"I know, baby. I know. The doctor is going to help make it stop," you murmured, rocking her back and forth in the hard plastic waiting room chair. Your arms felt like lead.

Next to you, four year old Luca pressed himself tightly against your side. He wasn't crying, but his knuckles were white where he held his book. He was trying desperately to tune out the chaos of the ER; the blaring ambulance sirens outside, the coughs of a man three seats down, the hurried footsteps of the staff. He stared hard at the cartoon pictures, his lips moving silently as he tried to read the words he’d memorized.

For the sixth time, you pulled out your phone and hit dial.

Hello, this is Dr. Abbot-

You cut it off, swallowing the lump of frustration and fear in your throat. Jack was on the night shift, but the ER was absolutely slammed. You knew how it went; when the department red lined, personal phones were non-existent. But right now, you didn’t care about hospital protocols. You just wanted your husband.

"Mrs. Abbot?"

You snapped your head up. Lena, the night shift charge nurse, was standing there with a clipboard, her eyes widening in recognition as she looked at you, then down at the twins in their matching pajamas.

"Lena," you breathed, a wave of relief washing over you.

"Oh, honey, what are you doing here? Is it Lily?" Lena instantly dropped into a crouch, pressing the back of her hand to Lily's flushed forehead. She cursed softly under her breath. "She’s burning up. Come on, let’s get you guys out of this waiting room right now. I'm putting you straight into Exam Room 4."

You gathered Lily in one arm and grabbed Luca’s small, trembling hand with the other, following Lena through the double doors into the chaotic centre of the ER.

The noise doubled. Trays clattered, monitors beeped frantically, and doctors shouted orders. Luca clung to your coat, burying his face in your hip, while Lily just wailed, terrified by the commotion.

"Jack is in the middle of a trauma in Bay 2, maybe that's why he hasn't answered," Lena explained hurriedly as she guided you down the hallway. "But as soon as he's—"

"Daddy!"

A desperate scream tore from Lily’s throat, cutting through the ambient noise of the corridor.

You froze. A few yards ahead, the doors to Trauma Bay 2 swung open. Jack stepped out, tearing off a pair of bloody surgical gloves and tossing them into a biohazard bin. His hair messy and his scrubs disheveled.

Before you could tighten your grip, Lily’s adrenaline kicked in. She wriggled violently out of your arms, her bare feet hitting the cold floor. Dropping her Jellycat bunny, she ran toward him, her tiny pajama clad frame shaking with shuddering sobs.

"Daddy! Daddy, it hurts!"

Jack snapped his head toward the sound of the voice, his entire body going rigid.

"Lily?" his voice cracked. "Princess, what are you doing here?"

He didn't care who was watching. He scooped her up and Lily collapsed against him.

"H-Hurts, daddy, all hurts." she cried against him.

"Okay, I’ve got you, princess. Daddy’s here." Jack choked out, his eyes instantly tracking over her flushed skin.

He looked up, his gaze finding yours across the hallway. The sheer panic and heartbreak in his eyes mirrored your own, the heavy weight of the night crashing down on both of you in the middle of the crowded ER floor.

The door to Exam Room 4 clicked shut, muting the hallway chaos, but the tension inside the room was palpable.

Jack had Lily up on the examination table, but she was having none of it. The high fever made her sensitive, irritable, and completely uncooperative.

Every time Jack tried to bring the stethoscope near her chest, she shrieked, kicking her legs and thrashing against the paper lining of the table.

"No! No, Daddy, don't wanna!" she wailed, her face purple, tears soaking the front of her pajamas. She was clutching her Jellycat bunny to her chest like a shield, burying her nose into its plush fur.

"Lily, baby, please. Daddy just needs to listen to your lungs," Jack pleaded. He reached out to gently hold her shoulder, but she twisted away, sobbing harder. "Hey, look at me, princess. Look at Daddy. I need you to take a big breath for me."

"No! Go 'way! Mommy help!"

Across the room, you sat holding Luca tightly on your lap. He had abandoned his book on the counter; his small hands were now hooked securely into the collar of your shirt. He was staring at his sister with wide eyes, his own chest heaving in sync with her jagged breaths.

"Mama?" Luca whispered, his voice trembling as he leaned his head back against your shoulder. "Is Lily gonna be okay?"

"She's going to be fine, baby," you murmured, kissing the top of his head, though your eyes were locked on Jack’s stressed jawline. "Daddy is looking at her. He's going to fix it."

Luca shook his head, his tiny brow furrowing. "My tummy feels hot, Mama. Right here." He pressed a small hand against his center. "Like Lily's. She feels real bad. I can feel it."

The twin connection had always been something you joked about when they were toddlers, how they’d wake up at the exact same second or cry when the other fell, but tonight, looking at Luca’s pale face, it wasn't a joke.

He was absorbing her distress, carrying the ghost of her fever in his own quiet way.

Jack caught Luca's words and glanced over his shoulder. The sight of his son looking so small and frightened, paired with Lily’s hysterical crying, made a muscle twitch in his jaw.

He looked back at Lily and gently tried to check the lymph nodes in her neck.

"Don't!" Lily screamed, slapping at his hand with a sudden burst of frantic feverish energy. She kicked out, her foot catching Jack squarely in the chest.

Jack didn't even flinch at the impact, but he dropped his hands, letting out a defeated breath. He ran a hand through his hair, turning to look at you with absolute desperation in his eyes.

"Baby, her heart rate is too high, and I need to get blood draws, but she won't even let me look at her throat," Jack said, his voice dropping to a low whisper so he wouldn't scare her further. He looked completely helpless, a man torn between his medical training and his paternal instinct to just hold his crying daughter and make the world stop hurting. "I don't want to have to restrain her, but she’s burning up, and I need answers."

"Let me try," you said softly, trying to sound steady in the middle of the room’s rising panic.

Carefully easing Luca off your lap, you gave his hand a squeeze. "Stay right here with your book for a second, okay, buddy?" He nodded solemnly, sitting on the edge of the chair and hugging the book tight against his chest, his eyes never leaving his twin.

You walked over to the exam table and gently stepped into Jack’s space. He looked at you and stepped back just enough to let you through.

"Hi, my beautiful girl," you cooed. You didn't try to touch her right away. Instead, you smoothed down the ears of her bunny. "Bunny is so brave today, Lily. But Bunny told me he’s really tired, and he wants to rest."

Lily’s screaming hitched into little hiccups. She looked at you through tear soaked eyes. "B-Bunny is tired?"

"So tired," you murmured, gently scooping Lily up into your arms. The heat radiating off her small body struck you, making your chest tight with a surge of adrenaline. You sat down on the edge of the exam table, rocking her against your chest, burying your face in her hair. "You can hold Bunny, but you need to calm down so he can rest. We need you to take a big breath. Like we're blowing out birthday candles. Ready? Let's do it together."

Lily copied you, a shaky breath rattling in her chest. Slowly, the rigid tension in her muscles began to melt, her heavy head dropping onto your shoulder. She stopped fighting.

Jack didn't waste a second. He stepped back in. With you holding her still and whispering reassurances into her ear, he was finally able to check her throat, listen to her lungs, and gently feel the rash.

When it came time for the blood draw, you blocked Lily's view, pressing her face into your neck while Jack placed the needle. Lily cried out, a sharp heartbroken sound, but she didn't thrash.

"We're going to do some tests, ultrasounds, and the labs will be in an hour."

It felt like hours, though it was only forty five minutes, before Jack read the results, and the tension in his shoulders visibly shifted.

He approached you and, as he passed by a sleepy Luca he gently placed a hand on his head.

"The labs came back," Jack said, his voice quiet. He pulled up a stool and sat directly in front of you, taking Lily's limp hand in his. "It’s a severe bacterial infection, likely from something she came into contact with at the farm, compounded by an allergic reaction that triggered the rash. That’s why the fever spiked so fast."

You let out a breath.

"You can treat her, right, love? Give her medicine? Can we go home?"

Jack shook his head. "No. Because her fever is so high and she's dehydrated, I want her on continuous IV antibiotics and fluids overnight. Lena is already arranging a pediatric room upstairs for us. We're keeping her."

The word keeping felt wrong.

You just wanted to take your babies home.

You had managed to stay strong for the last hours, but the reality of spending the night in a hospital room broke through your defenses.

You tried to nod, tried to say okay, but your jaw trembled. You reached down to adjust the blanket over Lily, who had finally drifted into a restless medical sleep, and your hands were shaking so violently you couldn't grip the fabric.

A tear spilled over your lashes, tracking down your cheek.

Jack noticed instantly. He reached out, his hands wrapping completely over yours, capping the tremor.

"Hey, doll," he whispered, standing up. "She’s going to be okay. We caught it. We know exactly what it is, and we know how to fix it. But she need to stay a few hours."

"I was so scared, Jack," you choked out, your voice barely audible. "You weren't answering, and i didn't want to bother you neither, but she was so hot, and Luca was very anxious about coming here, you know how he feels about hospitals and I—"

"I know. I'm so sorry I wasn't there," Jack interrupted you, his own voice cracking as he tightened his grip on your trembling hands, kissing your forehead. "But I'm here now. I'm signing off my shift. I'm going upstairs with you, and I'm not leaving the room until they discharge her."

-

The pediatric room felt.. calm, some way. The steady sound of the monitors was finally pulling everyone into a sense of calm.

On the small pull out couch against the far wall, you sank deeply into the cushions, pulling a thin hospital blanket up to your chin. The absolute exhaustion of the night had finally caught up to you. Your muscles ached from hours of carrying the weight of a sick child.

You rested your head back, watching the scene unfold by the bedside.

Lily was tucked into the hospital bed, her color slowly returning to a normal pale. Her breathing was deep and even, one hand still draped over the ear of her Jellycat bunny.

Jack'd pulled a recliner right up against the edge of the hospital bed so he could stay within arm’s reach of his daughter.

Luca, having endured the terrifying night, was on his father's lap, looking over the bed rail. He had been so brave all night, and now that the danger had passed, he refused to leave his sister's side.

"She's sleeping," Luca whispered.

"She is, bud," Jack said as he reached up, gently lifting Luca so he could sit safely on the mattress edge, tucked against Lily’s side. "She’s resting, Lu. The medicine is doing its work."

Luca reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he brushed a stray hair away from his sister’s forehead. He didn't pull away; he seemed to be checking the temperature for himself, satisfied that the fire was gone. Then, he did the sweetest thing: he carefully slid his own little hand into Lily’s, locking their fingers together.

"I knew what she was feeling... bad. Twin power," Luca whispered, a small proud smile touching his lips.

Jack let out a smile. He reached over, covering their joined hands with his own large, steady one. "Yeah, buddy. Twin power. She knows you're here. That’s why she’s resting so well."

"Is she having good dreams now, Daddy?" Luca whispered.

Jack leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Luca’s head, his hand sliding up to rub his son's back. "I think she is. Especially since you're holding her. You're keeping the bad dreams away."

Luca nodded seriously, accepting the job of taking care of his sister.

From the couch, you let out a breath. Jack’s gaze drifted away from the bed, his eyes searching the room until they found yours. He saw the dark circles under your eyes, the way your shoulders finally relaxed against the cushions, completely spent.

He didn't speak, he didn't want to break the fragile quiet, but the look he gave you was filled with gratitude.

He mouthed a silent, 'I love you,' his eyes promising that he had the watch now. You could finally sleep.

You nodded, and mouthed an 'I love you,' back.

When the morning light filtered through the hospital blinds, the room was filled with the sound of plastic clattering, tiny giggles, and a familiar deep laugh.

You blinked against the light, shifting the scratchy blanket, and looked over at the bed.

Lily was sitting propped up against a mountain of pillows, the flushed fever entirely gone from her cheeks. She was in a fantastic mood, her eyes bright as she happily swung her unencumbered leg. Luca had abandoned his chair and was curled right up on the mattress beside her, the two of them sharing a massive hospital breakfast tray.

"Look, Lulu! A smiley face!" Lily chirped, pointing a syrup covered finger at a pancake.

"I like the bacon better," Luca replied, stuffing a piece into his mouth. The tattered Jellycat bunny was currently sitting between them, acting as a guest at their breakfast party.

Your heart swelled at the sight.

"Morning, my sleepyhead."

The voice came from beside you. You turned your head to find Jack sitting on the couch. At some point during the early morning hours, he must have slipped away from the bedside to join you, curling his frame around yours to keep you warm. His arms were wrapped securely around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest. He looked exhausted but the sheer relief radiating off him was palpable.

"Morning, handsome," you rasped. You shifted, turning in his embrace so you could look up at him. "How long have they been up? How is she?"

"About an hour," Jack murmured, leaning down to press a warm kiss to your cheek. His hands slid under the blanket, rubbing soothing circles into your lower back to work out the knots from the stiff couch. "The pediatric team came in at six. Her vitals are perfect, the rash is fading, and her bloodwork is clearing up. We're getting discharged after lunch."

"Thank you," you whispered, wrapping your arms around him, burying your face in the crook of his collarbone. "For taking care of her. For being here."

Jack tightened his grip on you, burying his face in your messy hair, inhaling deeply. "You're the one who calmed her down, sweetheart. You were incredible. I'm just sorry I wasn't there from the start."

"You're here now," you murmured, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. He leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a slow, tender, deeply affectionate kiss, a quiet celebration that the storm had passed.

"Eww, Daddy and Mommy are kissing!"

A high pitched giggle broke the silence. You both pulled apart, laughing, to see Lily and Luca staring at you from the bed.

Jack didn't let you go, keeping you tucked securely against his side as he looked over at the twins with a bright smile. "Well, Mama deserves all the kisses of the world. And as soon as you two finish those pancakes, you're next."

The twins erupted into giggles, turning back to their breakfast tray, completely happy to have their world back to normal.

True to Jack’s word, the discharge papers were signed and ready after lunch. You left the hospital with Luca for a while, to change into something clean and to dress Lily in new clothes after they removed her IV. Inside the room, the atmosphere shifted the moment a knock sounded at the door.

A nurse entered, holding a small tray with medical tape remover, gauze, and a colorful bandage. "Hi there, Lily! I'm just here to take that little straw out of your arm so you can go home."

The moment Lily saw the tray, her eyes went wide. The residual trauma of the frantic night rushed back all at once. She scrambled backward on the hospital bed, her back hitting the headboard as she tucked her arm tightly against her chest.

"No! No more needles! Daddy!" she cried, her voice cracking as tears instantly flooded her eyes. She reached out blindly with her free hand, grabbing the ear of her Jellycat bunny and squeezing it like a lifeline. "I want Mama! No needles!"

"Hey, princess, come here," Jack said instantly. He stepped right up to the side of the bed and climbing onto the mattress with her. He pulled her trembling body directly into his lap, wrapping his arms around her so she felt completely safe. "There are no more needles, Lily. I promise you. The nurse is just taking it off."

"It's gonna hurt!" she sobbed, burying her face into Jack’s shirt.

"I'm going to hold you the whole time," Jack murmured. He gently coaxed her arm out, holding her hand firmly but gently, keeping her fingers locked in his so she couldn't pull away or look at what the nurse was doing. "Do you remember the story Luca was reading last weekend? About the animals going to the sea?"

Lily gave a hiccuping nod against his chest.

"What color was the boat?" Jack asked softly, his thumb rubbing the back of her hand, creating a soothing friction to distract her.

"R-Red," she whispered.

"That's right. And who was on the boat?" Jack kept his voice low and conversational, nodding to the nurse, who moved with efficiency. She applied the tape remover, peeling back the plastic dressing smoothly.

"A bear," Lily snuffled, her grip tightening on Jack’s fingers as she felt the tape lift. "And-And a... a p-pig."

"And a pig. Good job," Jack praised, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. He could feel her tiny heart racing against his ribs, but she wasn't thrashing. "Look at that, almost done, brave girl."

The nurse smiled warmly, pressing a bright pink patterned bandage over the tiny puncture site. "All done! You were so brave, sweetie."

Lily blinked, sniffing hard as she looked down at her arm. The scary tube was gone. She let out a breath and looked up at Jack, her eyes still watery but the panic entirely gone. "Stings. Didn't hurt."

"See? Daddy told you," Jack smiled as he wiped a tear from her cheek. He squeezed her tight, rocking her for a long moment. "You're all done, princess. Let's wait for Mom and Luca for come back so we can go home."

A few minutes later, the door pushed open. "We're back!" Luca announced proudly, stepping into the room first.

You followed close behind, carrying a tote bag. You had slipped home for forty five minutes while Jack handled the discharge paperwork, giving you and Luca just enough time to wash off and change out of your rumpled clothes. Now, you were holding a pair of clean, tiny denim overalls and a bright yellow t-shirt for Lily, a replacement for her pajamas.

The moment the door opened, Lily snapped her head around. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, swinging her legs, looking entirely renewed.

"Mama! Look!" Lily squealed, scrambling off the mattress before Jack could even catch her.

She sprinted across the room, her bare feet pattering against the linoleum floor, and skidded to a halt right in front of you. She thrust her left forearm directly into your face, pointing proudly to a bright pink heart patterned bandage.

"The nurse gave me a heart band!" Lily beamed, all the terror of the needle completely forgotten. "And Daddy held my hand the whole time and it didn't even hurt, and the bad straw is gone!"

"Oh, wow! Look at that," you laughed, dropping to your knees so you were eye level with her. You gently pressed a kiss right next to the bandage, making her giggle. "That is the cutest bandage I’ve ever seen. You are so brave, my girl."

Jack stepped up behind her, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. He caught your eye over Lily's head, a soft smirk playing on his lips. He gave you a subtle nod that let you know the IV removal had been a success, despite the initial tears.

"I'm brave too, right Mama?" Luca asked, tapping your arm. He was wearing his favorite superhero shirt now. "I kept the bad dreams away last night with twin power."

"The bravest," you promised, pulling him into a one armed hug.

"Yeah! Twin power!" Lily cheered. She suddenly grabbed Luca’s hand, her mood completely doing a 180 from the crying toddler of the night before. Now that she was free of the wires and the fever, her baseline four year old energy was back. "Luca! Come look at the big truck out the window! Hurry!"

"A truck?!" Luca’s eyes went wide.

Before you or Jack could even utter a word of caution, Lily dropped her Jellycat bunny onto the floor, spun on her heel, and the two of them bolted out the open door of the hospital room, their laughter echoing down the hallway toward the playroom windows.

You stayed on your knees for a second, staring at the empty doorway, then slowly stood up. You looked at the tattered bunny on the floor, then turned to look at your husband.

Jack stood there, a stray piece of medical tape stuck to his pants, his hair wildly messy, and his shoulders slumped in utter exhaustion.

He stared at the empty hallway, blinked, and then let out a chuckle.

"Well," Jack murmured, rubbing the back of his neck as he walked over to scoop up the abandoned stuffed animal. "Her energy levels seem back to normal."

"Yeah," you laughed softly as he wrapped his arms around your waist and you wrapped yours around his neck. "I think she’s officially fine."

⋆｡˚☤🩺✧˖°.｡⋆💉

"Hold still, Daddy," the girl whispered, her fingers clutching a paintbrush like a magic wand. She smoothed a thick stroke of bright turquoise paint right over his left shoulder blade. "You need big wings."

Jack sighed, resting his cheek against his crossed forearms. A lazy smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "I'm holding as still as I can, bug. But that tickles."

"''tayyy stillll," she instructed, her tongue poking out in concentration.

Your man was the one who commanded trauma rooms and now he was reduced to a human canvas for a toddler.

"How’s the masterpiece coming along, my little artist?" you asked, stepping into the room and dropping to your knees beside them.

Your babygirl looked up, her cheeks smudged with skyblue paint. "Mommy! Look! Daddy’s a fairy. I need more pink... More pink, please?" She held up a completely empty messy plastic palette.

"You got it, sweetie," you said, reaching for the bottles of paint on the coffee table. You squirted a generous amount of pink onto her palette. "Hold on, bug. If we're doing a fairy, we have to do it right."

You reached over to the craft basket and pulled out a shaker jar of extra fine silver glitter.

Jack's head, slowly, turned toward you. His eyebrows climbed up his forehead, and he leveled you with a glare that said, Seriously?

"You..." he muttered. "Tell me you're not giving her the glitter."

"It's a crucial element of her artistic vision, Jack," you replied, trying to hide your grin.

"Glitter is so hard to wash off," he warned. "I'm going to be sweating silver in the ER tomorrow, for God's sake."

"Yay, shine wing!" the toddler cheered, completely ignoring her father's concerns. She held her tiny hands out, cupping them together.

You carefully shook a small pile of shiny silver dust into her palms. "Okay, bug. Very gently, put it onto Daddy's wings."

Jack took a deep breath and closed his eyes tight, shielding his face in his elbows. "I'm a grown man. I am a department head," he reminded the floorboards.

The toddler leaned over his back, took a deep breath, and let out a huge PFTH.

A cloud of silver glitter exploded through the air, settling beautifully over the wet, blue and pink paint... and over Jack’s hair.

Jack opened his eyes and slowly looked back over his shoulder.

His back was SHINING.

He gave you another look.

"Beautiful, an absolute vision" you choked out, biting your lower lip hard to keep from laughing out loud as your baby clapped her sticky hands together, proud of her work.

"I'm letting her have her fun now, but you're the one who has to help me scrub all this off in the shower later."

"Deal," you laughed, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

-

"You're a beautiful fairy, Daddy," she whispered after paiting his back with a little more of the pink paint, her voice dropping into a sweet tone. You recognized it, it was almost nap time.

"Yeah?" he asked softly. "You think I can fly now?"

His little girl nodded as she let out a yawn. "High the sky. To stars." Her eyelids fluttered but she shook her head stubbornly.

"Are you tired, bug?" you asked her softly.

"No, more," she mumbled, blinking against the sleepiness as she reached out a sticky hand toward the jar of glitter. "Needs..." She settled her little knees on either side of his spine, straddling his lower back, and took the jar from your hands. Her movements grew slower. Her arm hovered in the air, the jar tilting dangerously, before her hand finally came down to rest heavily on Jack’s body.

Then, she didn't collapse against him. Instead, she just stayed right there, sitting completely upright on his back like a tiny sleepy statue. Her chin slowly sank down to her chest, her breathing went deep and her grip on the glitter jar loosened as she drifted straight into dreamland, perfectly balanced.

Jack didn't move. "Is she... did she just fall asleep sitting up?" he whispered.

"She's out cold," you giggled quietly, leaning closer to look at her. Her head swayed slightly with her deep breaths, but her little legs remained locked on his waist, holding her upright in her sleep. "She’s like a little bear, oh my."

"A very creative bear," Jack murmured. He carefully reached one large hand behind his back, resting his palm flat against her small waist to keep her steady and secure. "I can't stay like this forever, as comfortable as my back apparently is."

"Don't move, I have to capture this," you whispered. You quickly grabbed your phone and snapped a photo.

"Help me out, baby," Jack groaned silently.

You moved in close, gently slipping your arms under your babygirl's arms and lifting her weight off his back. She let out a soft sigh but didn't wake up, immediately tucking her head into your neck.

With his back finally free, Jack carefully pushed himself up into a sitting position. He looked at his little girl, then felt the hardness of the paint drying on his back. "Please tell me we have a scrubbing brush in the bathroom."

⋆｡˚☤🩺✧˖°.｡⋆💉

You were already by the crib, a mug of coffee warm between your hands. You looked up as he slipped into the room, your eyes softening at the dark circles under his.

"Hey, handsome," you whispered, setting your mug down on the side table. "Survived the night?"

"Barely," Jack murmured back. He walked over, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent. "Missed you, beautiful."

"Missed you too, Doctor." You tilted your head, kissing his cheek. "Say hi. She’s just waking up."

Jack smiled, pulling away to step over to the crib. Inside, your daughter was starting to stir. She blinked sleepily, her eyes rubbing against her fists until they landed right on Jack. Instantly, a tiny smile broke behind her pacifier.

"Daddy!" she screamed with a sleepy voice.

She immediately poked her hands up into the air, making her uppie arms.

Jack’s heart completely melted. He leaned over the railing, scooping her warm body up against his chest.

"Hi my beautiful girl," Jack whispered as he pressed a long kiss into her hair.

She let out a giggle, her hands immediately coming up to cup his face. Her fingers patted his cheeks, testing the rough morning stubble on his jaw. "S'atchy," she mumbled, but she didn't pull away. She leaned her forehead against his nose, rubbing it side to side in a sleepy greeting.

"Yeah, Daddy needs a shave, doesn't he?" Jack cooed, rocking her gently from side to side as she buried her face into his neck.

As he hoisted her a little higher, Jack noticed something else in the crib. A familiar fluffy brown teddy bear dressed in a miniature set of blue hospital scrubs with a very cute little stethoscope.

"Since when does she sleep with plushies?" Jack asked softly, turning to you with an arched eyebrow. "She usually kicks everything out the second she lays down."

You let out a soft laugh and wrapped your arms around his waist, leaning your head against his shoulder. Hearing your voice, your daughter reached one hand to pat your face, ensuring both of her favorite people were within arm's reach.

"She only sleeps with that one," you explained. "And only on specific nights. When you're on a night shift and you can't put her to bed, she gets incredibly restless. She sits by the door waiting for you."

Jack’s chest tightened. The guilt of the long hours at the hospital was a constant weight.

"So, I started giving her the bear on those nights," you continued, reaching out to smooth a stray curl away from your daughter's forehead. "I told her that whenever Daddy is at the hospital helping people, this guy is on duty to keep her safe until you get home. Now, she won't go to sleep without him when you're gone. I think it's her way of keeping you close until you come back."

Jack looked down at the scrubwearing bear on the mattress. He reached down with his free hand and picked up the plushie, holding it up so his daughter could see it.

"Who's this, sweet girl?" Jack asked her gently, shaking the bear's little paw. "Is this your helper?"

The toddler blinked sleepily at the bear, then looked right at Jack, her little thumb poking the bear as she nodded. She leaned her head back against his shoulder and pointed a tiny finger at the plushie.

"He's night dada," she mumbled softly, her voice muffled around her paci.

Jack froze. New emotions emerged at the realization that she considered the little bear her version of him when the sun went down.

"Night Dada, huh?" Jack pressed the plush bear gently into her arms, and she instantly hugged it tight against her chest, right alongside his own neck. "He takes good care of you when Daddy's at work?"

The toddler nodded and whispered. "Dad doctor."

He wrapped his free arm securely around you, needing the comfort of his family.

"Thank you," he whispered to you, leaning down to kiss your lips. "For being here for her when I can't."

⋆｡˚☤🩺✧˖°.｡⋆💉

ED was at its usual chaotic energy. You were tucked behind the nurse's station with a warm cup of tea and trying to ignore the dull ache in your lower back.

You were thirty four weeks along and the "taking it easy" memo from your OB-GYN had apparently been replaced with a high volume shift.

"I can take the chart for Bed 4, Jack," you said, reaching for the tablet as Dr. Abbot, your precious husband, rounded the corner.

He didn't hand it over. Instead, he held it just out of your reach, his eyes sweeping over you with a precision that usually preceded a lecture. "Bed 4 is a suspected spinal precaution. Which means a log roll. Which means lifting."

"I can assist," you countered, putting on your best I'm fine face. "I’m pregnant, love, not made of glass."

Jack stepped into your space, his hand dropping to the small of your back, his thumb tracing a soothing circle over the scrubs. His expression softened but his resolve didn't waver. "You’re thirty four weeks. Yesterday was a long shift. Today, you’re staying behind the desk."

"Jack—"

"No," he said, his voice dropping to a protective tone that made you huff. "I need you, and the little one, to stay out of risk until labor. Take it easy. ED will survive if you just handle the coordination for a few hours."

You opened your mouth to argue but a sharp kick to your ribs from the inside made you winced. Jack’s eyes widened, his hand immediately moving to the front of your bump.

"See?" he murmured, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Even she agree with me. Sit. Drink your tea. If I see you trying to move a patient, I'm calling Lena to personally escort you to the breakroom."

"You wouldn't dare," you gasped.

"Try me," he winked, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your forehead before turning back toward the trauma bays. "I’ll bring you a snack in twenty minutes. Don't move!"

You watched him go. You leaned back into your chair with a sigh, resting your hands over the spot where he’d just been touching.

"Your father is a menace," you whispered to your stomach. "He’s very bossy and currently treating me like a high risk intake. But I suppose we can give him a pass this time, right babygirl? Just for the extra snacks."

As if on cue, yoyr baby gave a solid thump against your palm, a clear vote in favor of the snack plan.

True to his word, Jack reappeared twenty minutes later. He wasn't empty-handed; he had a plastic container of sliced green apples with honey and a cold bottle of juice.

"Delivery for my girls," he announced, setting everything down in front of you.

"You actually found the good apples," you noted, reaching for one. As soon as the first bit of sugar hit your system, the baby went into overdrive, performing a series of enthusiastic somersaults.

"Whoa," you gasped. "Okay, someone is very excited about the apple with honey thing."

Jack’s eyebrows shot up. He walked around the side of the desk and kneeled. You reached out, taking his hand and guiding it to the right side of your bump where the movement was most frantic.

The moment Jack’s palm made contact, a sharp kick connected right with his thumb. Jack’s entire face transformed. He let out a soft laugh, leaning his forehead against the side of your stomach.

"Hi, babygirl" Jack murmured, his voice vibrating against your bump. "You like the sweet snacks, huh? Just like your mom. Keep growing big and strong, but maybe stop using her body as a punching bag for a few hours, okay? Give mama a break."

He looked up at you, his eyes bright with a mixture of emotions. "She's really active today."

"She’s definitely a fan of your catering," you teased, running your fingers through his hair.

Jack pressed a firm kiss to the center of your bump. He stayed there for a long moment, grounded and unbothered, making it very clear to the entire ED that his most important patient needed his attention.

⋆｡˚☤🩺✧˖°.｡⋆💉

"Mama... Hurts... Mama, tummy hurts..."

You bolt upright, the heavy haze of exhaustion vanishing in a second. Slipping out of bed, you hurry to your daughter's room. When you open the door, she’s curled into a tight little ball under her blankets, clutching her knees to her chest, her face flushed and tear streaked.

"Oh, sweet girl, what’s wrong?" you murmur, lifting her into your arms. She feels slightly warm, but it’s her belly that’s rock hard and tense.

She lets out a sharp wail, burying her face in your neck.

You try to think. Did she eat something bad? A stomach bug? Your mind scrambles through the medicine cabinet, but you’re terrified of giving a toddler the wrong dosage or medicine.

Needing help, you grab your phone and dial the one person who always has the answers.

Over at the hospital, the emergency department is in its usual state of controlled chaos. Jack stands at the central desk, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

When his phone vibrates, he sighs. But seeing your name on the screen, he steps away from the desk into a quieter corner.

"Hey, baby," Jack says. "Everything okay?"

"Jack, I need help," you say, and the panic in your voice immediately puts him on high alert. In the background, he can hear the distinct crying of your daughter. "She woke up screaming. She’s clutching her stomach, a-and it's completely rigid. She’s... I think she's in so much pain and I don't know what to do. What medicine can I give her? P-Please tell me what to do."

"Okay, baby, hey, take a breath. Is she vomiting? Does she have a fever?"

"No fever, she’s just a little warm from crying. No vomiting yet, but she's crying so hard she might. She keeps saying her tummy hurts."

"Is the pain on the lower right side? Does she flinch if you press gently on it?" Jack asks. The fear of appendicitis is always there.

"No, it seems like it's her whole stomach. She's just curled up." Jack pauses, trying to piece every thing you say together. "Jack, did she eat anything unusual today? Anything out of the ordinary when you two were out?"

Silence hangs on the line for a second. And then, the memory of their afternoon grocery run hits him.

The grocery store.

The coke can.

He remembers her sitting in the cart, proudly holding her little juice box, while he grabbed a can of Coca-Cola. He remembers her finishing the juice in five minutes flat, and then pointing her finger at his red can.

“Want that. Daddy, please?”

“No, baby. That’s Daddy’s. It’ll make your tummy hurt.”

But she had been stubborn.

She pouted, she whined, she reached for it. And later, when they got home, Jack had set the open can on the low coffee table while he was distracted trying to put the groceries away.

He remembered the sudden silence in the living room.

When a toddler is quiet, they’re up to mischief.

By the time he had walked back into the room, she was sitting on the rug, the red can tipped back, a dark ring of soda around her mouth.

She had swallowed nearly half the can before he snatched it away. He had cleaned her up, checked her over, and when she seemed fine, he figured they’d dodged a bullet.

He hadn't wanted to worry you, so he kept it to himself.

God, he was an idiot.

"Jack? Are you there?" your voice breaks through his thoughts.

"Ye- yeah, I'm here," Jack whispers, a guilt washing over him. He leans his forehead against the hospital wall, closing his eyes. "I'm sorry. It’s my fault."

"What? What do you mean?"

"This afternoon... when we went to the store," Jack confesses. "I got a can of Coke. She wanted it, and I told her no, but... I got distracted. I left the can on the table. She drank almost half of it before I realized. I thought she’d be fine, but... her stomach can't handle that. It's a massive gas buildup and a caffeine crash."

There’s a beat of silence. "Jack... she's a toddler. Half a can?"

"I know. I know, I’m so sorry," Jack says, his voice cracking. He feels utterly incompetent. He couldn't protect his own daughter from a stupid can of soda. "I should have been paying attention."

"We can deal with that later," you say, pushing your frustration aside because your daughter is still sobbing against your shoulder. "Do I give her medicine?"

"No pain meds yet," Jack says. "Do you have any pediatric gas drops? Simethicone?"

"Yes, I think we have some."

"Okay, good, give her the recommended dose of that. After that, don't lay her flat. Keep her upright against your chest. Rub her back firmly to help her pass the gas. And try to get her to take small sips of water to flush her system, but only if she wants it."

"Okay," you breathe, writing it down mentally. "Simethicone, upright, rub her back."

"If she starts vomiting repeatedly, or if she develops a fever, you call me immediately and bring her here. I'll have a bed ready. But it should start to pass in an hour or two once you give her that." Jack's voice is calm, trying to sound clear, so you understand the indications and calm your nerves. "I am so sorry, honey. I’ll come home. I’ll get someone to cover the rest of my shift—"

"No, Jack, don't do that," you sigh. Your anger softens. "It's okay. I can handle this. Just... stay on the phone with me while I give her the drops?"

"Yeah," Jack chokes out. "Yeah. I'm not going anywhere. Put me on speaker so I can talk to her."

-

When the clock reads 4 AM, Jack finally finds some minutes to check on his family. Because every time he had to suture a laceration or look at a patient’s chart, his mind drifted back to his little girl sobbing because of his carelessness.

He hates himself for calling and potentially waking you if she finally fell asleep, but the agony of not knowing is eating him alive.

You answer on the second ring, your voice sounded exhausted. "Hey."

"Hey, beautiful," Jack breathes."Did I wake you? Is she... how is she?"

"You didn't wake me. I was just sitting on the floor next to her, watching her," you say softly. "She threw up about an hour ago, but she's okay now."

Jack’s stomach drops. He pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes tight. "God. I'm so sorry. I should have come home. Was it bad? Did she choke? Is she—"

"Jack, it's okay," you interrupt gently. "She’s okay. Honestly, I think throwing up was exactly what she needed to get the thing out of her system. Right after it happened, she let out a huge sigh, drank a few sips of water, and went straight to sleep. Her stomach isn't hard anymore."

Jack lets out a long breath but the relief doesn't completely wash away the bitter taste of self reproach.

"I feel like a terrible father," he confesses. "I was right there and I let her get hurt."

"Jack, baby," you say. "You are not a terrible father. This things happen. Maybe you didn't think she would do it. And it's okay."

"That's not an excuse—"

"It's not an excuse, it's reality," you cut in softly. "Toddlers are like tiny silent ninjas. You can look away for three seconds, and they’ve climbed onto the counter. It happens to everyone. Literally everyone."

Jack swallows hard. "She was crying so hard, honey."

"And she’s sleeping peacefully now," you reassure him. "These things happen, baby. Yesterday it was a Coke can. Next week she’s probably going to eat my lipgloss. We do our best, we mess up, we learn, and we keep going. You made a mistake, and then you stayed on the phone and walked me through exactly how to take care of her. You're incredible."

Jack listens to your calm voice, and the anxiety on his chest starts to melt.

"How did I get so lucky with you?" he whispers.

A soft chuckle comes through the receiver. "Because you're a good man, Jack Abbot... Even when you leave carbonated drinks within arm's reach."

He laughs weakly. "I'm throwing all the soda in the house in the trash the second I get home."

"You better..." you say, a playful lilt finally creeping into your tired voice. "We are completely fine here. I promise. Sleepy but fine."

Jack catches the slight shift in your tone.

He can picture the teasing smirk on your face.

He leans back against the wall, a smile appearing on his face.

"You're really annoyed with me, aren't you, baby?" he asks.

"Maybe... A little," you reply instantly, letting out a hum just to provoke him. "I mean, my sleep is completely ruined now but we're okay."

"I know, I know. I'm at your mercy," Jack chuckles, a hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. "How can I make it up to you? Name your price, Dr. Abbot will deliver."

"You are absolutely stopping to grab breakfast on your way home," you dictate, though there's no real heat behind it. "The good stuff. The biggest caramel latte they can legally sell you. Consider it the 'bad dad' tax."

"Done, beautiful. Consider it ordered. I'll bring your favorite. And morning kisses too. Special breakfast for my woman." Jack says smiling like an idiot.

"Good, handsome," you murmur as you look over at your daughter, who is now snoring softly. The storm had passed, and everything was going to be fine. "Get back to work. And, Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you. We love you."

"I love you both, honey, so much," he whispers, his heart swelling with warmth. "See you in a few hours. Go to sleep."

As the call clicks shut, Jack takes a peaceful breath, knowing he has a warm home, a recovering little girl, and a wonderful wife waiting to share breakfast with him.

⋆｡˚☤🩺✧˖°.｡⋆💉

"Maya, absolutely not. We do not throw things," you said, your voice tight as you tried to maintain a calm exterior despite the exhaustion rattling your own bones.

You stepped forward to lift her up, but she lashed out, kicking her legs wildly and catching you square in the shin. "Go away! You're ugly! Leave!"

"Maya, babygirl, please."

"Don't like you! Bad mommy!"

"Hey. That is enough."

The commanding voice came from the doorway. Jack stood there, his bag slung over one shoulder. He went only one hour into his shift before coming back home because he had a bad feelinf. And damn right he was.

He had just walked through the front door, but his eyes took in the entire scene in less than a second: the flying toys, your slumped shoulders, and the irrational fury of a toddler operating on zero battery.

Jack dropped his bag and was at your side in an instant. He didn't yell, but the sheer gravity of his presence immediately drew Maya’s tear filled eyes toward him.

He placed a hand on your lower back, leaning slightly and leaving a kiss on your shoulder. "Go upstairs," he murmured, his voice a stark contrast to the screaming match that had just been taking place. "I've got her."

"Jack, she’s just throwing a tantrum, I should—"

"You've been dealing with her enough," Jack interrupted gently, giving your waist a supportive squeeze. "Go. Run a bath, lie down. Let me handle it."

With am exhausted nod, you stepped back. Maya noticed your retreat and tried to go with you.

"M-Mommy." She called for you with a tiny voice, it was like all her anger vanished the moment you turned your back to her.

But Jack smoothly stepped into her line of sight.

"Maya," Jack said, his voice was firm. "Look at me."

The toddler sniffed, big tears rolling down her cheeks as she tried to look away. Jack didn't react to her hostility.

"Wan-Want Mommy."

"I know. But you're being mean."

"No! Mommy!" She screamed looking past Jack body. He lifted her up as she looked at the stairs.

"We don't throw things at Mommy, and we don't use mean words. Mommy loves you, and you hurt her feelings," he said, keeping his tone perfectly even, treating the tantrum less like a behavioral crisis and more like a symptom of acute fatigue. "You are very tired. It's time to sleep."

"No! No sleep!" Maya kicked her legs, trying to scape from Jack's srms.

"No. Maya, stop. I'm not going to put you dowm. I know you're tired, sweetheart, the fighting is over."

Maya looked up at her dad. Realizing her violent outbursts weren't going to work anymore, the fight slowly drained out of her. The anger melted away, leaving only a profoundly exhausted little girl.

She let out a pathetic sob and collapsed forward, burying her face into Jack’s shoulder.

Jack immediately softened, scooping her in his arms and supporting her head. "I know, bug, I know," he whispered, rubbing circles into her back as he walked to the girl's room. He walked her slowly around, humming low under his breath until her lashes finally fluttered shut against his neck.

Once she was sleep, Jack walked back into the bedroom, the silence of the house finally settling in. He spotted you by the armchair, a laundry basket resting at your feet.

"She's out," Jack said softly as he watched you. "Completely dead to the world. Didn't even wake up when I put her in the crib."

You didn't look up. Your hands were busy smoothing out a tiny pair of leggings, folding them into a neat square, and placing them on the stack. You just nodded, your jaw tight, and reached for the next item in the basket.

Jack waited for a moment, expecting you to say something, or at least sigh in relief. But the room remained dead quiet.

His brow furrowed slightly. He walked over and you still didn't look up, your focus entirely locked on a pair of toddler socks.

"Hey," Jack murmured, reaching out. He gently caught your wrists, stopping your hands mid fold. "Look at me. What’s going on?"

The moment his warm hands made contact with yours, the fragile wall you’d built up over the last hour completely shattered.

Your hands trembled under his grip. You tried to swallow down the lump in your throat, but a choked sob escaped your lips instead. The sock dropped from your fingers back into the basket as you completely broke down, covering your face with your hands as the tears finally poured out.

Jack stepped into your space, pulling you tightly against his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, burying his face in your hair as your shoulders shook with uncontrollable sobs.

"What's wrong, doll? Talk to me," he whispered, holding you.

"I hate it," you cried, your voice muffled against his chest. "I hate it so much. I hate when she gets like that. And I shouldn't. I'm her mom."

"I know, sweetheart. It’s draining," Jack murmured, rubbing your back.

"No, it's not just that," you choked out, pulling back to look at him, your eyes red and brimming with fresh tears. "It’s not just tonight. It’s... it’s been every single day this week. This is the fifth time she’s had a meltdown like this. She just snaps when she's sleepy and I don't know what else to do to calm her down. I tried, I swear, I'm really trying."

Jack froze, his chest tightening as he looked down at you. "Every day? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Be-because you were working," you confessed, your voice cracking with the weight of the secret you'd been carrying. "I can't call you over a tantrum. You're saving lives. I didn't want to add it to your stress. I didn't want you worrying about us when you're already carrying so much on your shoulders, so I just... I tried to just handle it."

Jack closed his eyes for a brief second, cursing the grueling demands of his schedule that had left you feeling so isolated.

"Fuck, baby," he breathed, wrapping his arms even tighter around you. "You never have to protect me from our life. You should not have been dealing with this alone."

"She looks at me with so much anger," you sobbed, the words tumbling out now that the dam had burst. "She screams that she hates me, she calls me names, she throws things at my head... I know she's just a baby. I know she's just tired and doesn't mean it, but it hurts so bad. It makes me feel like a horrible mother. I’ve spent the last days dreading the afternoon because I know what's coming, and I feel like a monster for not wanting to be around my own daughter."

Jack let you cry for a long moment, letting the worst of the pent up trauma from the week pass. He just held you, absorbing the tremors of your exhaustion. When your breathing finally began to slow, he gently leaned back, keeping his hands securely on your neck so you had to meet his gaze.

"Look at me, baby," he commanded softly. "You are not a monster. When someone is screaming in your face, throwing things at you, and calling you names, your brain goes into fight mode. It doesn't matter if that person is a grown adult or a thirty pound toddler. It takes an emotional toll on you, especially five days in a row."

He reached up, using the pads of his thumbs to gently wipe away the tears tracking down your cheeks.

"It is entirely valid that you hate those moments. I'd be worried about you if you didn't hate them," Jack continued. "It doesn't mean you don't love her. It just means you're human, and you're taking the brunt of her worst moments because you're her safe space. She looked for you the second you walked away. But she needs to learn that what she's doing is wrong and you'll not always have the strength to deal with her. Your safety matters too."

He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"We are a team, okay? From now on, I’m adjusting my shift so I can stop her throwing things before sleep, and the second I walk through that door in the morning, you pass the baton to me. You don't have to sit there and take it alone anymore."

You let out a shaky breath as you nodded, leaning back into his warmth. "Okay. Thank you, baby."

"I love you," he murmured, pulling you back into his arms and resting his chin on your head. "Leave the laundry. Let's just go to bed."

⋆｡˚☤🩺✧˖°.｡⋆💉

"Not quite, handsome," you teased, setting the tray carefully on the nightstand. "Just a girlfriend who knows exactly what a twelve hour shift feels like. Come here."

He walked over, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist and left a soft kiss in your neck.

"You're my lifesaver," he whispered against your skin.

Jack sat down on the edge of the mattress. You watched as he leaned forward to unfasten the straps of his prosthetic leg. It was a routine as natural to the two of you as breathing. He slipped the socket off, setting the prosthetic carefully against the nightstand. He rubbed the residual limb with a sigh, the tension visibly leaving his lower back, before swinging his leg up and propping himself up against the pillows.

You slid into bed right beside him, pulling the duvet over both of your laps and settling the breakfast tray between you.

Jack immediately reached for the coffee, taking a long gulp. "God. I needed this so bad."

"Rough night?" you asked, cutting into a pancake.

He leaned his head back against the headboard. "The usual Saturday night madness. Two vehicle accidents, a couple of bar fights, and a teenager who thought fireworks in June were a brilliant idea. But..." He trailed off, his eyes turning a little distant as he stared at his coffee mug. "...there was one case right at the end of the shift that’s still sticking with me."

"Yeah? What happened?"

Jack took a slow breath. "A guy came in. Severe chest pains, classic myocardial infarction. We had to rush him straight to the cath lab. His kid was with him, must’ve been no older than seven or eight. Just sitting in the waiting room, crying, holding a handmade card he’d drawn."

Jack looked over at you. "The kid kept asking if his dad was gonna make it, because he couldn't give him his draw if he didn't wake up. It hit me right in the chest when I realized the date." He offered a poignant smile. "It’s Sunday. It’s Father’s Day."

You reached across the tray, slipping your hand into his. His fingers immediately intertwined with yours, squeezing tightly. "Did the dad make it?" you asked softly.

"Yeah," Jack nodded with relief. "We got the blockage in time. Stable, recovering in the ICU. Before I clocked out, I walked past the room and saw the kid sitting on the edge of the bed, helping his dad hold the draw. Just... totally protective of his old man."

The bedroom fell into a quiet silence. Jack stared down at your joined hands, his thumb tracing circles over your knuckles.

"Seeing them like that," Jack said, his voice dropping quieter now. "It made me think. I spent so many years just focusing on surviving, on the ER, on just making it through the day. I never really let myself look past the next shift."

He lifted his eyes to meet yours, intense and full of an emotion that made your heart skip a beat.

"But looking at that kid today… and then coming home to you, seeing you waiting for me like this… it made me want it, again. For some time, I've been thinking about it, really wanting it, you know?" He swallowed hard. "A family. With you. I want to be that guy one day. The one getting the messy handmade draws."

A sudden rush of warmth blooming in your chest.

"You're going to be an incredible father, Jack," you whispered looking into his eyes. "You’re already the most protective and caring man I know."

A radiant smile broke across Jack’s face, reaching all the way to his eyes and crinkling the corners.

"Yeah?" he murmured playing with your fingers.

"Yeah," you laughed softly, but a sudden wave of nerves and excitement fluttered in your stomach. You hesitated for a second, testing the waters. "How exactly do you see yourself as a father? You think you can handle diaper duty after a twelve hour trauma shift?"

Jack chuckled, leaning his head back against the pillows as he genuinely thought about it. "Honestly? I think I’d be the overprotective dad who checks their breathing every five minutes. And I’ll just use my trauma precision to handle the swaddling. And I'll probably be the guy teaching them how to throw a baseball while completely ruining my prosthetic." He smiled warmly, looking at you. "And with you by my side? I think I'd be a pretty damn good one."

You bit your lip, a wide smile breaking across your face that you couldn't suppress.

"Well," you said, your voice suddenly a little breathless, "I certainly hope you'll be a good father."

Before he could register the sudden shift in your tone, you abruptly moved the breakfast tray off your laps.

"Okay, why the rush? Where's the fire?" Jack blinked, startled, as you hurriedly carried the tray across the room and set it down on the small table by the window.

"Just clearing the blast zone," you teased, your hands shaking slightly with adrenaline. You walked over to your dresser, pulled a small wrapped gift box from the top drawer, and walked back to the bed.

Jack watched you, thoroughly confused now, his eyebrows furrowing as you slid back under the covers and handed him the box. "What’s this? Did you buy me a gift? Something on sale for Father's Day?"

"Shut up and open it," you chuckled, sitting next to him.

Jack gave you a suspicious look as he pulled the ribbon.

He lifted the lid, removing a layer of white tissue paper.

His tired look vanished from his face instantly.

Resting at the bottom of the box was a tiny small pair of knit newborn shoes. And resting right beside them was a white plastic stick with two distinct and undeniable pink lines.

The bedroom went completely silent.

Jack froze as his brain tried to process what he was looking at. He stared at the positive pregnancy test with his chest rising and falling in quick breaths.

"Are you..." Jack’s voice cracked completely, his throat tight. He looked up at you, his eyes suddenly glassy and swimming with tears. "Is this... are we...?"

"Happy first Father's Day, Jack," you choked out, tears of your own finally spilling over.

Jack carefully placed the box on the nightstand next to his bed, his hands trembling so badly he didn't want to risk dropping it.

The moment his hands were free, he lunged forward, catching your face. "I love you, i love you, i love you." he said placing kisses all over your face. "God, I'm so happy, I'm gonna be a dad," he muffled against your skin, his voice thick with emotion. "We're going to be a family."

"Yes, handsome, you're going to get a lot of messy handmade draws."

Jack hooked his arms under your thighs and waist. In one effortless motion, he lifted you directly onto his lap. You gasped in surprise, your hands instinctively flying to his shoulders to steady yourself as you straddled his good leg, your knees framing his waist.

Jack didn’t hesitate. He cupped the back of your neck with one hand, his fingers tangling in your hair, while his other hand anchored firmly around your lower back, pulling your hips flush against his.

Then, he leaned up and kissed you.

It was a passionate, deep, and utterly breathless kiss. His lips parted yours with possessive tenderness, tasting the salt of your shared tears as he poured everything he was feeling into the kiss.

It was a promise, a thank you, and a declaration of absolute devotion all wrapped into one.

You wrapped your arms tightly around his neck, leaning into him completely, melting against his chest. You could feel the emotional tremble in his lips.

When he pulled back, he didn't let you go, he kept his forehead pressed firmly against yours. His hand moved down to rest flat against your stomach, his fingers spreading wide over the fabric of your shirt, already protectively.

"You have no idea of the happiness I'm feeling right now," Jack whispered, his voice was so intense with emotions tjhat it made your heart ache. "You have absolutely no idea how much I love you."

⋆｡˚☤🩺✧˖°.｡⋆💉

Jack walked into the room, two mugs of tea in hand. He set one near you and sank onto the couch, his eyes immediately drawing to Maya.

He watched her for a long moment, a crease forming between his brows. He had a... feeling, when he saw how her daughter was playing with the blocks.

"Hey, sweetheart," Jack murmured gently, leaning forward. "Do you want some of Daddy's tea?"

Maya didn't look up. Her fingers just adjusted a green block so its edges perfectly aligned with the red one before it.

"New game with the blocks?" he asked you.

You looked up at Jack, offering a tired smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. "She’s been doing that for an hour. That green one seems to make her nervous. I tried to join her earlier, but if I move one, she gets... inconsolable."

"Maya?" Jack gently called her name again. "Do you need help with the green block, babygirl?"

Nothing.

It was as if a wall separated her from the rest of the room.

"Maybe she’s just focused," you said, though the words felt like you were trying to convince yourself. "Kids get hyper focused sometimes, right? She’s just independent."

"Yeah," Jack said softly, but the medical part of him was quietly cataloging everything. "Maybe."

You swallowed hard when a moment of yesterdays afternoon flashed your mind. "She screamed yesterday. When we greeted our neighbor at the front door, his dog started barking at a bird. She covered her ears screaming and ran inside. I thought she was just startled. But I found her on the kitchen floor covering her ears, even though I couldn't hear the dog from here anymore."

A heavy silence settled between you. As a doctor, Jack was used to having answers, to diagnosing and fixing. But when it came to his own daughter, that instinct felt distant, and he only witnessed paternal anxiety.

Suddenly, the microwave in the kitchen began to beep, signaling that whatever was being heated was ready. It wasn't loud, but the deep chime echoed in the silence of the night.

Maya froze. Her posture went rigid, and her hands flew to her ears, pressing down hard. A whine pitched from her throat, her eyes fixed on the floor, completely overwhelmed by a sound she heard every single day.

"Oh, baby, it's okay, it's just the microwave," you whispered, moving instantly to her side. You went to scoop her into a hug, but the moment your arms wrapped around her, she stiffened even more, crying out and pushing against your chest, desperately trying to wriggle free.

Your heart sank.

It hurted that your comfort was seemingly making it worse.

"Hold on," Jack said and moved to the kitchen to turn the sound off.

When the sound faded, Maya let her hands drop from her ears, her breathing catching in little hiccups. She reached back out for her blocks, her fingers trembling slightly as she re-aligned a red one, one that Jack had accidentally kicked when he went into the kitchen.

Then, she reached out for you, instantly croudling to your lap while hiccupping.

"I've got you, sweet girl." You stood up with your little girl in your arms and sank on the couch. Jack came back and sit beside you. He wrapped an arm around you and pulled you and Maya against his side.

"I don't know how to help her when she gets like that," you confessed in a whisper. "I feel like I'm doing everything wrong. Why does she push us away?"

Jack kissed the top of your head, his grip tightening protectively around the two of you. He kept his eyes on Maya, his mind spinning with questions he didn't know how to answer yet. He knew medicine, he knew emergencies, but this was unchartered territory.

"You're not doing anything wrong," Jack promised. "We're going to figure this out. I don't know exactly what's going on in her little head right now. But we're going to find out. I'll call her pediatrician first thing in the morning, and we'll get some guidance."

He looked at you. "Whatever it is, we're a team. You, me, and Maya."

You nodded, taking comfort in his certainty, looking down at Maya, who was now entirely calm sleeping against your chest.

--------

The pediatrician’s office was quiet. You and Jack sat side by side, while Maya sat on the linoleum floor between your feet. She had found a plastic toy car in the waiting room and, instead of rolling it across the floor, she had turned it upside down and was using her thumb to spin the front left wheel over and over, completely mesmerized by the rotation.

Dr. Evans sighed gently, closing the thick folder in her hands. She looked up, her expression a mix of profound empathy and clinical clarity.

"Based on the developmental milestones we’ve reviewed, the sensory sensitivities you've described, and the observational assessments we just ran," Dr. Evans said calmly. "Maya is showing clear signs of Autism Spectrum Disorder."

The word hung in the air. Autism.

It was a word you'd both been thinking about for the past few weeks; somehow, deep down, you suspected the signs. Although the uncertainty had kept them up at night. Hearing it from a professional was like the world was suddenly collapsing around you.

You instinctively reached out, your fingers wrapping tightly around Jack’s hand. His grip was already there, waiting, holding onto you.

Jack sat entirely still. The clinical definitions in his head felt entirely useless against the wave of fear rising in his chest.

"Autism," Jack repeated. His brain was trying to force the word to make sense in the context of his three year old daughter. "So... the way she plays, the sensitivity to sounds... that's all part of it?"

"Yes, Jack," Dr. Evans replied gently with a nod. "Her brain simply processes sensory information and communication differently than a neurotypical child. She has her ways of comfort in a world that probably feels incredibly overwhelming and loud to her."

You looked down at Maya. She was still spinning the tiny plastic wheel, her face completely peaceful. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, blurring her small form. "Did... did I do something during the pregnancy? Or did we miss something early on? I should have noticed sooner..."

Dr. Evans smiled warmly, trying to comfort you. "No, darling. This is genetic, neurological. It is nobody’s fault. And you didn't miss it, she’s only three. Catching this now means we are right on time for early intervention, which makes a world of difference."

You swallowed the lump in your throat, nodding weakly, letting Jack wipe a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb. Looking at the doctor, you asked, "What does this mean for her? Is she going to be okay? Will she have trouble... talk to us, or tell us what she need? How she's feeling? What about school? Socializing?"

"Every autistic child is entirely unique," Dr. Evans explained, leaning forward. "We can't predict her exact trajectory, but Maya is incredibly bright. She just communicates on a different frequency. Our goal now isn't to fix her or change who she is, but to give her the tools to navigate our world, and to give you the tools to understand her."

She handed Jack a packet of information: brochures for speech therapy, occupational therapy for sensory processing, and local support networks.

Jack took the papers. This was going to be a lifelong journey of learning, adapting, and patience. It felt terrifying, but as he looked down at the paperwork, a strange sense of grounding replaced the initial shock.

They finally had a name for it. They had a map.

"Maybe we could start with the occupational therapy," Jack suggested. "We’ll figure out how to make our home a space where she feels safe, not overwhelmed."

"Exactly," Dr. Evans said. "You're already doing a wonderful job. The fact that you noticed and sought answers is everything."

The appointment wrapped up, and Jack stood, lifting Maya into his arms. Normally, she might have squirmed away, but she allowed it this time, burying her face into the crook of his neck while still clutching the plastic toy car. Jack held her tightly, one arm supporting her weight, the other wrapping firmly around your waist as you walked out to the car.

After the appointment, you all went to have dinner together at your favorite place, trying to clear your minds of the new life that awaited you. But then, the drive back home was suffocating.

Maya sat in her car seat in the back, staring blankly out the window as the streetlights flickered across her face.

You didn't look at Jack. You couldn't.

You just stared straight ahead, your knuckles white as you gripped your purse in your lap. Every time Jack reached across the center console to touch your knee or find your hand, you subtly shifted away, wrapping your arms tightly around yourself.

You felt like if someone touched you right now, you would brake into a million pieces, and you were desperately trying to hold it together until you were behind closed doors.

Jack kept glancing at you, the muscle in his jaw twitching.

He knew that silence. Seeing it on your face, the absolute numbness, and the hollow look in your eyes, made his chest ache.

When you finally got home, it was late, so the routine was mechanical. You carried Maya, guided her through her bath, and helped her into her pajamas.

Putting her to bed took twice as long as usual. Tonight, the texture of her favorite blanket seemed to upset her. She whined, a high pitched sound that sliced right through your nerves, pulling at her collar and refusing to lie down.

Panic, cold and sharp, flooded your veins. Is it too tight? Is the fabric too rough? Am I making it worse? Your hands shook as you tried to soothe her, your voice trembling as you whispered, "Shh, baby, it's okay, Mommy's here," but the more you tried to adjust her, the more she stiffened.

Eventually, exhaustion won. Maya’s breathing leveled out while she was on your arms, finally sleep, her tiny fingers loosely curled around your shirt.

You put her on her scrib and stood over for a long time, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest. The diagnosis echoed in your mind like a death knell to the future you had envisioned. Every milestone you had taken for granted felt like it had been violently ripped away, replaced by a terrifying labyrinth of therapies, specialized plans, and a world that wouldn't understand her.

Will she have a good first day of school? Will she make good friends? Will she be able to whisper secrets to you? Will she say I love you, Mommy and actually know the meaning of that?

And the worst part: you were terrified of yourself.

You closed her bedroom door and went to your room. Jack was standing at the end of the hallway, leaning against the wall, waiting for you.

"Is she down?" he asked, his voice low and raspy.

"Yeah," You walked past him into your bedroom.

The moment the door closed behind you, you totally broke.

A choked sob tore from your throat. You pressed your hands over your mouth to muffle the sound, your knees buckling beneath you. Before you could hit the floor, Jack was there. His strong arms caught you, pulling you violently against his chest as you collapsed into him.

"Hey, hey, I'm here," Jack murmured, his voice cracking as he hugged you. He plopped down on the bed with you, rocking you against him. "What's wrong, love? I need you to talk to me."

You gripped the fabric of his shirt, burying your face into his neck, your body shaking violently with tears. "E-Everything feels wrong, Jack." you sobbed, the raw terror finally bleeding out of you. "I don't know what to do, were do we start? Are we making the right decisions for her? I'm so scared, I just want to keep her safe from anything that hurts her."

"It's okay," he whispered calmly, though his eyes were glossy and a tear slid down his cheek into your hair. "We'll do what feels right. We have places to go, a doctor who will answer all our questions. And we'll take our time, step by step, we'll find what's best for her, okay?"

"No, you don't understand!" You pushed back slightly, your hands trembling against his chest, forcing him to look at the sheer panic in your tear-streaked face. "You're a doctor. You know what to do. You fix people, daily. I'm just... I'm her mother, Jack, and I feel I've been doing everything wrong. Every time I try to hold her, she screams. What if I say the wrong thing? What if I trigger a meltdown and I can't stop it? What if I ruin her?"

The raw vulnerability in your voice made Jack reach up, his hands framing your face, forcing you to meet his eyes.

"Look at me," Jack commanded softly. "You think I'm not terrified? You think because I'm a doctor I have the answers to this? I don't. When Dr. Evans said those words, I felt like I couldn't breathe for a second. I'm scared too. But we are not going to ruin her. You love her. I love her. That's the only prerequisite that matters. If we make a mistake, we learn from it. If a therapy doesn't work, we try another one. But do not ever think you are alone in this fear. I am right here with you."

You let out a broken breath as you looked into his eyes.

He was terrified too.

"What if she never understand we love her? What If she never says she loves us? I want her to be okay, to feel we are here for her." you whispered, the darkest, most agonizing thought in your mind finally escaping into the open.

Jack swallowed hard, tightening his grip on your waist, pulling you back into the safety of his chest.

"We will learn to read her." Jack whispered into your hair. "Because she does love us, sweetheart. She went straight into your arms after crying the other day. We'll learn from those little gestures. We are never, ever going to give up on her. Or on each other."

Jack kept his arms wrapped tightly around you. He didn't try to dismiss your fears. He knew the road ahead was going to be steep, and he knew there would be days where the frustration felt insurmountable. But as he looked toward the door, thinking of the little girl sleeping soundly just down the hall, a protective warmth settled over his chest.

Gently, he nudged your chin up with his fingers.

"Doll," he murmured, catching your attention.

You blinked through your blurred vision, leaning into his hand.

"She is our amazing girl," Jack said, his thumb wiping away the last trace of a tear from your cheek. "She is exactly who she was meant to be. Our girl. And if she can't say the words, then we will learn to read her. We are going to learn her language, sweetheart. I promise you."

You nodded, pressing your face back into the crook of his neck, finally letting your body go heavy against his.

There were still a thousand unanswered questions, and tomorrow would bring a whole new reality to navigate. But your amazing girl was safe, sleeping calmly on her bed. And, while listening to the calm beat of Jack’s heart beneath your cheek, you finally allowed yourself to breathe.

------------- Bonus scene

Jack slipped into his six years old daughter's room quietly. He watched her form tangled in her sheets. She was already half awake, staring intently at the dust motes dancing in the morning light, her fingers trying to catch the sun rays.

"Good morning, sleepy girl," Jack murmured, keeping his voice low. He waited, giving her a moment to register his presence.

Maya blinked, her gaze shifting to Jack’s face.

"Daddy," she said, her voice raspy with sleep.

"Ready for breakfast?" Jack smiled, offering his hand. Maya took it, letting him lift her out of bed.

Jack knew that morning rutines were their best friend now. He always placed her favorite plate and fork on the table in the exact positions she preferred. Today, he brought over a stepstool so she could stand next to him at the counter.

"We’re making pancakes today," Jack announced, measuring out the flour. "Do you want to pour the milk?"

"Yes, please." Maya nodded solemnly. She took the measuring cup of milk with both hands, her tongue poking out slightly in intense concentration.

Jack kept a steadying hand near, but he let her do it herself. She poured it into the bowl, watching the white liquid splash into the flour with rapt fascination.

"Good job, baby," Jack praised softly.

But when he was goint to take the cup, Maya tapped it against the side of the bowl three times, making sure there wasn't a single drop on it. Tap, tap, tap. Then she paused and did it again. Tap, tap, tap.

"There, done, daddy."

Jack just smiled, recognizing it as her rhythm. "Nice beat, kiddo," he said, taking the cup; then the spoon to finish the batter.

Minutes later, the kitchen was filled with the sweet aroma of pancakes. Jack cut her pancake into squares and sat down next to her at the table.

Maya ate with her usual pace, entirely focused on each bite. As she chewed, she suddenly stopped, her shoulders relaxing. She looked up at Jack.

"I like breakfast with dad," she said clearly. The cadence of her voice was a little flat, a little rehearsed, like it was an inside thought, but the words were entirely her own.

Jack froze, his fork halfway to his mouth. A wave of overwhelming emotion hit him so hard it brought a sudden sting to his eyes. He reached over, gently squeezing her small hand. "I like breakfast with you too, Maya. More than anything."

From the doorway, a soft sound caught Jack's attention.

You were standing there, leaning against the frame, wrapped in a oversized cardigan. Your hair was a bit messy from sleep and the expression on your face was pure awe. You had caught every single word.

Jack met your gaze with a smile across his face. You heard her? his eyes seemed to say.

You nodded and walked up behind him, resting your hands on his shoulders, leaning down to press a kiss to his cheek before looking at your daughter.

"Room for one more at the table, sweet girl?" you asked softly.

Maya looked up at the sound of your voice. She didn't say yes or good morning. Instead, she picked up a piece of pancake with her fork and held it out toward you in a straight line, offering it to you.

You smiled, leaning down to take the bite before sitting next to her.

Maya looked at you, her big eyes blinking as she processed your presence. For a moment, she just stared, her hands resting on the table.

Then, completely unprompted, she slid off her own chair.

Maya approached you, turned around, and leaned her back against you, waiting for you to lift her onto your lap. When you did, she snuggled against your chest, her back pressing against you as she got comfortable.

You waited a second before you gently wrapped your arms around her waist, holding her close but leaving her enough room so she wouldn't feel trapped.

She didn't stiffen. She didn't push you away. She just sat with you, anchoring herself in your warmth.

Across the table, Jack watched the two of you in silence.

Maya reached down, carefully picking up her fork. With concentration, she stabbed a piece of pancake, with no syrup, exactly how she liked it, and lifted it up, holding it out toward your mouth.

"Eat, Mama," she murmured, her eyes fixed on the fork.

You leaned down and gently took the bite from her fork, chewing it as you rested your chin on the top of her soft hair, inhaling her sweet, sleepy scent.

"Thank you, baby," you whispered. "It’s delicious."

Maya nodded once, satisfied with your reaction, and immediately went back to looking at the rest of her plate, entirely content in the safety of your lap.

You looked up, meeting Jack’s gaze across the table. He reached you, his hand finding yours and squeezing it tightly.

Lately, there were no words needed between the two of you. The fear of the unknown hadn't entirely vanished after years, but sitting there in the quiet morning, with your daughter tucked safely against you, you knew Jack was right.

You were learning her language, step by step, and the journey was beautiful.

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