Grace whimpered–she couldn’t deal with the cramps anymore. Bad timing and Pearce’s betrayal had worked against her, and with hours yet to go in her absurd, unfair time out, she gave up control.

She told herself that’s what she was doing–giving up, not losing. Despite her attire of late, she was no baby, she could control herself, these were simply exceptional circumstances and the smart, correct decision was to not fight it.

Still, going right there, she felt pretty stupid–she really, truly couldn’t do a thing to hold it, and anyone who walked by would know it. There were no universes in which Grace would deliberately fill up her diaper, not when she wouldn’t be changed out of it for hours.

The muck spilled out into waiting, utterly sodden padding, a diaper so abused that it didn’t so much as absorb anything as it just held the mess in place, spreading out over the time out stool.

At least Melody was out for the night and Brains had gone upstairs. If Pearce stayed in his room, maybe nobody would notice, at least not until her time out was over. She’d be able to avoid the humiliation until the very end, and then get it over with in one quick burst. Unless…

Footsteps tapped down the staircase.

(I had to think it,) she realized, annoyed by her own self-dooming mental prophecy. (Just please be Brains, I don’t want to hear from him right now.)

Fighting the temptation to look away from the corner, Grace instead cast her gaze up, a slight grunt escaping through her lips as she tried to at least finish. Getting caught in a messy diaper would be bad enough, getting caught actively packing it full filled her with a sense of heady humiliation that made her want to scream and surrender.

“Hey, Grace.”

(Of course. It’s him.)

She wasn’t sure if Pearce recognized she was still in the midst of blowing out her diaper’s seat, but she refused to acknowledge his presence. Not a nod, not a shake, not a sound.

“I need to apologize.” A slight creak of the floorboards and light thump told Grace that he’d sat down behind her. “I…oh, geez. You’d been holding it a while, huh?”

She caught the slight nasal quality of his words, and then heard a little shhh-shhh-shhh as he scooted a couple feet back over the hardwood floors. She didn’t respond. She couldn’t, she’d…

(Is this a trick? He’s baiting me into more punishment?) That didn’t seem like something Pearce would do, but she didn’t think he’d give her five hours of time out, either.

Just in case, she pressed her lips together tightly and resolved not to even think about responding.

Of course, that meant she had to breathe through her nose. She wriggled uncomfortably, noting that–at least–the pressure on her bowels had abated now that she’d cleared them out.

“I broke several rules, and left you in an uncomfortable position,” he said. “For that, I’m sorry.”

Grace shut her eyes. (He seems sincere enough.)

“I’m not letting you out of time out.” He said that flatly–nipping any hope in the bud, before she could start to wonder. “If I let you skip punishment, that sets a bad precedent.”

(So why even tell me this?) Grace fumed. (It just seems like you wanted to stop feeling guilty, without doing anything to fix it.)

“But I promise I’m going to try and honor the rules better. I won’t screw up again.” He paused, then added, “There’s no rule saying you can’t have dinner while in time out. Do you want food?”

After a stunned pause, Grace nodded.

“Ok. I’m going to go make you some dinner. I’ll be right back.”

Her silent contemplation had a new character to it. Her physical condition had grown markedly more uncomfortable, but mentally, she felt a lot better. Pearce’s apology rang true, if a bit too little and far too late to save her day.

He came back around a few minutes later, and she saw the edges of his hands and a towel as he wiped up the puddle she’d made. She’d no doubt make another one before her timeout was over, but the gesture made her feel a little better. When he returned with a bottle to drink from, her mood elevated a little more.

At least she wouldn’t be in time out on an empty stomach.

She now had a better way of telling time, too–she knew how long chicken nuggets took to cook, give or take, and she could hear the oven beep when it got up to temperature. That helped her get a sense of how long she waited, before he brought over a plate of nuggets with a side cup of honey mustard.

It wasn’t the most appetizing; having to eat while getting the occasional whiff from the seat of her diaper, but she managed, opening wide for him to put each nugget in her mouth. He didn’t say much, just dipping each nugget, plopping it between her lips, and waiting for her to chew and swallow before repeating the process. Once she’d eaten, he wiped off her face, took the plate, and went to go do the dishes.

As an additional concession to the sheer length of time she’d be stuck there, Pearce put the TV on too–nothing special, just Netflix autoplaying some cooking show or another, but the sounds of gentle British concern and string instruments helped mark the passage of time.

(It’s about fifty minutes per episode, and I’ve already been here over an hour, so…just four episodes. That’s not bad.)

It beat having to sit with her thoughts.

Every hour or so–that is, roughly around when the credits music rolled on the TV–Pearce refreshed her bottle, as well as replacing the towel under her time out stool so that her inevitable and regular leaks wouldn’t soak into the hardwood. Her bottom seriously began to itch by the time the second episode ended, but she knew it wouldn’t be much longer, she could handle the waiting.

Brains occasionally walked past, but didn’t engage. Melody, luckily, steered clear and didn’t come home at all.

Finally, long after all sunlight had stopped filtering through the windows and she found herself seriously chafing between her cheeks, Pearce tapped on her shoulder. “Time out’s over. It’s bedtime.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” she said, leaning back. She immediately fell, not having realized her feet were asleep, and it took a steadying hand from Pearce to pull her upright. “Thanks.”

“Diaper change, then bath, then bed,” Pearce continued. “We’re not counting this as going past bedtime, since it was a time out situation.”

“...right,” Grace said. “Okay.” She hadn’t expected him to go straight into rules clarification, but it was nice to have it confirmed that she wouldn’t be in more trouble.

“Long day,” he said. “I’ve got more work to do once you’re asleep.”

She felt a tiny twinge of guilt. Maybe she should have woken him up after all…but then again, he seemed to have learned his lesson. If he stuck to his promise and followed the rules going forward, then it’d be worth it: He’d have, finally, learned. Meanwhile, if he didn’t learn, he was hopeless, and she had nothing to feel guilty over anyways. Either way, she dismissed the concern.

Pearce changed her in the bathroom, where a pre-drawn bath waited for her. Her utterly demolished diaper got discarded, he wiped up the worst of the muck, and transferred her into the tub, mostly focused on getting his work done as quickly as possible.

Her thighs felt hot where the diaper rash had set in, particularly vulnerable to the temperature of the water, but it felt good to get clean, to wash the thin residue of pee and muck off her skin that baby wipes alone hadn’t removed.

“Did you get your thing with your client worked out?” Grace asked, while he rubbed shampoo into her hair. He didn’t take as long as she’d liked, the duration of his hands working on her scalp couldn’t have been more than ten seconds before he started rinsing it out, but she still leaned into the moment of contact.

“They haven’t fired me,” he responded. “Arms up.”

She raised her arms so he could get suds and a washcloth under them, scrubbing her down efficiently. The cloth on her skin felt nice–just abrasive enough to make her feel clean. Half to his comment, half to the contact, she said, “That’s good.”

If he understood her double meaning, he didn’t acknowledge it, moving efficiently on without looking her in the eyes. “Mhmm. Well, you’re all clean.” Reaching over, he pulled the plug. “Up, and we’ll get you in your PJs.”

Grace idly wondered what was coming for her, as he ran the towel over her body and got her dried off. Would he get back at her, slightly, with something particularly embarrassing or uncomfortable? He’d made her sleep in that waddle onesie before, and she’d fussed plenty about it. Or he might go easy and just dress her up all cutesy.

She didn’t ask, not wanting to tempt him one way or the other while he got her in her nighttime diaper. Pearce rubbed in cream on her rash that felt pasty and chalky but eased the discomfort, and powder over it made her skin feel cool and nice.

He sat her up, left for a moment, and returned with a T-shirt. No bottoms, no frills, just a T-shirt.

“Arms,” he said, guiding her into the shirt.

She obeyed, looking down, expecting something humiliating to be printed on the front. ‘Princess Potty Pants’, maybe, or maybe something more on the nose, like just, ‘Diaper Baby’.

It was just a plain blue T-shirt, one that came down a little past her waist.

“Is this it?” Grace asked.

“I thought it would be warm enough tonight, but if you think your legs will get cold I can find some bottoms for you,” Pearce suggested.

“No, that’s fine,” she conceded. “It’s just, plain, is all.”

“I thought you’d be happy about that.” Pearce helped her to stand. “Alright, though, seriously. Bedtime.”

She nodded. “Sure.”

Turning, she started walking to her room, waiting for Pearce to follow. He did, checking his phone on the way, only giving Grace a fraction of his attention. She got under her covers, and he looked her over briefly.

“Alright,” he said. “You’re set. Good–”

“Wait,” Grace said.

He stopped. “What?”

“I…” she hesitated. She wanted to ask him something. Anything. Keep his attention for a while. He’d, strictly speaking, done everything necessary to put her to bed, but she wanted something else. “Can I get a bottle of water?”

Pearce nodded. “Sure. I’ll go get that.”

He left her there, alone with her thoughts for a fleeting moment.

Even though he’d taken care of her, given her comforts he hadn’t needed to, this felt…wrong. He hadn’t teased, or put her through the ringer. It had to be his way of apologizing–he’d messed up, now he was giving her an easy time to compensate.

Maybe she had been too hard on him. Maybe she hadn’t. Either way, he definitely felt guilty enough.

Too guilty, even.

When he returned with her bottle, she accepted it, then caught his attention one more time. “Hey, Pearce,” she said, before he could leave the room.

“What?” he asked, looking back at her with an expression that seemed…flat. Not quite bored, but like he wasn’t totally in the room with her either.

“I’m sorry I didn’t wake you up.” She felt insincere saying it–she was liking the results, after all–but walking things back a step seemed like the high road to take. “I didn’t mean to ruin your work or make things this stressful for you.”

He looked at her for a moment, gaze distant.

(Why does he need to think about his reply this much?) Grace wondered. (He has to believe me. I’m really apologizing, mostly.)

After an eternity that lasted a good ten seconds, he said, “It’s okay, Grace.”

She exhaled, relieved. He wasn’t mad.

“I know you weren’t trying to be cruel.” He shrugged, turning to leave, flicking off her lights as he went. “You just wanted to win.”

Shutting the door, he left Grace alone without room to respond.

She didn’t get much sleep that night.