If you don't terrify people, what's the point.

─── ୨୧ ───

Positive

You had taken three tests.

One because you were late. One because the first one was positive. One because your hands had started shaking so badly you convinced yourself you had read the first two wrong.

All three sat on the bathroom counter now, lined up beside the sink like evidence.

Positive. Positive. Positive.

You stood in front of them in one of Jack’s old T-shirts, barefoot on the bath mat, staring until the little lines blurred in front of you. Your heart had been pounding for so long you could feel it in your throat, in your wrists, behind your ribs.

A baby. Your baby. Jack’s baby.

The thought hit so hard your breath caught.

Downstairs, you heard the front door open and close.

“Sweetheart?” Jack called from below.

Your stomach flipped.

You turned toward the bathroom door, then back to the tests, then to your reflection. You looked exactly the same as you had twenty minutes ago. Messy hair. Tired eyes. Jack’s shirt hanging loose over your body.

But everything was different.

“Up here,” you called, and your voice cracked around the words.

There was a pause downstairs. Then Jack’s footsteps started up the stairs. You heard the change in them halfway up. The pace quickened. The casual rhythm vanished. Jack appeared in the bedroom doorway a few seconds later, still in his jeans and jacket, keys in one hand, brows drawn together.

“What’s wrong?” Jack asked.

You tried to answer. Nothing came out. His face changed immediately.

Jack dropped his keys onto the dresser and crossed the room toward you.

“Baby,” Jack said, softer now. “What happened?”

You stepped back into the bathroom without meaning to.

Jack followed, then stopped beside you. For one second, he looked at your face. Then his eyes dropped to the counter. 

The room went impossibly quiet.

Jack stared at the tests. One. Then the next. Then the next.

You watched him process it in pieces. The confusion. The realization. The sudden stillness that took over his whole body. His mouth parted slightly.

“Are those—” Jack started.

“Positive,” you said.

Jack’s eyes lifted to yours. You nodded before he could ask.

“All of them,” you whispered.

His gaze moved back to the counter. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Your chest tightened.

“Jack?” you asked.

He blinked once.

 Then he looked down at your stomach. There was nothing to see. Nothing different. Nothing visible. Nothing that could explain the way the entire world had just tilted beneath your feet.

But Jack looked anyway. Like something sacred had already started there.

“Holy shit,” Jack whispered.

You swallowed hard, your hands twisting tighter in the hem of his shirt.

“Good holy shit or bad holy shit?” you asked.

Jack’s face broke. Not in a bad way. Not in fear.

In wonder.

He moved so fast you barely had time to breathe before his hands were on your face, warm and familiar and trembling.

“Good,” Jack said. “Baby, good.”

Your lips trembled. “Yeah?” you asked.

Jack nodded quickly, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks.

“Yeah,” Jack said, his voice rougher now. “Yeah, sweetheart. So fucking good.”

Then he kissed you. Not carefully. Not softly.

Jack kissed you like the joy had hit him too fast to do anything else with it, like he needed somewhere to put the fear and the relief and the impossible, overwhelming happiness flooding through him. His hands held your face, his mouth pressed to yours, and for one breathless second, you forgot the panic.

You forgot the shaking. 

You forgot everything except Jack laughing against your lips, wet-eyed and overjoyed, kissing you again before you had even fully caught your breath. A sob slipped out of you, muffled against his mouth.

Jack pulled back immediately, his forehead resting against yours.

“Too much?” Jack asked, breathless and worried all at once.

You shook your head, crying harder now.

“No,” you said, your hands gripping the front of his jacket. “No, it’s just—”

Your voice broke. 

Jack’s face softened. “I know.” 

You laughed through a sob.

“We’re having a baby,” you whispered.

Jack let out a sound that was almost a laugh and almost something broken.

“Yeah,” Jack said. “We are.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him. His eyes were wet.  That undid you worse than anything else.

“You’re crying,” you said.

Jack huffed, but it came out rough. “No, I’m not.” 

You gave him a look through your tears. His mouth twitched.

“Fine,” Jack said. “Maybe a little.”

You laughed, and he smiled then, soft and stunned and completely wrecked. His gaze drifted back to the counter. Jack looked at the tests again, like he needed to see them one more time to believe it. Then his brows drew together.

“You took three tests?” Jack asked.

Your laugh came out wet and embarrassed. “I panicked.” 

Jack looked back at you, his mouth softening again. 

“Yeah,” Jack said quietly. “I can see that.”

You wiped at your cheek with the heel of your hand.

“I thought maybe I read them wrong,” you said.

“All three?” Jack asked, his brows lifting.

You gave him a weak look. “I said I panicked.”

Jack’s mouth twitched. “Efficient panic.” 

You gave a watery laugh and swatted lightly at his chest. He caught your hand before you could pull it away and kissed your knuckles. Then his hands slid from your face to your waist, pausing there like he wasn’t sure what he was allowed to touch. You saw the hesitation. Your chest ached.

“Jack,” you whispered.

His eyes flicked to yours. You reached for one of his hands and guided it lower, settling his palm carefully over your stomach. There was nothing there yet. Not really. No curve. No kick. No proof beyond the tests on the counter and the impossible hope opening between you.

Jack knew that.

He was a doctor. He knew better than anyone.

Still, the second his hand rested there, his whole face changed. His thumb moved once over the soft cotton of his shirt.

“Hey,” Jack whispered.

You started crying again. Jack looked up at you, alarm flashing across his face.

“What?” Jack asked.

You shook your head. “Nothing,” you said, laughing through it. “You’re already talking to the baby.”

Jack looked back down at his hand. “Yeah,” Jack said quietly.

His throat worked once. “Yeah, I am.” 

You covered his hand with yours.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The tests sat on the counter beside you.

Positive. Positive. Positive.

Jack bent and pressed his mouth to your forehead, lingering there as his hand stayed warm beneath yours. When he pulled back, his eyes were still wet, but his voice was steadier.

“You feeling okay?” Jack asked.

You laughed softly. “There he is.” 

Jack frowned. “What?”

You smiled up at him. “Doctor Jack.”

His frown deepened, but his thumb kept moving over your stomach.

“Husband Jack also wants to know if you feel okay,” Jack said.

Your smile wobbled.

 “I’m scared,” you admitted.

Jack’s expression softened immediately. “Yeah. Me too.”

“You are?” you asked.

“Sweetheart,” Jack said, his hand still warm beneath yours. “I’m terrified.”

A laugh broke out of you, startled and watery. Jack smiled, but his hand stayed careful over your stomach.

“But I’m happy,” Jack said. “I need you to know that part first. I’m scared, and I’m overwhelmed, and I’m probably going to say at least six stupid things in the next ten minutes.”

“You already said holy shit,” you said.

Jack’s mouth twitched. “That one was warranted.” 

You laughed again. His thumb moved over your stomach.

“But I’m happy,” Jack said, quieter now. “I’m so happy I don’t know what to do with it.”

Your face crumpled. Jack pulled you in again, wrapping both arms around you this time, careful but firm.

“I love you,” Jack said into your hair.

You closed your eyes.

“I love you too,” you said.

Jack held you for another long moment before he drew back just enough to look at you. Then he looked back down at your stomach, wonder stealing over his face all over again.

“Our baby,” Jack said softly.

The words settled into the bathroom, warm and terrifying and real. You covered his hand again.

“Our baby,” you whispered.

─── ୨୧ ───

Heartbeat

Jack was trying very hard to be normal.

You knew this because he had not stopped talking since you checked in.

Not loudly. Not obnoxiously. Not enough that anyone else in the waiting room would have noticed. But he had been narrating small, useless things under his breath for the better part of fifteen minutes, one hand resting on your knee while his other thumb worried at the edge of the appointment card they had given you at the front desk.

“The chairs are better here than the ones in the ER,” Jack said.

You looked over at him. Jack glanced around the waiting room like he was making a professional assessment.

“Not great,” Jack said. “But better.”

You gave him a look. “You’re reviewing the chairs?”

Jack’s mouth twitched. “I’m distracting you.”

You blinked at him. Jack’s thumb moved over your knee.

“And myself,” Jack added.

Your chest softened. You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers through his. Jack looked down at your joined hands, then squeezed once.

“Nervous?” he asked.

You nodded. “Very.”

Jack’s face softened immediately. “Yeah.”

“You?” you asked.

Jack looked at you. For half a second, you thought he might make another joke. Then his smile faded.

“Very,” Jack said.

The honesty settled between you, quiet and steady. You leaned your shoulder into his. Jack leaned back. Neither of you said anything for a minute. Across the room, someone’s toddler dropped a toy onto the floor with a sharp plastic clatter. A nurse opened a door and called another name. The TV mounted in the corner played a muted cooking segment no one seemed to be watching.

Jack’s hand stayed warm around yours. When your name was called, your stomach dropped so fast you almost forgot how to stand. Jack stood with you immediately.

“I’ve got you,” Jack said quietly.

You nodded, but your fingers tightened around his anyway. Jack did not let go. He stayed beside you through the walk back. Through the nurse taking your vitals. Through the questions that made everything feel both routine and terrifyingly real. Date of last period. Any spotting. Any cramping. Nausea. Medications. Allergies.

Jack stayed mostly quiet, answering only when you looked at him or when the nurse asked something he knew you were too nervous to remember. His thumb kept moving over the back of your hand.

Steady. Steady. Steady.

By the time the ultrasound tech dimmed the lights, your heart was pounding again. Jack noticed. He shifted closer to the exam table, his hand still wrapped around yours.

“You okay?” Jack asked.

You swallowed hard. “Ask me after.”

Jack’s jaw tightened for a second before he nodded.

“Fair,” Jack said.

The tech smiled gently as she adjusted the machine.

“We’ll take a look,” the tech said. “It’s early, so everything is small, but we should be able to see what we need.”

Small. The word made your throat tighten. Jack’s hand squeezed yours once. You stared at the ceiling while the tech started the scan, trying to breathe normally, trying not to read every tiny shift in her face. 

The screen glowed beside you. Gray shapes moved and blurred.

You had no idea what you were looking at.

Jack probably did, at least more than you, but he did not say anything. He only watched the screen with an expression so focused it almost scared you. Then the tech angled the monitor slightly toward you.

“There,” the tech said softly. “That little flicker right there.”

Your breath stopped. Jack’s hand went still around yours.

The tech smiled. “That’s baby’s heartbeat.”

For one second, the room went silent.

Or maybe you did. Maybe everything in you went so still that the rest of the world fell away. Then the tech turned on the sound.

The heartbeat filled the room. Fast. Steady. Impossible.

Your hand flew to your mouth.

“Oh my God,” you whispered.

Jack did not move. Not at first. You turned your head toward him and found him staring at the screen, his mouth parted slightly, his eyes already wet.

The sound kept going. Fast, fast, fast. Proof. Life. Your baby.

“Jack,” you whispered.

He blinked once. A tear slipped down his cheek before he seemed to realize it was there. You squeezed his hand. Jack let out a rough, disbelieving laugh.

“That’s our baby,” Jack said.

The tech smiled from beside the machine. “That’s your baby.”

Jack’s face crumpled for half a second. Then he looked down at you, and the look on his face nearly broke you.

“Sweetheart,” Jack said, voice wrecked. “That’s our baby.”

You nodded, crying now. “I know.”

Jack huffed another laugh, but it shook on the way out.

“I know you know,” Jack said. “I just—”

His voice broke. He looked back at the screen. The tiny flicker moved. The heartbeat kept filling the room. Jack wiped quickly at his face with his free hand, then seemed to realize there was no point pretending.

You laughed through your tears. “Still not crying?”

Jack looked down at you. His eyes were red and wet and full.

“Oh, I’m absolutely crying,” Jack said.

You laughed harder, and the sound turned into a sob. Jack bent down and kissed your forehead, his mouth lingering there while the heartbeat raced on beside you.

The tech pointed gently at the screen. “Baby is measuring right on track.”

Jack lifted his head, his face shifting just enough that you could see the doctor part of him catching the words.

“Good?” you asked quickly.

The tech nodded. “Very good.”

Jack squeezed your hand.

“Very good,” Jack repeated, softer, like he knew you needed to hear it from him too.

Your eyes stayed locked on the screen. The tiny flicker was so small. Too small, almost, for how much it had already changed.

“I can’t believe that’s inside me,” you whispered.

Jack’s thumb moved over your hand again.

“Yeah,” Jack said. “I’m having a little trouble with that too.”

You turned your face toward him. Jack smiled down at you, wet-eyed and stunned.

“What?” you asked.

 He shook his head. “Nothing.” 

You gave him a look. Jack’s smile deepened, but his voice came out soft.

“I just keep thinking about the tests,” Jack said.

“The pregnancy tests?” you asked.

Jack’s mouth twitched. “The very efficient panic tests, yeah.”

You laughed through your tears. His eyes moved back to the screen.

“They were real,” Jack said quietly.

Your chest tightened. You looked back at the monitor too. The heartbeat filled the dim little room again. Fast. Steady. Real.

You squeezed Jack’s hand.

“They were real,” you whispered.

Jack bent down again, pressing another kiss to your forehead. When he pulled back, his eyes stayed on the screen.

“Hey, kid,” Jack said softly.

Your mouth trembled.

The tech smiled to herself, but Jack did not seem to notice.

He was still looking at the flicker. At the tiny impossible proof of the baby you had both been too scared to fully believe in until that sound filled the room. Jack’s thumb moved over your hand.

“You’re already scaring the hell out of us,” Jack said quietly.

You laughed softly. “Jack.”

He glanced down at you, his face open and ruined.

“What?” Jack asked. “It’s true.”

You smiled through fresh tears. Jack looked back at the screen, and his voice softened even more.

“But we’re really happy you’re here,” Jack said.

Your face crumpled. Jack squeezed your hand again.

“So fucking happy,” Jack whispered.

─── ୨୧ ───

Kick

The first time you felt the baby move, you were on the couch with a half-empty bowl of cereal balanced on the curve of your stomach.

It was late enough that dinner had come and gone on one of Jack’s nights off, but pregnancy had apparently decided that cereal tasted best sometime after ten at night. Jack had not questioned it. He had only looked at the bowl, looked at you, and asked if you wanted the big spoon or the normal spoon.

You had chosen the big spoon.

Jack had called it a solid medical decision.

Now he was in the kitchen, putting away the rest of the dishes while you sat curled beneath a blanket, one hand resting lazily over your stomach and the other digging through the cereal bowl for the marshmallow pieces.

The baby had been quiet all day.

Not that you were far enough along to feel regular movement yet. You knew that. Jack had reminded you of that. Your doctor had reminded you of that.

Still, you had been waiting.

Listening to your body in a way that made everything feel both exciting and impossible to trust.

Then something fluttered low beneath your hand.

You froze.

The spoon stopped halfway to your mouth.

For one second, you wondered if you had imagined it.

Then it happened again.

A tiny, strange little tap from the inside.

Your breath caught so hard Jack heard it from the kitchen.

“What?” Jack asked, his voice immediately sharper.

You did not answer. Your hand pressed more firmly against your stomach.

The baby moved again. Small. Quick. Real.

“Oh my God,” you whispered.

Jack appeared with a dish towel still in his hands.

“What?” Jack asked again.

You looked up at him, eyes already filling.

“The baby moved,” you said.

Jack went still. The dish towel lowered slowly in his hand.

“What?” Jack asked, softer this time.

You laughed, startled and wet.

“The baby moved,” you said again. “I felt it.”

Jack dropped the dish towel onto the back of the couch and crossed the room so quickly he nearly clipped the coffee table with his shin.

“Where?” Jack asked.

You grabbed his hand before he could hover uselessly over your stomach.

“Here,” you said, guiding his palm to the spot low on your belly. “Right here.”

Jack lowered himself onto the edge of the couch beside you, his hand spread wide and careful over your stomach.

The two of you waited. Nothing happened.

Jack looked at your stomach. You looked at Jack. The baby did absolutely nothing.

Your mouth twitched.

“I swear it happened,” you said.

Jack’s eyes flicked up to yours immediately.

“I know,” Jack said.

“You don’t have to say that,” you said.

Jack frowned. “I’m not humoring you.”

You smiled softly. “You’re humoring me a little.”

“No,” Jack said, his thumb moving once over your stomach. “I believe you.”

Your chest warmed. Jack looked back down at his hand.

“I also think this kid has terrible timing,” Jack said.

You laughed. Jack leaned closer to your stomach, his brows drawing together.

“Really?” Jack asked your stomach. “You’re ignoring me already?” 

You stared at him.

“Are you arguing with the baby?” you asked.

Jack glanced up at you.

“I’m negotiating,” Jack said.

You laughed harder, one hand pressing over your mouth. 

Jack looked back down at your stomach with exaggerated seriousness.

“Listen,” Jack said, his palm still careful against you. “I know we haven’t met formally yet, but I’m your father, and I would appreciate a little cooperation.”

Nothing. The baby stayed perfectly still.

You bit your lip. Jack narrowed his eyes.

“Oh, you’re stubborn,” Jack said.

You tilted your head. “Wonder where that comes from.”

Jack looked at you.

“Not me,” Jack said.

You gave him a look. Jack’s mouth twitched.

“Fine,” Jack said. “Maybe a little me.”

The baby kicked.

Not a flutter this time. A real, unmistakable little thump beneath his palm.

Jack froze. Everything in him went still at once. His hand did not move. His face changed so quickly it stole the smile right off yours.

“Was that—” Jack started.

“Yeah,” you whispered.

Jack looked down at his hand. His mouth parted slightly.

“That was the baby?” Jack asked.

You nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks. “That was the baby.”

Jack’s throat worked. He stared at your stomach like the entire universe had just shifted under his hand.

Then the baby kicked again.

Jack sucked in a breath.

“Holy shit,” Jack whispered.

You laughed through a sob.

“That one was for you,” you said.

Jack looked up at you. His eyes were wet again.

“Yeah?” Jack asked.

You nodded, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.

“Yeah,” you said. “I think so.”

Jack looked back down at his hand. For once, he did not have a joke ready. He only sat there with his palm spread over your stomach, his thumb barely moving, his face open and stunned and softer than you had ever seen it.

“Hey, kid,” Jack said quietly.

Your face crumpled. Jack leaned closer, his mouth near your stomach, his hand warm beneath yours.

“Hi,” Jack said. “It’s me.”

“They probably know your voice by now,” you said.

Jack looked back down, and something fragile moved through his expression.

The baby kicked again.

Jack’s laugh broke out of him, rough and disbelieving.

“Oh,” Jack said. “Okay. Maybe they do.”

You slid your fingers into his hair, brushing it back from his forehead as he stayed bent close to your stomach. Jack did not move away. He pressed a kiss to the cotton of your shirt, right above where his hand rested.

Your breath caught. Jack’s eyes flicked up to yours.

“You okay?” Jack asked.

You nodded, even though you were crying. “Yeah.”

His hand shifted carefully over your stomach.

“You sure?” Jack asked.

You smiled through your tears.

“I’m happy,” you said.

Jack’s face softened.

“Yeah,” Jack said. “Me too.”

The baby moved again, lighter this time, a tiny flutter beneath your skin. Jack looked back down immediately. His voice dropped lower.

“There you are,” Jack said.

You stroked your fingers through his hair again. Jack’s thumb moved slowly over the curve of you. Your throat tightened.

The baby went quiet again.

Jack waited another few seconds, hopeful and still, before he finally looked up at you.

“I think I won,” Jack said.

You blinked at him. “Won what?”

Jack’s mouth curved.

“The negotiation,” Jack said.

You laughed, the sound watery and tired and full. Jack grinned, but his eyes were still damp. Then his expression softened all over again as he looked down at his hand.

“Our baby kicked me,” Jack said.

You smiled.

“Technically,” you said, “our baby kicked me.”

Jack looked offended.

“I was involved,” Jack said.

You laughed again. Jack shifted closer on the couch, careful of your bowl, and wrapped his free arm around your shoulders. You leaned into him.

His hand stayed on your stomach.

For a long while, neither of you moved.

The TV played softly across the room. The dishes sat half-finished in the kitchen. Your cereal went soggy in the bowl on your lap. Jack did not seem to notice any of it. He kept his palm on your stomach, waiting patiently for another kick, his thumb moving in slow, absent strokes over your shirt.

Eventually, you rested your head against his shoulder.

“They’re really in there,” you whispered.

Jack turned his face into your hair.

“Yeah,” Jack said softly. “They really are.”

You closed your eyes. Jack’s mouth brushed your temple.

“And they already listen to me,” Jack said.

You opened your eyes and turned your head just enough to glare at him. Jack smiled against your skin.

“They kicked you,” you said.

Jack’s smile widened.

“Twice,” Jack said.

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling too. Jack looked back down at your stomach, his face impossibly tender.

“Good job, kid,” Jack whispered. “Keep doing that.”

─── ୨୧ ───

Voice

By the third trimester, the baby had developed strong opinions about bedtime.

Specifically, the baby seemed to think bedtime was an excellent opportunity to practice whatever complicated acrobatics were apparently necessary at midnight.

You were propped against the pillows with one hand on your stomach and the other pressed over your eyes, trying not to cry from sheer exhaustion.

Jack came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, toothbrush still in his mouth, and stopped at the sight of you.

His brows drew together. He pulled the toothbrush from his mouth.

“What’s wrong?” Jack asked.

You dropped your hand from your face and looked at him.

“Your child is doing parkour,” you said.

Jack blinked. Then he looked at your stomach.

“My child?” Jack asked.

You pointed at your belly.

“This feels like your side of the family,” you said.

Jack’s mouth twitched around the toothbrush.

“I’m going to rinse,” Jack said. “Then I’m going to defend myself.”

You waved weakly toward the bathroom.

“Please do,” you said.

Jack disappeared for a few seconds, and you felt another firm roll beneath your ribs.

You groaned.

When Jack came back, he crossed to your side of the bed and sat carefully beside your hip.

“Still going?” Jack asked.

You nodded, exhausted and miserable. “Still going.”

Jack’s face softened immediately. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your temple.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Jack said.

You closed your eyes.

“I’m so tired,” you whispered.

“I know,” Jack said.

His hand settled over your stomach, broad and warm, moving slowly until you guided him to the spot where the baby had been pushing. Jack’s palm stilled. The baby kicked against him almost immediately. Jack’s eyes widened.

“Oh,” Jack said. “Yeah. That was rude.”

A laugh slipped out of you despite yourself.

“Rude?” you asked.

Jack looked down at your stomach.

“That was very aggressive,” Jack said.

The baby kicked again. Jack’s eyebrows lifted.

“See?” Jack asked. “Aggressive.”

You laughed again, softer this time. Jack’s thumb moved gently over your shirt.

“Hey,” Jack said to your stomach. “It is very late.”

The baby shifted. Jack leaned closer, his mouth near your belly.

“Your mother needs to sleep,” Jack said.

You watched him, your chest aching. The baby kicked beneath his hand. Jack paused. Then he looked up at you.

“They’re not listening,” Jack said.

You smiled tiredly. “Shocking.”

Jack looked back down with mock offense.

“We talked about this,” Jack said to your stomach. “Cooperation. Basic respect. Reasonable hours.”

The baby moved again, a slow roll under your skin. Jack’s face changed. The joke faded a little. His hand softened over you.

“Hey, kid,” Jack said, quieter now.

Your throat tightened. The baby stilled beneath his palm. For a moment, neither of you moved. Jack looked down at your stomach like he was trying to understand how something so small could already have so much of him. Then the baby shifted again, softer this time. Your breath caught. Jack’s thumb brushed over the curve of you.

“Yeah,” Jack whispered. “I’m here.”

You looked at him. His eyes stayed on your stomach. The baby settled under his hand, the wild kicks fading into smaller movements, then quiet. You swallowed hard.

“They know your voice,” you said.

Jack lifted his eyes to yours. The look on his face was so open it nearly undid you.

“You think so?” Jack asked.

You nodded, tears prickling hot behind your eyes.

“I think so,” you said.

Jack looked back down at his hand. His jaw worked once.

“Shit,” Jack whispered.

You laughed softly. “That’s your response?”

Jack glanced at you, eyes wet and stunned.

“I’m having a moment,” Jack said.

Your smile trembled.

“I can see that,” you said.

Jack bent and pressed his mouth to your stomach, right above where his hand rested. Your breath caught. He stayed there for a second, his eyes closed, his palm warm and steady over the baby. When he pulled back, his voice was lower.

“Hi,” Jack whispered to your stomach. “It’s Dad.”

Your face crumpled. Jack looked up immediately.

“What?” Jack asked.

You shook your head, crying before you could stop yourself.

“Nothing,” you said.

Jack’s expression softened.

“That is very clearly not nothing,” Jack said.

You wiped quickly under your eyes.

“You called yourself Dad,” you said.

Jack went still. Like he had not realized. Like the word had slipped out of him before he could decide whether he was ready for it. Then his face broke into something small and overwhelmed.

“Yeah,” Jack said.

His hand moved once over your stomach.

“Yeah, I guess I did,” Jack said.

The baby stayed quiet beneath his palm. You took your first full breath in what felt like hours.

Jack noticed.

He shifted carefully, sliding down until his head was near your stomach and one arm was draped gently around your hip.

“You comfortable?” Jack asked.

You nodded. “Don’t move.”

Jack huffed a quiet laugh.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jack said.

You threaded your fingers through his hair. Jack rested his cheek lightly against your stomach, careful not to press too hard. The room settled around you. The lamp on his side of the bed cast everything in warm gold. The blankets were twisted around your legs. Your back ached, your hips hurt, and your whole body felt stretched and heavy and strange.

But the baby was still.

Jack’s voice had done what your pleading, shifting, and deep breathing had not. You looked down at him.

“Jack,” you whispered.

His eyes opened. “Yeah?” 

Your fingers moved through his hair. “Thank you.” 

Jack’s face softened. “For what?” 

You looked down at your stomach, then back at him.

“For being you,” you said.

Jack stared at you for a second.

Then he shifted up carefully, bracing one hand beside your hip so he could kiss you.

This kiss was softer than the one in the bathroom months ago. Slower. Quieter.

Jack kissed you like the whole house had gone still around the three of you, like he was careful not to wake the baby he had just somehow talked into sleeping.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“You’re doing so good,” Jack said.

Your eyes filled again. “Don’t make me cry.” 

Jack smiled, brushing his nose lightly against yours.

“I think we both know that ship sailed a while ago,” Jack said.

You laughed wetly. Jack kissed your forehead, then lowered himself back down, settling beside your stomach again. His hand returned to the curve of you.

“Okay, kid,” Jack whispered. “You and me. Quiet hours.”

The baby did not move. Jack smiled against your shirt.

“Good talk,” Jack whispered.

─── ୨୧ ───

Here

By the time the nurse told you to push again, you were certain there was nothing left in you.

Not strength. Not breath. Not courage.

Nothing.

Your hair was damp against your temples, plastered there with sweat. The hospital gown clung to your skin and twisted beneath you every time you shifted against the pillows. Your throat hurt from crying. Your jaw ached from clenching. Your whole body trembled with a kind of exhaustion that felt deeper than tired, deeper than pain, deeper than anything you had words for anymore.

Jack stood at your side with one hand wrapped around yours and the other braced behind your thigh, helping hold your leg when your own muscles started to shake too hard to do it yourself.

He had been there the whole time.

Through every contraction. Every position change. Every check. Every moment where you had cried into his shoulder, snapped that you couldn’t do this anymore, apologized for snapping, then cried harder when he told you there was nothing to apologize for.

His sleeves were pushed to his forearms now. His hair was a mess from how many times he had dragged a hand through it. His jaw was tight, and his eyes were fixed on your face with the kind of focus that would have looked calm to anyone who didn’t know him.

You knew better.

Jack Abbot was not calm.

Jack Abbot was holding himself together with both hands because you needed him to.

The doctor shifted at the end of the bed.

“Okay,” the doctor said. “With the next contraction, we’re going to push again.”

A broken sound slipped out of you before you could stop it.

Jack’s hand tightened around yours.

“I know,” Jack murmured near your temple. “I know, sweetheart.”

You shook your head weakly, tears slipping down the sides of your face.

“I can’t,” you whispered.

Jack leaned closer.

You turned toward him, breath hitching.

“Jack, I can’t,” you said, your voice cracking. “I can’t do it anymore.”

His expression broke.

Only for a second.

Only enough for you to see the pain flicker through his face before he tucked it away and bent over you like he could shield you from the whole room.

“Yes, you can,” Jack said, his voice low and rough. “You are.”

You squeezed your eyes shut.

“I’m so tired,” you said.

“I know you are,” Jack said.

His thumb moved over the back of your hand, slow and steady, even as you crushed his fingers in your grip.

“I know,” Jack said again. “You’ve been working so hard, baby.”

Another sob tore through you.

“It hurts,” you cried.

Jack reached for the cool cloth from the nurse’s hand without looking away from your face.

“I know,” Jack said.

He wiped your forehead carefully, dragging the cloth over your hairline, down your cheek, along the damp curve of your neck. His touch was gentle, but his hand trembled once when you whimpered.

He saw you see it.

Jack swallowed.

“I’m right here,” Jack said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Your lips shook.

“I don’t want to do another one,” you whispered.

His face softened, and somehow that was worse. Somehow his tenderness made you feel even more undone.

“I know,” Jack said. “I wish I could do it for you.”

You opened your eyes at that.

Jack bent closer, his mouth brushing your temple.

“I would,” Jack said quietly. “If there was any way for me to take this from you, I would.”

Another tear slipped into your hair.

“But I can’t,” Jack said. “So I’m going to stay right here, and we’re going to get through the next one together.”

You tried to breathe, but the air came in shallow and panicked.

Jack saw it immediately.

“Look at me,” Jack said.

You shook your head.

“Baby,” Jack said, firmer now. “Look at me.”

Your eyes fluttered open, unfocused and wet.

Jack’s face came into view above you, close enough that you could see the shine in his eyes and the strain around his mouth.

“There she is,” Jack murmured.

Your face crumpled.

Jack brushed his thumb across your cheek.

“There’s my girl,” Jack said.

A laugh broke out of you, thin and miserable.

“Don’t make me cry more,” you said.

Jack’s mouth tugged into something that almost became a smile.

“I’m trying not to,” Jack said. “I’m just proud of you.”

You shook your head, your face crumpling all over again.

“I’m trying so hard,” you whispered.

Jack’s eyes filled immediately.

“I know,” Jack said, his voice rough. “I know you are.”

The contraction started low in your body, a slow, brutal tightening that made your entire spine go rigid.

Your breath caught.

Jack shifted instantly, one hand still locked around yours while the other moved more securely beneath your thigh.

“I see you,” Jack said. “I see how hard you’re trying.”

The contraction rolled through you, heavy and brutal, stealing the last of your breath before you could find it.

The nurse stepped closer to your other side.

“Okay,” the nurse said. “Deep breath in. Chin to chest. Push into that pressure.”

A strangled sound tore out of you.

Jack leaned down immediately, his mouth close to your ear.

“With me,” Jack said. “Take a breath with me, sweetheart.”

You tried.

The inhale shook on the way in, broken and thin, but Jack nodded like it was exactly enough.

“That’s it,” Jack said. “Good. Now push.”

You pushed.

Your whole body curled forward with the effort, pain and pressure blooming so sharply that the room blurred at the edges. Your fingers clamped around Jack’s hand hard enough that somewhere distant in your mind, you knew it had to hurt.

Jack did not flinch.

“There you go,” Jack said, his voice low and steady beside your ear. “That’s it. That’s my girl.”

The nurse started counting. “One. Two. Three.”

Jack counted with her, his grip sure around your hand, his other arm braced behind your thigh.

“Four,” Jack said. “Five. Keep going, baby.”

A sob broke through the push.

“I can’t,” you cried.

“You are,” Jack said immediately. “You’re doing it right now. Six. Seven.”

Your body shook violently.

Jack’s jaw clenched, but his voice stayed steady.

“Eight,” Jack said. “Nine. That’s it. Almost there.”

The nurse’s voice rose with encouragement.

“Ten,” the nurse said. “Good. Breathe.”

You collapsed back against the pillows, gasping, trembling so hard your teeth nearly chattered.

Jack lowered your leg carefully, then shifted closer, his hand still wrapped around yours.

“Breathe,” Jack murmured. “In and out. Just breathe for me.”

You tried to follow him, but the breaths came out ragged and wet.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you whispered.

Jack wiped your forehead again with the cloth, slow and careful, his thumb brushing away the tears at your temple.

“I know it feels like that,” Jack said.

You shook your head weakly.

“No,” you cried. “No, I can’t. I can’t keep doing this.”

Jack bent over you, blocking out some of the light, some of the room, some of everything that was too much.

“Listen to me,” Jack said. “You don’t have to do all of it right now.”

Your lip trembled.

“You just have to do the next one,” Jack said.

You stared at him, exhausted and scared and hurting.

His eyes were wet, but his voice did not move.

“Just the next one,” Jack said again. “That’s all I’m asking.”

The doctor looked up from the end of the bed.

“You’re moving baby down beautifully,” the doctor said. “We’re getting close.”

Close.

The word should have helped.

Instead, it made another sob tear up your throat.

Jack saw it instantly.

“I know,” Jack said softly.

You squeezed your eyes shut.

“I’m so tired,” you whispered.

“I know, baby,” Jack said.

“I don’t want to hurt anymore,” you said.

Jack’s face twisted before he could hide it.

He kissed your forehead, lingering there with his eyes closed for half a second.

“I know,” Jack said against your skin. “I know.”

His mouth brushed your temple.

“I’m right here,” Jack said. “Every second.”

Another contraction began to gather, low and merciless.

Your hand tightened around his.

Panic rose so quickly you could barely breathe around it.

“Jack,” you said, voice cracking.

“I’ve got you,” Jack said immediately.

Your eyes flew open.

“Stay with me,” you begged.

Jack bent closer, his forehead nearly touching yours.

“I’m here,” Jack said, his voice rough but steady. “I’m right here.”

The contraction climbed hard and fast, stealing whatever breath you had managed to gather.

You made a broken sound and tried to curl away from it, but there was nowhere to go. Your body was already moving, already bearing down, already demanding more from you than you knew how to give.

Jack moved with you.

His hand stayed locked around yours while his other arm braced firmly behind your thigh, holding you steady when your muscles started to shake.

“Okay,” the nurse said. “Deep breath. Push right into it.”

You shook your head, tears spilling hot down your cheeks.

“I can’t,” you cried.

Jack’s face was right there, close enough that he was the only thing you could focus on.

“You can,” Jack said. “You’ve got me. Push.”

The nurse started counting. “One. Two.”

You pushed with everything you had, a raw cry tearing out of your throat.

Jack did not look away from you.

“Three,” Jack said. “Four. Good, baby. That’s so good.”

Your fingers crushed his.

“Five,” Jack said, his voice breaking around the edge of the word. “Six. Keep going.”

“I can’t,” you sobbed.

“You are,” Jack said immediately. “You’re doing it. Seven.”

Your whole body trembled violently.

“Eight,” Jack said. “Nine. Come on, sweetheart. Almost there.”

The nurse’s voice rose beside you.

“Ten,” the nurse said. “Good. Good push.”

You fell back against the pillows, gasping, your chest heaving as you tried to drag air back into your lungs. Jack lowered your leg carefully, then reached for the cloth again. He wiped across your forehead, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth where tears and sweat had gathered together.

“You did so good,” Jack said.

You shook your head weakly, too exhausted to argue, too tired to believe him.

Jack saw it anyway. He always saw you.

“Hey,” Jack said softly.

Your eyes shifted to his.

“I know,” Jack said. “I know you don’t feel like you’re doing good right now.”

You swallowed hard, another tear sliding into your hair.

“But you are,” Jack said. “You’re doing everything right.”

The doctor looked up from the end of the bed, and something in her expression changed.

“Okay,” the doctor said. “That was really good. Baby is right there.”

Your breath hitched.

Jack went still beside you.

The doctor smiled, calm but focused.

“A couple more like that,” the doctor said, “and you’re going to meet your baby.”

For a second, the room seemed to tilt.

Your baby.

After all these months, all those tests, that heartbeat, those kicks beneath Jack’s hand, the little body that settled whenever he spoke in the dark, the words still felt too big to hold.

You turned your face toward Jack.

He was staring at the doctor, lips parted slightly, eyes bright and stunned like the sentence had hit him somewhere deep.

Then he looked down at you.

The expression on his face nearly broke you.

“Jack,” you whispered.

He blinked once, and a tear slipped free before he could stop it.

“I know,” Jack said, voice wrecked.

You started crying harder.

He bent down immediately, pressing his mouth to your forehead.

“I know,” Jack whispered against your skin. “We’re almost there.”

“I’m scared,” you admitted.

Jack pulled back enough to look at you.

His eyes were wet. His face was pale with exhaustion and fear and love, but his voice stayed steady because you needed it.

“I know you are,” Jack said.

Your fingers tightened around his.

“I’m scared too,” Jack admitted quietly.

Something in your chest split open.

Jack brushed his thumb over the back of your hand.

“But you’re not doing this alone,” Jack said. “Not for one second.”

The nurse adjusted the monitor near your belly, then gave you an encouraging smile.

“You’re doing beautifully,” the nurse said. “Baby’s tolerating everything well.”

Jack’s shoulders dropped by a fraction.

You noticed.

Even half-delirious with exhaustion, you noticed.

He looked at the monitor, then back at your face, his thumb still moving over your knuckles like he could soothe both of you with the same touch.

“The baby’s okay?” you asked, voice small.

“Baby’s okay,” the nurse said.

Jack leaned closer.

“Baby’s okay,” Jack repeated, softer now, his mouth near your temple. “You’re okay. I’ve got you both.”

You closed your eyes, trying to hold onto that.

You’re okay. Baby’s okay. Jack’s here.

The words barely settled before the next contraction started to build.

Your eyes snapped open, panic flooding through you again.

Jack saw it before you said anything.

“I’m here,” Jack said.

You shook your head, whimpering. “I can’t, Jack.”

He shifted back into position, one hand wrapped around yours, the other moving beneath your thigh.

“Yes, you can,” Jack said. “Just this one.”

The pressure grew sharper, lower, impossible to ignore.

The doctor leaned forward slightly.

“Okay,” the doctor said. “This is the one. Big push when you’re ready.”

You let out a sob.

Jack bent close, his voice rough in your ear.

“Give me this one,” Jack said. “Come on, sweetheart. Bring our baby here.”

The contraction crested, and your body folded into it.

You pushed with everything you had left.

The sound that tore out of you was raw and broken, dragged up from somewhere deep in your chest, and Jack moved with you like he could keep you from shattering through sheer force of will.

“That’s it,” Jack said. “That’s it, baby. Keep going.”

You squeezed his hand so hard your fingers ached.

Jack did not flinch.

“Good,” Jack said, voice breaking. “Fuck, you’re doing so good.”

The nurse counted beside you, but the numbers blurred together until all you could hear was Jack.

His voice. His breath. His mouth near your temple.

“Keep going,” Jack said. “You’re right there. You’re right there, sweetheart.”

“I can’t,” you cried.

“You are,” Jack said immediately. “You are. Come on, baby. Come on.”

The pressure burned white-hot.

Your body shook violently, every muscle straining, your throat tight around a sob you barely had the strength to make.

Then the doctor’s voice changed.

“That’s it,” the doctor said. “There we go. Baby’s head is crowning.”

Jack went still beside you.

His hand tightened around yours, but his voice stayed low.

“You hear that?” Jack asked, his mouth close to your hairline. “You’re doing it. You’re almost done.”

You fell back for half a second, gasping.

“I can’t,” you whispered again, but there was no force behind it anymore.

Only exhaustion. Only fear. Only the awful, impossible need to be finished.

Jack wiped your face with his free hand, brushing sweat and tears from your cheek with a tenderness that made you want to cry harder.

“You can,” Jack said. “You’re so close.”

The doctor looked up at you.

“Okay,” the doctor said. “One more push.”

You made a desperate sound, your fingers locking around Jack’s.

“No,” you cried. “No, I can’t.”

Jack leaned over you, close enough that his forehead touched yours.

“You can,” Jack said. “I know you can.”

You shook your head, crying harder.

“I don’t have anything left,” you said.

Jack’s eyes filled.

“You do,” Jack said, voice rough. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you do.”

The contraction rose again, smaller but sharper, and your entire body tensed beneath it.

Jack braced you carefully.

“Look at me,” Jack said.

You opened your eyes.

His face was the only clear thing in the room.

“There you are,” Jack whispered.

Your lip trembled.

“I’m scared,” you said.

“I know,” Jack said. “I’m right here.”

“Don’t let go,” you begged.

Jack’s hand locked around yours.

“Never,” Jack said, voice rough and absolute. “Not a fucking chance.”

The nurse’s voice softened beside you.

“Okay,” the nurse said. “When you feel that pressure, give us one more.”

You sobbed once, nodded, and pushed.

For one suspended second, there was only the pressure.

The pain.

Jack’s hand in yours. Jack’s voice breaking against your temple.

“That’s it,” Jack said. “That’s my girl. That’s it.”

Then suddenly, all at once, the pressure changed.

Released.

The doctor lifted their hands.

And a cry cut through the room.

Small. Furious. Alive.

You fell back against the pillows, stunned, shaking so hard you could barely breathe.

Jack went completely still beside you.

For one breath, nobody spoke.

Then the doctor lifted the baby just enough for you both to see.

“It’s a girl,” the doctor said.

A girl.

Your daughter.

Your mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Jack’s hand tightened around yours so suddenly that you turned your head toward him.

His face had gone completely unguarded.

All the steadiness, all the control, all the strength he had forced into himself for your sake cracked open at once. His eyes filled, his mouth parted, and the breath he let out sounded broken.

“Oh my God,” Jack whispered.

Your daughter cried again, red-faced and perfect, her tiny arms moving angrily in the air.

A sob ripped out of you.

“Jack,” you cried. “She’s here.”

Jack nodded, but his eyes never left her.

“She’s here,” Jack said, voice ruined. “Baby, she’s here.”

The nurse brought your daughter up to you, and then suddenly she was on your chest, warm and slippery and impossibly real.

Your hands came up on instinct, trembling as you touched her tiny back.

“Oh,” you sobbed. “Hi. Hi, baby.”

Your daughter cried against your skin, tiny and furious, and you started crying harder.

Jack bent over both of you, one hand still wrapped around yours, the other hovering for a second like he was afraid to touch something so small.

Then he laid one careful finger against your daughter’s back.

The baby shifted beneath his touch.

Jack broke.

His head dipped, his shoulders shaking once as he pressed his mouth to your damp hairline.

“You did it,” Jack said, crying now. “You did it.”

You looked up at him through tears.

“We have a daughter,” you said.

Jack laughed, but it came out shattered.

“Yeah,” Jack whispered. “We have a daughter.”

Your hand spread protectively over her back.

“She’s so tiny,” you said.

Jack looked down at your daughter like the entire world had narrowed to that small, warm body against your chest.

“She’s perfect,” Jack said.

“She’s loud,” you said, laughing through a sob.

Jack smiled then, tears still slipping down his face.

“That too,” Jack said.

Your daughter gave another angry little cry, and Jack looked so overwhelmed by it that you almost laughed again.

He bent closer, his mouth brushing your temple.

“I am so proud of you,” Jack whispered. “I don’t even know what to do with it.”

Your eyes closed for half a second, exhaustion pulling at every part of you.

Jack’s hand covered yours over your daughter’s back.

“I love you,” Jack said, his voice ruined and soft. “Both of you. So fucking much.”

The nurse gave you another minute with her before she shifted closer, careful and gentle.

“Dad,” the nurse said softly, smiling at Jack. “Do you want to cut the cord?”

Jack looked up like he had forgotten anyone else was in the room.

Dad.

The word moved through his face before he could hide it. His eyes dropped back to your daughter, then to you.

“Yeah,” Jack said, voice rough. “Yeah, I do.”

He bent and kissed your forehead first, his mouth lingering against your damp skin.

“I’ll be right here,” Jack murmured.

You nodded, crying too hard to answer.

The nurse guided him, and Jack followed with the kind of careful focus you knew so well. He had steady hands. He always had. But when the scissors were placed in his hand, his fingers trembled. You saw it. Jack saw you see it. A broken little laugh left him.

“Don’t start,” Jack said softly.

You laughed through a sob. “I didn’t say anything.” 

“You were thinking it,” Jack said.

“I was thinking you’re crying,” you whispered.

Jack looked at you, tears still slipping down his face. “Yeah,” Jack said. “I am.”

Then he looked back at your daughter, swallowed hard, and cut the cord with careful, reverent concentration. The moment it was done, his eyes found yours again. You didn’t know why that undid you more. Maybe because he had not stopped looking for you, even with your daughter right there between you. The nurse adjusted the blanket over the baby’s back, keeping her tucked against your chest.

“We’re going to let her stay right here for a minute,” the nurse said. “The doctor is just going to help you deliver the placenta, okay?”

You nodded, but you barely heard her.

Your daughter was warm against your skin. Real. Here.

Jack moved back beside you immediately, one hand finding your hair, his fingers smoothing carefully over the damp strands at your temple.

“You okay?” Jack asked.

You let out a watery laugh, because it was an impossible question. You were exhausted. Shaking. Sore. Split open in every way a person could be split open. And your daughter was lying on your chest.

“I don’t know,” you whispered.

Jack’s face softened. “That’s fair.” 

The doctor said something gentle from the end of the bed, and your body answered with another cramp, duller than before but still enough to make your face tighten. Jack saw it instantly.

“Hey,” Jack said, bending closer. “Breathe.”

You winced, one hand spreading more carefully over your daughter’s back.

“I thought the hard part was over,” you whispered.

Jack’s mouth twitched, but his eyes stayed soft and wet. “I know. I’m sorry.”

The contraction eased. The doctor’s voice stayed calm, the nurse’s hand steady near your shoulder, the whole room moving around you with quiet purpose. But Jack stayed fixed beside your face. Not watching like a doctor. Watching like your husband.

“You’re doing great,” the doctor said. “Placenta is delivered.”

You nodded, exhausted enough that the words floated around you instead of sinking in.

Jack brushed his thumb along your hairline. “Almost done.” 

You looked down at the baby. Your daughter’s crying had softened into tiny, breathy sounds against your skin. Her cheek was turned against your chest, her little mouth open, one fist tucked beneath her chin.

“She’s so small,” you whispered.

Jack looked down too, and his entire expression changed again. Like he had forgotten and remembered all at once.

“Yeah,” Jack whispered. “She is.”

You glanced up at him. His eyes were still wet. “Are you okay?”

Jack let out a breath that almost became a laugh. “No. Not even close.”

You laughed, then winced slightly. Jack’s hand moved to your cheek.

“Sorry,” Jack said.

“You didn’t do it,” you whispered.

“No,” Jack said, his thumb brushing beneath your eye. “But I hate seeing you hurt.”

Before you could answer, the nurse shifted closer again. “We’re going to take her over to the warmer for just a few minutes,” the nurse said gently. “Get her cleaned up, check her weight, all of that. Dad can come with us.”

Your arms tightened around your daughter on instinct. Jack saw it. So did the nurse.

“Just right there,” the nurse said softly, pointing across the room. “You’ll be able to see her the whole time.”

You nodded because you understood. Because you trusted them. Because you knew it was normal. But when the nurse lifted your daughter from your chest, your whole body seemed to ache with the sudden emptiness of it. A small, wounded sound slipped out of you before you could stop it.

Jack heard it. So did your daughter. She cried harder as the nurse carried her toward the warmer, small and furious and impossibly loud for someone so tiny. Jack turned toward the sound before he seemed to realize he had moved. It was instinct. Immediate. His shoulders shifted. His head snapped slightly toward the warmer. One foot angled like he was already about to follow her across the room.

Then he stopped.

You saw it happen. The pull of it. Your daughter crying across the room. You shaking in the bed. Jack’s whole body had gone tense with the need to be in two places at once. He looked at the warmer, then back at you, his face torn open with it. His hand found your cheek again, warm and unsteady, like touching you was the only thing keeping him from splitting down the middle.

“She’s okay,” Jack said, but his voice was rougher now. “Baby, she’s okay. They’ve got her.”

Your eyes stayed locked on the warmer. Your daughter cried again. Jack’s jaw tightened. His gaze flicked back toward her, fast and helpless, then returned to you like he was forcing himself to stay planted. You reached for his wrist with what little strength you had left.

“Make sure she’s okay,” you whispered.

Jack’s eyes snapped to yours. For a second, he looked like he wanted to argue. Not because he didn’t want to go. Because leaving your side, even for ten feet, felt impossible.

“Sweetheart,” Jack said, voice low and wrecked.

“Please,” you whispered, tears slipping into your hair. “I need to know she’s okay.”

Jack stared at you. Then understanding moved through his face. Not permission. A request. A need.  You could not get to her. So he had to. His mouth trembled once before he pressed it into a line.

“Okay,” Jack said.

He bent and kissed your forehead hard, lingering there like he had to make himself let go.

“I’ll make sure,” Jack said against your skin. “I’ve got her.”

You nodded, crying too hard to answer. Jack kissed you once more, then lifted his head, his eyes moving between you and the warmer.

“I’ll be right here still,” Jack said, his voice rough but steady. “You hear me? I’m still here.”

You nodded again. “I know.” 

Even then, he hesitated. Of course he did. Your fingers slipped weakly from his wrist.

“Go, Dad,” you whispered.

Jack froze. The words hit him so hard you saw it. His face changed completely, his eyes filling all over again as he looked down at you.

“Fuck,” Jack whispered, voice breaking.

You gave him the smallest smile you could manage. Jack swallowed hard, nodded once, then stepped away from the bed. He moved toward the warmer, but he looked back at you twice before he got there, like every step away from you cost him something.

When he reached your daughter, the nurse shifted aside enough for him to see. Jack stopped dead. All the conflict on his face softened into awe. Your daughter lay beneath the warmer, red-faced and furious, her tiny mouth open around a cry that seemed far too big for her little body. Jack’s hand hovered above her for a second. For all his steady hands, all his years of knowing exactly where to touch and how much pressure to use, he suddenly looked terrified of doing it wrong.

The nurse smiled gently. “You can touch her. She knows your voice.”

Jack swallowed hard. Then he lowered one careful finger and brushed it against her tiny foot.

“Hi,” Jack said, his voice so gentle you barely recognized it. “Hi, baby girl.”

Your daughter cried harder. Jack let out a broken little laugh, tears still wet on his face.

“Yeah,” Jack murmured. “I know, sweetheart. I know.”

He bent closer, his broad shoulders curling toward her like he could shelter her from the whole world.

“It’s been a hell of a day for you too, huh?” Jack whispered.

Your daughter’s tiny foot flexed beneath his finger. Jack froze like she had reached up and grabbed his heart with her whole hand.

“Oh,” Jack whispered.

You started crying again from the bed. Jack glanced back at you immediately, alarm flashing across his face. You shook your head before he could move.

“I’m okay,” you mouthed.

Jack stared at you for another second, torn all over again. Then you pointed weakly toward the baby. He huffed a wet little laugh, nodded, and looked back down at your daughter.

“There you go,” Jack whispered to her. “Mom’s already bossing me around again.”

Your daughter hiccuped through another cry. Jack smiled, utterly ruined.

“Yeah,” Jack said softly. “You’ll get used to it.”

The nurse dried your daughter beneath the warmer, murmuring softly to her while she cried like she had complaints about every single person in the room. Jack stood beside her, close enough to be there but careful not to get in the nurse’s way. One of his hands rested on the edge of the warmer. The other hovered near your daughter’s tiny foot, like he still could not quite believe he was allowed to touch her.

“Good strong cry,” the nurse said.

Jack nodded, his eyes fixed on your daughter. “Yeah.” 

“She looks great, Dad,” the nurse said.

Dad.

Even from the bed, you saw the word hit him. Jack swallowed hard, his shoulders rising and falling with one careful breath.

“She’s okay?” you called weakly.

Jack turned immediately, like your voice had pulled him by the chest.

“She’s okay,” Jack said, voice rough but steady. “She’s perfect.”

The nurse called out her weight, her length, all the tiny perfect details, and Jack listened like every number was being carved directly into his heart. Then they slipped a little diaper on her, eased a soft hat over her head, and wrapped her in a warm striped blanket.

For a second, Jack just stared. Your daughter was still crying, red-faced and furious, swallowed by the blanket and hat until only her tiny face showed. Jack’s mouth parted.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Jack whispered.

Your chest ached. The nurse smiled up at him.

“Dad,” the nurse said gently. “Are you ready to hold her?”

Jack looked at the nurse. Then he looked at your daughter. Then he looked at you. Of course he did. His eyes were wet again, and his face was so open it made your throat tighten. You nodded, crying before he even said anything.

“Hold her,” you whispered.

Jack let out a shaky breath.

“Yeah,” Jack said, looking back down at your daughter. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

The nurse shifted the baby carefully in her arms.

“We can do skin-to-skin if you want,” the nurse said. “Just take your shirt off, and I’ll help get her settled.”

Jack froze. Not because he didn’t want to. Because he wanted to so badly it seemed to knock the air out of him. Then he nodded once and reached for the back of his T-shirt. You watched him pull it over his head with hands that were not quite steady, leaving his hair even more of a mess than it already was. He dropped the shirt onto the chair behind him without looking at it.

The nurse stepped close with your daughter, and Jack held his hands out like he was receiving something sacred.

“I’ve got her,” Jack said.

His voice almost broke on it. The nurse placed your daughter against his bare chest, then guided his hand over her back. Jack’s palm looked impossibly large against her, wide and careful, covering almost all of her tiny body as the nurse tucked the warm blanket around them both.

For one second, Jack did not move. Did not breathe. Then your daughter’s cheek turned against his skin, her little body settling beneath his hand.

Jack’s face crumpled. “Oh.”

It was barely a sound. It broke you anyway. Your daughter quieted slowly against him, her angry cries fading into small, breathy hiccups. Jack looked down at her like he had never known the world could make anything that small.

“Hi, baby girl,” Jack whispered.

Your hand flew to your mouth. Jack bent his head, careful and slow, until his lips brushed the top of her hat.

“Hi,” Jack said again, voice trembling. “I’m your dad.”

You started crying harder. Jack looked up at you immediately, alarm flashing through the awe. You shook your head, smiling through it.

“I’m okay,” you whispered.

Jack’s eyes softened. He looked back down at your daughter, his thumb moving once over the blanket at her back.

“She’s warm,” Jack said, like it mattered more than anything.

You laughed through your tears.

“She should be,” you said. “She’s on you.”

Jack huffed a wet little laugh, then looked at you again.

“She’s so little,” Jack said.

“I know,” you whispered.

Jack’s jaw trembled.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Jack admitted quietly.

Your heart squeezed. You reached toward him with what little strength you had left. Jack stepped closer immediately, careful not to jostle the baby. You touched his wrist, your fingers weak against his skin.

“Neither do I,” you whispered.

Jack looked from you to your daughter, then back again. A small, broken smile pulled at his mouth.

“We’ll figure it out,” Jack said.

Your daughter made a tiny sound against his chest. Jack looked down at her instantly.

“Yeah,” Jack murmured, softer than you had ever heard him. “We will.”

The nurse adjusted the blanket over your daughter’s back, tucking it around Jack’s chest so only the top of her little hat and the curve of her cheek showed.

“There,” the nurse said softly. “Nice and warm.”

Jack nodded, but you weren’t sure he had really heard her. He was staring down at your daughter, his hand spread wide and careful over her back, his chest barely moving beneath her tiny body. His hair was a wreck from pulling his shirt off. His eyes were red. Tear tracks still cut through the exhaustion on his face.

You had never seen anything more beautiful in your life.

The nurse glanced toward the chair near your bed.

“Dad, why don’t we get you sitting down?” the nurse said. “Right over here, so Mom can see both of you.”

Jack’s head lifted immediately. His eyes found yours before he moved.

“You okay?” Jack asked.

You gave him the smallest nod you could manage. “I’m okay.”

The doctor was still at the end of the bed, checking you with calm, practiced hands, and your body still felt too heavy, too open, too exhausted to fully belong to you yet. The doctor glanced up with a gentle smile.

“You’re doing great,” the doctor said. “I’m just checking everything and making sure bleeding looks good. You’ll be able to hold her again soon.”

You nodded, your throat tightening as your eyes moved back to your daughter. Soon felt like too long. Jack saw that too. He shifted carefully as the nurse guided him toward the chair, every movement slow and deliberate, one hand supporting your daughter’s head while the other stayed broad over her back.

“I’m right here,” Jack said, lowering himself into the chair beside your bed. “We’re right here.”

You turned your head on the pillow so you could see them better. Jack sat close enough that if you reached out, you could touch his forearm. So you did. Your fingers found his wrist, weak and trembling. Jack looked down at your hand immediately, then back at your face. His expression softened so much it hurt.

“Hey,” Jack said quietly.

“Hi,” you whispered.

His mouth curved, exhausted and broken at the edges.

“Hi,” Jack said back.

Your daughter made a tiny sound against his chest, not quite a cry, more of a breathy little complaint. Jack looked down instantly.

“Hi to you too,” Jack murmured.

You laughed, but it came out wet. Jack glanced back at you, alarm flickering across his face. You shook your head before he could ask.

“I’m okay,” you whispered. “I just—”

Your voice broke. Jack’s thumb moved once over your daughter’s blanket-covered back.

“I know,” Jack said.

You stared at them. Your husband, shirtless in a hospital chair, one huge hand covering almost your daughter’s whole back. Your daughter, tiny and warm and tucked against him like she had always belonged there. The doctor said something to the nurse, quiet and routine, and you barely heard it. The room still moved around you, but for the first time in hours, it did not feel like it was swallowing you whole.

It had narrowed instead. Jack. Your baby. The place where your fingers rested against his wrist.

“She’s really here,” you whispered.

“Yeah,” Jack said. “She is.”

Your daughter shifted, her cheek rubbing slightly against his skin. Jack went completely still. You watched his entire face change.

“What?” you asked softly.

Jack swallowed, eyes fixed on the baby. “She moved,” Jack whispered.

Your chest squeezed. You smiled through fresh tears.

“Babies do that,” you said.

Jack looked up at you, his eyes wet and stunned. “I know that.”

You gave him a look, weak but fond. He huffed a shaky little laugh, then looked back down at your daughter.

“I know that,” Jack repeated, softer this time. “It’s just different when it’s her.”

The doctor’s voice came gently from the end of the bed.

“Everything looks good,” the doctor said. “We’re just going to finish getting you cleaned up and settled, okay?”

You nodded without looking away from Jack and the baby. “Okay,” you whispered.

Jack’s hand shifted over your daughter with impossible care. “You’re okay.” 

You weren’t sure if he was talking to you, the baby, or himself. Maybe all three. Your fingers tightened weakly around his wrist.

“So are you,” you said.

Jack looked at you then. For a second, he looked like he might argue. Then his face crumpled just a little, and he nodded once.

“Yeah,” Jack said, voice low. “I’m okay.”

Your daughter made another tiny sound, and Jack bent his head toward her.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Jack whispered. “We’re okay.”

You closed your eyes for half a second, exhausted beyond anything you had ever known.

When you opened them again, Jack was watching you.

Not like a doctor. Not like someone assessing. Like your husband. Like the man who had held your hand through every push and was now holding your daughter against his heart.

“She’s going to come back to you in a minute,” Jack said softly.

You nodded, tears sliding into your hair. “I know.” 

Jack’s thumb moved over the blanket. “But I’ll keep her warm until then.”

Your mouth trembled. “Okay.” 

Jack looked down at your daughter, then back at you. His eyes were red and wet and full.

“I’ve got our girl,” Jack said.

You pressed your lips together, trying not to sob again.

Jack gave you a small, ruined smile. “And I’m still right here.”