. He told her silly stories about his loud Puerto Rican family and the fiascos of his rookie years. Elena countered with her memories of her life in Michoacán-how she helped her mom fold laundry in their little shop, her memories of her dad piecing together enough wood to build her a bike and then shoving her down the hill saying, "¡Confía!"

They were different, but they met in the middle.

He liked how down to earth she was.

She liked how confident he was.

He pushed her.

She grounded him.