Work Text:
You finally get home, dumping your purse onto the table next to the door and shutting the door behind you. You lock it since Zayne scolds you when you don’t, even if he comes home ten minutes after you do.
You kick your shoes off and tuck them neatly next to Zayne’s sneakers. He must have taken his dress shoes today, you muse as you hang your jacket in the closet. You flick the lights on to the living room and collapse onto the couch to wait for your husband’s return.
He’s usually only ten minutes behind you getting home, but when twenty minutes go by, you assume that traffic must be bad. Thirty minutes pass, and you’re worried. You call him after forty minutes, pacing the entrance hall.
“Pick up,” you mutter, worrying your thumb between your teeth. Zayne always takes it away from your mouth and chides you for the anxious habit, but he’s not here right now.
It goes to voicemail, and you call twice more before grabbing your purse and keys. Your fingers barely wrap around the door handle before the door swings open and your husband walks in.
“Zayne!” you exclaim, knees nearly buckling in relief. “There you are! Holy- I was so worried. Where were you? Did something happen?”
“I’m going to shower,” he says, looking away from you as he tosses his shoes near the rack where they’re kept. It makes you pause since he’s the one who even bought it. He would remind you to use it each and every day.
“Oh…” You blink and raise your gaze to his face. “Okay. Did you want me to have dinner ready? I was thinking of making a stir fry with some of that leftover rice.”
“Mm.” Zayne rakes a hand through his hair, messing his previously neat style. “I’m going to go shower.”
You watch him go with worry tugging at your chest. He’s acting odd to say the least. He’s such a doting husband, letting go of his normal composure the moment that the door shuts. He would never just brush you off the way he just did.
Something must be wrong. He was acting entirely pleasant this morning, kissing you sweetly before sending you on your way to work. Something must have happened between then and now to have upset him.
You peek out of the window to find that his car hadn’t been crunched in an accident. You frown and walk to the kitchen to make dinner, hearing the sound of the shower starting up. You busy yourself with cooking to keep your mind occupied, yet it still manages to wander. You’re worried about him.
Zayne descends the stairs, hair damp and sticking to the sides of his face. He pads to the kitchen, expression still tight with something indecipherable.
“Zayne?” You set a plate on the table. “Do you want to talk about something?”
“No,” he responds instantly. He shakes his head and clears his throat. “I mean… That isn’t necessary.”
“Okay.” You return to stirring the pan over the stove. “I-“
You startle when Zayne wraps his arms around you from behind, burying his face in the back of your neck. You settle and relax into him, patting his forearm with your available hand.
“Thank you for cooking,” he mumbles, voice low. “I… I’m sorry for not being able to prepare dinner for you.”
“Huh? What do you mean?” You crane your head to see his face. “You cook almost every night; you don’t have to worry about it tonight.”
You eat in tense silence. Each time you try to talk about your day, he hums distractedly. He twists his fork between his fingers and occasionally takes a bite. It takes him twice as long to eat as you, but you still sit with him and wait for him to finish.
“How was your day?” you eventually ask, reaching for your glass of water.
Zayne freezes, fingers tightening around his fork. “Did someone call you?”
“W- No.” You shake your head as the concern continues to build inside you. “Should they have? Did something happen?”
“No.” Zayne stands, gathering the plates and loading the dishwasher. You curl into the couch together, throwing on an ocean documentary.
You lean against him, a hand on his chest and your head on his shoulder. There’s a blanket thrown over you both and you can physically feel him relaxing with each minute that goes by. Finally, his head rests against yours as his breathing evens out.
You peek at his face, confirming to yourself that he’s truly asleep. His eyes are closed and his lashes rest against his cheeks. You lower the volume and watch by yourself as he sleeps.
His phone buzzes on the coffee table where he left it. You ignore it, but the second notification comes barely two seconds later. You don’t want to be nosy, so you leave it alone. You really try to.
But it vibrates again, and again, and again.
You slowly reach out, picking it up. You know his passcode, but you don’t use it. You just peer at the contact that has been texting him, frowning when you don’t recognize it.
Doctor Huang.
They’re obviously from work, but you’ve never met them nor heard of them. You’ve met most of his coworkers at this point at various gatherings, and you thought that he had mentioned the rest to you. But this Doctor Huang is new to you.
Zayne makes a small noise from the back of his throat, mouth twisting into a grimace. His eyelashes flutter and his head rolls to the other side. Another distressed sound comes from him and you decide to wake him.
“Zayne,” you whisper, nudging his chest. “Zayne, you’re having a nightmare.”
He jerks into a sitting position, chest heaving. “I don’t-“ He presses a hand to his throat and shudders. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
“Zayne, are you okay?” You reach a hand out to comfort him, but he flinches. You withdraw your touch, letting your arm drop into your lap. “I’m worried. Did something happen at work today?”
“I’m going for a walk.” Zayne pushes off the couch and grabs his jacket before stalking out the door. It only leaves you with more questions and unease curling in the pit of your stomach. You sit in the living room for fifteen minutes before turning the movie off and heading up to bed. You lie awake for an hour, pretending to be asleep when the bed dips and Zayne climbs in.
Your sleep is mostly unbothered, even if you’re anxious about whatever is happening to your husband. Zayne, on the other hand, looks unwell in the morning. There are deep purple bags under his eyes and he winces as you flick the light on.
“Sorry,” you murmur before plunging the room back into darkness. You get dressed without the light on and slide your slippers on before padding to the kitchen. You brew a pot of coffee and pour yourself a cup, offering a second mug in Zayne’s direction once he descends the stairs.
“Thank you.” Zayne presses a light kiss between your brows. You pour a second cup and he takes it from you. “I have the day off today. I was- I managed to get a doctor to switch with me so we could spend the day together.”
“Oh!” You brighten and lean against him, humming appreciatively when he wraps an arm around you. “A picnic would be nice… The weather should be good today.”
“I’ll make a lunch,” Zayne tells you, turning to the kitchen. He places his mug on the counter with a dull clink and opens the fridge. “Would you mind finding the sunscreen?”
“Sure,” you agree, heading for the stairs. You hasn’t used it since the beach trip in the summer, but now that the weather is turning around you should find wherever it was put away.
You grip the railing as you go upstairs, holding your coffee mug in your free hand. You take a sip before placing it down on the end table as you rummage through drawers. It’s not in the dresser, and you can’t find it when you search the closet. You’re close to giving up and buying new sunscreen when you see Zayne’s nightstand in the corner of your eye.
You turn and open the drawer, lifting a small journal to peer inside. You find the plastic bag that stores the sunscreen, pulling it out. You’re distracted by wondering why he keeps sunscreen in his nightstand and drop the bag.
“Shit,” you mutter, bending down to retrieve the bottles. You fumble with the journal and it slips out of your hand, the cover flipping open to reveal the first page.
You frown at it, hand hovering above the sunscreen bag. There’s a series of tally marks. You guess there’s around twenty marks scratched onto the page.
You shut the book and tuck it back into the drawer, frowning to yourself. You’ve never seen him use that before. His work papers are kept in the office to preserve confidentiality, and it didn’t look like work.
“Darling!” Zayne calls from downstairs, breaking you from your thoughts. “Did you find it?”
“Yeah!” you yell back before standing. “Give me a minute to get ready!”
You dart into the closet and find a cute outfit for the day. You decide to wear a sweater since it isn’t full summer yet.
You yelp in surprise when Zayne wraps his arms around you from behind. “Zayne! You scared me!”
“Apologies,” he murmurs as he presses a kiss to your cheek. “You just looked so… beautiful.”
You feel your cheeks heat but you don’t push him away. “So you thought you had to startle me like that? Just- You need to get ready.”
“Mm.” Zayne pulls himself away to get dressed. You finish off your lukewarm coffee, pulling a face at the non-ideal temperature. He combs his hair before guiding you downstairs with a hand on the small of your back.
“What did you make for lunch?” you question once you see the picnic basket. You reach out to peek inside, but Zayne scoops you up away from it. “Hey!”
“It’s a surprise.” Zayne tosses you up into his arms, cradling under your legs and back. “Get the basket.”
You grab the handle and let yourself be carried outside. You have to unlock the door since his hands are occupied, which amuses you to no end. You reasonably point out that he could just put you down, but he seems insulted by the idea.
He helps you into the passenger seat and circles around the car as you buckle yourself in. He gives you an easy smile as he pulls out of the driveway and begins the trip to the park.
“We should put our stuff by the pond,” you say, glancing to the backseats. “Is the picnic blanket still back there?”
“Yes,” Zayne replies with a small dip of his head. He flicks his turn signal on and rotates the wheel. “And the hand sanitizer, and the emergency umbrella.”
You drive in comfortable silence for a minute before you bring up what’s been weighing on your mind. “Are you sure that everything’s okay? You’ve been acting strange. I… I didn’t want to go snooping, but you were getting texts from one of the doctors and-“
“You looked through my phone? What if I had a patient’s case open?” Zayne sharply interrupts. His hands tighten on the wheel, knuckles going white as his jaw tenses. “You can’t do that. Don’t you trust me?”
“I do!” you hurriedly reassure him. “I married you because of it!”
“But you looked through my phone,” Zayne monotones. He slows the car and brings it to a stop at a red light, turning his head to scrutinize your face. “You trust me, but you looked through my phone?”
“I didn’t see anything! There was just a doctor messaging you a lot and- and I thought maybe somethjng was wrong.” You rub at your temples. “And why are you acting weird? Do you have something to hide?”
“I already told you that patient confidentiality is vital to me continuing to be employed.” Zayne rolls his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “You can’t just violate that because you were curious. It’s serious.”
“I’m worried about you!” you exclaim. “You’re acting weird!”
He doesn’t respond. He pulls forward through the intersection and continues driving.
You arrive at the park a few minutes later. Zayne turns the car off and slides out of the vehicle, opening the trunk and getting the basket and blanket. You follow him down to the pond, wobbling as you go down the steep, gravel path.
Zayne wordlessly holds his hand out to you, which you gratefully latch onto. He helps you down to the grass and lays the blanket out next to the water. You place a few rocks onto the edges of the blanket so wind doesn’t blow it up. Zayne avoids eye contact as he lies on the blanket, a leg bent at the knee.
“I’m sorry,” you eventually mutter, looking out at the pond. “I shouldn’t have done that. I trust and love you, and if something was wrong, you would tell me.”
A few seconds go by before Zayne responds, “Thank you.”
You point to the pond where a small family of ducks is swimming. “Look, they have babies. Little ducklings. So cute…”
Zayne laces his fingers through yours. “We can eat whenever you want. I didn’t make dinner last night so I had to put more effort into our lunch.”
“Aw, you didn’t have to.” You grin at him, and the corners of his lips curl.
You take a walk around the pond together, keeping an eye on the picnic basket. There’s no one around to steal yiur lunch, but you can never be too careful. Zayne hums and steers you away from a pile of duck poo while you’re distractedly talking about the latest book you’ve read.
Zane tilts his head, a slight frown appearing on his lips. “I’m sorry, what did he do?”
“He threw them both off the building away from the antagonist and used his body to shield her,” you repeat, grinning from ear to ear. “So romantic.”
“And unrealistic,” Zayne counters. “They would have both died on impact. Him hitting the ground first would do absolutely nothing to protect her. She would have still died of internal bleeding.”
You wrinkle your nose. “What? No, he saved her by sacrificing himself.”
“He automatically killed them both when he threw them off that building,” Zayne insists, much to your displeasure. “If he loved her, he would have fought the villain whilst she escaped. Instead he gave her a painful death.”
You groan and rub your face. “It’s not meant to be realistic, okay? It’s a show of how much he loves her!”
Zayne frowns, still confused. “A better show of his love would be-“
You hold a hand up to cut him off. “Fine. They both died gruesome deaths. Are you happy now, Dr. Grumpy? I havent even told you the end. Why are you hoping that they died?”
He freezes in place. “I.. I would never hope for someone’s death. That’s not what I meant. I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t. You know that I wouldn’t.”
You blink at him, taken aback by his pleading tone. “I know. You’re a good man. What are you talking about?”
Zayne turns his head away to admire the pond. A minute goes by where you stand next to him in silence before he finally says, “We should eat.”
You quietly follow him back to the picnic, settling on the blanket next to him. Yet again, you know that something is wrong. He usually so levelheaded and it’s difficult to make him snap. The fact that he’s had multiple of these odd outbursts so close to each other is definitely a sign of something.
Zayne opens the picnic basket and offers you a neatly packed lunch. You accept, watching him carefully.
“Did you bring napkins?” you ask once your fingers are sticky from the watermelon.
“Mm?” Zayne glances up from his lunch. “Yes. Here.”
You take the napkins from him and wipe your hands on them. You enjoy the rest of your outing without much fuss.
You’re snapped from sleep by movement. You make a small sound as you sit up, rubbing at your eyes. “Zayne?”
“Go back to sleep,” comes Zayne’s punched out reply.
You turn over, blinking the remnants of sleep from your eyes. Zayne is sitting up next to you, chest heaving. Dried tears stick to his cheeks and his bottom lip is red from where he’s been biting it.
“Zayne!” you say in alarm, reaching for him. He tenses and so you let your arms drop back to your lap. “What happened?”
“Go back to sleep,” Zayne says sharply, throwing the covers off his legs. He slides out of bed and storms out of the bedroom before you can say anything else.
You clutch the sheets in your hands, mind swirling with uncertainty. Should you follow him and make sure that he’s okay? Should you leave him alone since he clearly wants to be on his own right now?
You give him a few minutes to calm down before padding down the hall. The bathroom light is on, so you slowly approach.
“Zayne?” you softly call. “Are you…”
You’ve spent so much time lately asking if he’s okay. No results have come yet, so why do you keep trying? What’s the point?
You turn back around and return to your empty bed.
The next week goes by the same way. Zayne wakes up to some kind of nightmare before leaving the room. Some nights he doesn’t come to bed at all. The bags under his eyes have grown, and so has his bad mood.
You don’t want to go snooping, you really don’t. But you feel like you have no choice but to look at his journal again. There’s the same amount of tally marks as before, which doesn’t provide any information on what the journal is for.
You finally have enough. After the fifth consecutive night of Zayne having nightmares, you toss the journal onto the table as he does dishes. He freezes and stares at it before his gaze flicks to you.
“You looked through my things?” Zayne coldly asks, expression of terror calming out.
“I didn’t have a choice!” You rub your temples to ward off a headache. “Zayne, I’m worried about you.”
“You went through my things,” Zayne says agin, almost to himself. “Did you look inside? Did you look at it?”
“Yes. I did.” You nod in confirmation. “Zayne… You’re losing sleep. You’re getting more and more stressed by the day. You couldn’t finish dinner since you thought you were going to throw up. It isn’t normal!”
“I’m fine,” he snaps, turning away from you and back to the sink. He rinses off the spoon he’s cleaning and places it into the drying rack. “Don’t ever look through my things again.”
You take a step closer, not ready to give up yet. “I’m your wife. I’m here to support you.”
“I don’t deserve it!” Zayne exclaims, whirling around to glare at you. His chest rises and falls at a rapid pace before he takes a deep, steadying breath. “I don’t… It’s my fault. It’s my fault that this is happening.”
“That what is happening? What’s your fault?” you gently press.
Zayne’s shaking hands drop the knife he’s holding. It falls on his foot and he curses as the sock turns red with blood. You jump towards him reflexively, but he holds a hand out to stop you.
”Where’s the first aid kit?” you ask, watching him peel his sock off. There’s a lot of blood but you can’t see the wound itself.
“Under the sink,” Zayne answers, grabbing a towel to wipe the blood away. You wince, but you hated that towel anyway. It’s ugly, with huge purple patterns over an orange backdrop. You would have thrown it out a month ago, if your mother hadn’t made a big fuss about the towels she gifted you for Christmas.
“It needs stitches,” Zayne murmurs as you hand over the first aid kit. He opens the box and rummages through it to find the bag with the needle and thread.
“Do you need help?” you ask, hovering off to the side.
Zayne doesn’t look up at you. “No.”
You bite your bottom lip hesitantly. “Should we go to the hospital and have someone take a look at it?”
Zayne hisses under his breath as the needle slides through his skin. “No. I can do this just fine. Or am I not a good doctor? Is that what you think?”
“No, I wasn’t trying to imply-“ You cut yourself off with a shake of your head. “Zayne, you are excellent at what you do. I was just thinking that since you got injured, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to get a second set of eyes. I trust you completely, but I also love you and want to see you at your best.”
Something aches in you. Do you really trust him completely? With everything that’s been happening. With how he’s been acting, like he doesn’t trust you
“I’ll clean up,” you say, turning away to grab the cleaning spray. You use the already ruined towel to scrub the blood off the floor before tossing it in the trash. You wash the knife and don’t talk to Zayne as he puts the first aid kit away.
“Let’s just pick up dinner,” you say after everything is taken care of. “I don’t think either of us feel like cooking.”
“Fine.” Zayne snatches his car keys off the table. “What do you want?”
“I can go pick it up,” you tell him, unsure of whether he can drive with his food freshly stitched. You don’t feel like questioning him after what just occurred, though.
“It’s fine,” Zayne shortly responds. He studies you for a moment before his shoulders slump and he holds out the car keys. “We can use my car, though. I’m having it cleaned tomorrow anyways, so if something spills it won’t cause any issues.”
“Okay,” you chirp, taking the offered keys. You slip your shoes on, giving Zayne a quick kiss on the cheek when he holds the door open for you.
“I want something spicy,” Zayne murmurs as he gets into the passenger seat, reaching over to make sure that you’re buckled properly. “Sorry, I’m also having them look at this tomorrow. It keeps unclipping.”
“Alright.” You turn the car on and pull out of the driveway. “I could go for spicy noodles. I want some comfort food.”
“Mm.” Zayne stares out the window. “Noodles would be nice.”
You come to a stop at a red light, drumming your fingers on the wheel. “I had that big project at work coming up. There was a few on us on it, actually. I’m happy with how it went, even with how messy it was at the beginning. I might have to stop by to pick up the report if that’s okay?”
Zayne angles his head in your direction, a small furrow forming between his brows.”you never mentioned such a thing.”
“You’ve just been so tense lately, I didn’t want to mention it,” you awkwardly explain. “It’s not like it was a big deal or anything.”
“You said it was a ‘big project’,” Zayne echos, using your own words against you.
“It’s really nothing.” You flick your turn signal on, switching lanes. “But would you mind if we stopped at work so I could pick it up? I want to be prepared for the Monday meeting.”
“Of course.” Zayne rubs his thumb along your knee. “I’m sorry that I made you feel like you couldn’t tell me these things. I- I think we need to… If like it if we could talk.”
You nod. It’s not often that he stutters or looses track of what he’s talking about. He’s an articulate man, which means this is as important as you assumed it to be. “Do you want to talk at home? Or is now good?”
“At home,” Zayne replies.
You stop by your work to pick up the report, placing it in the backseat as you go to the restaurant next. Zayne goes in to get the food while you sit in the car, gut clenching nervously. What if Whats been weighing on his mind… is divorce? What would you even do then? You can’t think of a time anymore where he wasn’t in your life.
“I have our dinner.” Zayne arranges the two boxes on his lap. “They have a new staff member.”
“Oh yeah?” You glance over your shoulder before pulling back onto the road. “Uh, did you get napkins? We ran out after the picnic and I haven’t had the time to get any yet.”
Zayne wordlessly holds up a stack of napkins.
You drive in silence for a few minutes before you can’t hold back anymore. “Um… Is what you’re going to tell me… Is it going to impact us?”
Zayne waits a moment before sighing heavily. “I’m not sure. I’ve been struggling with it for a while now and- Fuck!”
You’re too startled by him swearing. It takes a moment for it to register that there’s a car swerving into the intersection before Zayne’s hand it on the wheel and he yanks it to the side.
The car spins and then there’s a crunch that consumes all your senses. Your ears ring, vision turns black, and you taste blood. You either smell blood, or you’re tasting too much of it to tell.
Your head feels heavy and you groan, bringing a hand up to cradle it. You’re so disoriented that you don’t realize that someone is shaking you until your eyelids are being peeled open.
Zayne is hovering above you, panic unlike anything you’ve ever seen on him filling his expression. Blood is dripping from his temple and smeared under his nose. His eyes are wet and his cheeks have tears streaming down them as he runs his hand over your head.
You try to tell him to stop that, since it hurts. The only sound that passes your lips is a choked rasp.
Zayne is whispering your name over and over, split lips forming each syllable of your name like it’s a prayer. You blink, and he’s gone. You blink again and there’s a masked woman patting your cheek, trying to get you to wake up.
Wake up? When did you fall asleep?
She says your name and you focus on her. “-husband is with Dr. Wu right now. You’re okay and he’s okay.”
You try to sit up, but your body aches. She gets the hint and presses the body to prop you up, gesturing to a paper cup of water. You nod, so she hands it to you.
You take a sip, trying to catch up to everything that happened. You remember the car, and the crash, but nothing after that. “What happened to Zayne?”
“Your husband is fine,” she assures you. “You took the brunt of the crash. Your seatbelt disconnected or something, since you went flying. Your husband crawled through the recharge and fished you out before the ambulances arrived. You’ve been in Dr. Huang’s care.”
The name is familiar, but you can’t place where. She leaves and you spend a few minutes watching people pass by the open door. Dr. Huang… Right. The name that appeared on Zayne’s phone.
You manage to hobble to the bathroom, examining your battered body after you pee and wash your hands. Your body is littered in bruises and breathing makes your chest ache, but at least you’re alive. You crawl back into the hospital bed just as a tall man walks into the room.
“Hello,” he says, smiling warmly. “I’m Dr. Huang. I was informed that you’re awake, so I came here to check on you. How are you feeling?”
“Uh.” You hesitate. “It hurts to breathe. But I just kind of hurt all over.”
“Nothing was broken or seriously damaged in the crash,” Dr. Huang tells you as he approaches. “The other driver was under the influence at the time and is currently in custody. Your husband has no major injures and is just a bit beaten up. He’s currently getting you lunch but should be back shortly.”
You nod, licking your dry lips. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” Dr. Huang inclines his head. “Your husband is a good man. But…”
“But?” you prompt, wary of where this is going.
“Nothing that you’re not already aware of.” Dr. Huang waves a hand dismissively with a weary sigh. “He takes everything to heart. It’s a difficult job.”
Zayne appears in the doorway with a paper bag. His entire expression relaxes when his eyes fall on you. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” You reach for him, half-tempted to throw yourself into his arms. You resist the urge, knowing it will only make you feel worse.
chokes out a half-sob, hurrying to your side. He deposits the bag on the table next to the wall and places a knee on the bed to gingerly wrap his arms around you. “I- I almost lost you. I almost lost you and I- I don’t know what I would do. I can’t do it. I can’t lose you.”
You rub his back, noticing Dr. Huang exit and shut the door. “You didn’t lose me. I’m fine, and I’m right here.”
He presses his face harder into the crook of your neck. “But I did. I was careless. I should never have let you sit in that seat with- with that seatbelt. It’s my fault that you were hurt. Like every other time.”
“Every other time?” You wince as he squeezes you too hard, but don’t say anything. It’s clear that he needs this.
His chest heaves as he sucks air in. “E- everyone else I’ve lost. The man who never woke up from surgery. The- The woman who had complications after and died in a hospital bed, away from family. I lost them. I’m not good enough and I almost lost you.”
Oh.
Oh.
You stroke your fingers through his hair, gently shushing him. “Deep breath, okay? You didn’t almost lose me. I’m right here. And you can’t save everyone. There’s a reason why surgery is risky. What are the statistics of dying to anesthesia, hm?”
“Around one in a hundred to two hundred thousand,” Zayne croaks.
“And the woman who died after, was there anything you could have done to prevent it?” You scratch your fingernails across his scalp.
“I could have-“
“Was there anything you could have done?” you ask again, cutting off his self-loathing answer.
“No,” Zayne hoarsely says. “But I could- I can be better. I can save the next person.”
A horrifying realization hits you and your fingers still in his hair. You swallow thickly, unsure of how to bring the topic up. “Zayne… Have you been keeping track of everyone you’ve lost?”
Zayne slowly nods, avoiding your eye. “I have a journal where I tally each person.”
“Oh, that’s not healthy.” You kiss his forehead.
“It- I just feel like all these feelings are building inside me, and I don’t know what to do with them,” Zayne cries, shoulders shaking. “I have all this guilt but I need it. I need to feel guilty for what I’ve done for these people, but it makes me feel worse, and I’ve been treating you poorly. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“I think you need to see someone,” you tenderly tell him. “I’m sure we can find you a counsellor.”
Zayne sucks in a breath. “Yes. We can do that.”
He stays curled around you, falling asleep with you playing with his hair. He doesn’t wake with nightmares, rising only when it’s time to take you home.