#nicu

She doesn’t even know her own name yet. She’s barely opened her bright eyes to the world, barely had a chance to learn who her dads are – who she is.

But –

Her fingernails are starting to tinge with shades of bitter teal. Barely noticeable, a small icy shadow creeping into her skin. She’s been struggling to breathe during feedings, gasping between pulls on her bottle, her tiny lungs desperate for oxygen.

“S-Should we call someone?” Evan’s voice is thick with worry, his features creased, eyes flicking between Edie’s face and Tommy’s. His frown holds back words, words that Tommy isn’t ready to hear. “I-It’s getting worse, Tommy.”

Tommy wraps Edie and Evan in a tight hug, his arms steady behind Evan’s shoulders, grounding them as Evan rocks their two-week-old daughter just slightly. Edie’s cries are small but insistent, her body wracked with soft pleas for help. For what, Tommy can’t tell, but the weight of her suffering nearly sends him reeling. Still, he stands firm, his voice calm despite the growing fear curling inside him.

“I’ll grab a bag, why don’t you get her in some warmer clothes, and we’ll take her in?”

He wants to reassure Evan, but he feels anything but confident. He’s been talking with Eddie the last few days, asking about her rapid breathing, but he and Howie have assured Tommy that she’s fine.

“That’s normal, Tommy. Tachypnea is common for newborns – she’s still eating right?”

“Y-Yeah, she’s still eating but…”

“But nothing, Tommy, you and Buck are new parents, it’s your job to freak out, but if that’s all it is, she’s okay.”

“What if –”

“Buck is anxious enough for you both, just keep doing what you’re doing. Make sure you remember to breathe too, buddy.”

But she’s been tired, fatiguing so easily just trying to sustain her nutrients, unable to take in breaths between gulps of formula. Tommy stares at her every time she sleeps, her small chest rising and falling steadily throughout the night.

Except.

Last night she stopped. He timed it. She stopped for 16.2 seconds. He told himself if it got to 20, he was calling 9-1-1. Or her pediatrician. Or the goddamn surgeon general.

But she started breathing again and so did he. She kept breathing through the night, eyelashes fluttering over tired eyes as she dreamed of bright clouds and the sounds of her mom, the world she lived in before she made her way into this one.

And now, as Tommy hovers over them – his everything, his own world – he wears weary and drawn features, years of anxiety storming them beyond fears of fatherhood. Evan tucks Edie’s hands back inside her swaddled blanket, planting a soft kiss across her palm. “She’s cold, her little fingers are cold.”

“She’s okay, Evan,” Tommy pecks a kiss on Evan’s temple, reaching behind him for the diaper bag, his fingers moving on autopilot, stuffing it with extra socks, blankets, diapers, and hats. Evan gently lays Edie on the changing table and pulls a fresh onesie from the drawer, tucking her feet inside, zipping it up around her.

Small cries bubble up from Edie as Evan shushes her gently, his words soothing, though his hands shake slightly. He promises her she’ll be warm soon, that he’ll pick her up as soon as she’s settled. Tommy turns, heading back into their room, grabbing a few extra clothes for himself and Evan. He tosses them into his duffle bag – one that has barely been unpacked since they brought Edie home from the hospital. He slips on his boots with shaking hands and rushes back to meet Evan.

“I’ll go put this in the car,” Tommy says, his voice losing confidence each time he speaks. His heart is moments away from evacuating his chest, the threat of the hospital looming ahead of them.

Reminders of Evan tucked inside hospital beds himself, tubes and wires connected to his battered frame after accidents at work spring to Tommy’s mind and build a bead of sweat on his brow.

As Tommy reaches the Jeep and prepares the car seat, fears and worries build in the storm of his mind – guilt, dread, worry, it all mingles together creating a vicious concoction of absolute terror.

His hand grips the edge of the car seat as he arranges the bags in the back, the anxiety nearly too much to bear. He can feel his chest tightening, can hear the pulse of his heartbeat like thunder in his ears.

Evan’s hand on his shoulder jolts him from his thoughts, a reminder of the present – of Edie, and their need for him to keep calm. Tommy doesn’t even realize he’s holding his breath until Evan reaches across him to strap Edie into her car seat. Evan double-checks the straps, checking them once. Twice.

Evan can’t pull his eyes away from Edie, his eyes cloudy with terror themselves, and Tommy finds his hand across the small of Evan’s back, the need to protect baked into everything Tommy does so much so, he barely registers the movement.

On the way to the ER, Edie barely keeps her eyes open, her loose grip on the conscious world becoming untethered. The car rocks gently, but the lullaby it offers does nothing to soothe Tommy. He feels like they’re all falling together – apart.

Evan grips his knee tightly in the front seat, fidgeting with his jeans, willing the limb to stop shaking under his anxiety. The nervous energy he can’t control oozes from him freely and Tommy intertwines their fingers, his grip firm and calm.

For Evan.

When they finally arrive, Evan frees Edie from her car seat, quickly tucking her back into his chest as Tommy corrals their belongings, guiding Evan gently to the front desk.

Waiting. The word rings in Tommy’s mind, louder than any heartbeat.

It’s another type of torture.

One Tommy doesn’t particularly care for. But he’ll do anything for Evan. For Edie.

So, he pushes his fears aside, the guilt of his family history creeping into the edges of his thoughts as he settles in a chair with their daughter, Evan pacing the floor before him.

Tommy watches his every movement, the tautness in his shoulders like a bowstring pulled too tight. And he settles into the grip that fear has on him and cozies up beside it, familiarizing himself with the feeling he knows is bound to have a chokehold on him for the foreseeable future.

And he waits.