#songbird

You spend another night in the hospital, and the next morning, 31 hours after the birth, you’re about to be released from the hospital.

As you slowly pack the last of your things up, Jack gets Birdie settled in her car seat. She squirms and whimpers, but he whispers soft reassurances as he buckles her in.

“I know the car seat’s not as warm as Mommy and Daddy are, Birdie girl. I know, but you’ll be okay,” he coos. “The car ride’s only gonna be about ten minutes. Ten minutes, then Mommy’ll hold you again. You might even get the boob.”

From your spot on the foot of the bed, you let out a soft snort.

“All ready?” Jack asks once he’s got Birdie settled.

You nod and stand to step closer to peek in the car seat.

“Aw, she looks even smaller in there,” you mutter as you reach out to adjust her onesie.

“Tiny but mighty,” Jack says, placing a comforting, possessive hand on your hip.

You look from Birdie to him and find him pulling the ‘#1 Dad’ cap on.

“Wow,” you laugh softly.

Jack furrows his brow. “Hey, Jerry got it for me, so I’m gonna wear it with pride.”

Yesterday afternoon, your mom and stepdad, Jerry, came to the hospital with lunch to check in on you and meet the baby. Jerry handed the baseball cap to Jack with about as much pride as you can imagine.

“Okay, babe.” You smile and reach out to adjust the cap. “You actually do look hot in it.” 

Jack grins, and you kiss his cheek, then a nurse comes in with a wheelchair.

“Ready to go home?” she asks, smiling cheerfully.

Jack dropped all the bags off in the car when he pulled it around, so the only thing left for him to grab is the car seat where Birdie is now sleeping soundly. 

On the way out, he walks ahead of you in jeans that hug his ass a little too well and a t-shirt that is fighting with his broad shoulders and his grays peeking out of the cap’s strap.

His forearm is flexed as he carries the car seat, and you’re positive this moment in time is going to live in your mind forever.

When you make it to the car, you peer over Jack’s shoulder as he secures the car seat. It’s not that you don’t trust him to do it properly; it’s just that you’d like to watch over your baby.

He steps back, accidentally bumping into you, then turns around and puts his hands on your hips.

“Hi,” he chirps, happy to see you there. “Wanna ride in the back with her?”

You cover his hands with yours and lean in to peck his lips. “Hi. And, yes, I do.”

Jack takes a step back and keeps his hands hovering near you as you settle into the backseat.

“Comfortable?” he asks as your brow furrows.

Your face relaxes, and you nod. He reaches over and lovingly squeezes your knee before he shuts the door.

The entire drive home, Jack maintains exactly the speed limit on every road. He gets passed at every chance, but he’s got precious cargo in the back, so who really cares if he’s driving like his 97-year-old grandma?

When you get home, he helps you out of the car, then pulls Birdie from her car seat and hands her to you before guiding you up the porch. He unlocks the front door and holds it open for you.

“This is your house, Birdie,” you coo down at the baby in your arms. “This is where you’re gonna live with Mommy and Daddy until we find a different house.”

“Should we give her the tour?” Jack suggests.

You nod at him, then look back at Birdie. By the time you complete the brief tour of the house, she starts to fuss.

“Okay, last room, Birdie girl,” you mutter to the baby as she starts rooting for milk. “It’s your room. Your daddy and Uncle Robby–-who you’ll meet when he gets back from sabbatical–painted the room for you.” You go to sit in the glider chair and start pulling your shirt up and undoing the nursing bra. “And Mommy sat right here while Daddy built the crib.”

Jack crouches down and smooths a hand over Birdie’s soft hair.

“Need anything?” he asks as you get the baby latched.

“Not really,” you say softly, smiling contentedly.

He nods and straightens up. “I’ll bring the stuff inside from the car.”

Then it’s just you and the baby in the nursery, the only sound being her soft suckling.

“We’ve got all kinds of stuff to do,” you say, speaking softly, but not exactly baby-talking. “Gotta make your baby wellness appointment, get you on the insurance, give you a bath. All real exciting, huh, baby girl?”

For a few minutes, you just rock in the glider and watch Birdie’s jaw move.

Jack comes back in and crouches in front of the glider again.

“You gonna want lunch soon?” he asks, slipping his finger in Birdie’s grasp.

“Yeah. I think there’s sandwich fixings and chips. Will you put extra turkey on mine?” you ask, reaching a hand out to caress his shoulder.

Jack nods and leans down to kiss Birdie’s head, then pecks your lips before he heads to the kitchen.

“Your daddy’s love language is physical touch. That’s how he shows us he loves us,” you say, one hand gently stroking Birdie’s hair. “He also loves words of affirmation. I think those two are tied. He also loves doing acts of service. Your daddy’s very talkative and passionate.”

You sigh and stay quiet for a few minutes, eyes just fixed on all her squirming and swallowing and blinking and clenching and unclenching of her fists. Eventually, she unlatches, and you reposition her to nurse from your other breast.

“You know, you’re a very good-looking baby, Birdie. You look like Mommy, except for your chin. I guess sperm donor 18645 gave you that. It’s not bad. And, hey, maybe it gets him all the ladies.” You slip a finger into Birdie’s grasp. “You’re an Abbot, no matter whose DNA mixed with mine to make you. It’s no one’s business, anyway, but just so you know, Daddy and I are going to do everything we can to make sure you don’t feel insecure about that. We don’t ever want you to feel like you don’t belong.”

//

The rest of the day is spent on the couch with just the three of you. You and Jack take turns holding the baby, shirts and Birdie’s onesie long forgotten in the interest of skin-to-skin bonding. She’s relatively quiet outside of the cries that tell you she’s hungry or needs a diaper change. 

When it feels like bedtime, Jack feeds her a bottle with the milk you pumped earlier while you take a shower.

You come out half an hour later–because Jack was adamant that you take all the time you need in there–wearing only a nursing bra and your postpartum diaper. You feel your most unattractive, yet Jack looks at you with awe when you emerge from the shower. 

This body carried his baby and labored for hours to birth her. So, maybe you feel funny about the current state of your stomach, but Jack feels lucky to get to witness it.

“You look so pretty and happy,” he says softly as he burps Birdie, the bottle completely finished on the nightstand.

You smile and lean down to kiss Birdie’s head.

“You’re a good-looking dad, baby,” you say as you sit down next to Jack on the bed.

Jack wraps an arm around your shoulders, the two of you staring down at Birdie in the crook of his elbow, her tiny mouth slightly agape as she sleeps.

“She took the bottle well,” he says softly. “A whole ounce and a half, like a champ.”

“Mm. You like giving her the bottle?”

“Yeah, I did. Good father-daughter bonding.” He turns his head toward you. 

“You’re tired,” you mutter softly, gently cupping his jaw. 

“So are you.”

You huff a soft laugh through your nose. “Go shower. I got her.”

Carefully, Jack transfers Birdie into your arms, then heads to the bathroom. When the door shuts, you pad over to your side of the bed where the bedside bassinet that Jack put together today is all set up.

“Okay, Birdie girl,” you sigh, gently lowering her inside. “This bassinet only has three full walls, so you can still see me if you turn your head to the right. I’ll be right here, and when you wake up hungry, I’ll put you right on the boob. If it’s a diaper situation, you’ll have to go to Daddy, though. He’s a good man, won’t let me do the stinky stuff.”

Birdie settles immediately, not disturbed by the transfer at all. You press a kiss to her chubby cheek, then get in bed and pull the covers over your body. 

A few minutes later, Jack emerges from the bathroom, and before crawling into bed, he stops by your side of the bed to kiss Birdie good night and whisper that he loves her. When he’s in bed beside you, he kisses you and whispers the same thing.

He holds onto you a little tighter tonight than he usually does. You don’t say anything. He presses another kiss to your cheek before he finally settles.

//

The next day, Birdie has her well-baby checkup in the early afternoon. 

Thanks to one of the copious matching sets you bought for postpartum, you feel put together enough to leave the house confidently. You hand Jack the ‘#1 Dad’ hat on the way out the door.

Jack’s a little quieter today. You can’t tell if he’s just tired or if something else is weighing on him. He has therapy today, though. 4:00, you’re pretty sure. Maybe at 5:00. It doesn’t really matter since it’s virtual. 

He pushes the stroller, walking a little slower than he would if a freshly postpartum woman wasn’t walking next to him, through the pediatrician’s office. He only talks when you get situated in the waiting room chair, asking if you’re comfortable. Still, in his quietness, he keeps one hand on the handle of the stroller and the other on your knee, ever protective of his girls.

Birdie’s name is called, and Jack follows behind you and the nurse with the stroller. Once you’re all inside the room, the nurse instructs you to strip Birdie down to be weighed.

She fusses as Jack undoes her onesie but settles when he wraps a blanket around her and cradles her in his arms while the nurse sets up.

“Alright, Dad,” the nurse sighs. “You can set her down.”

Birdie continues to fuss when the warmth is taken away again, but she gets through it.

The nurse declares that Birdie’s weight is in a good place, then measures her head and says those measurements are normal too. After all that, the nurse tells you the doctor will be in for the head-to-toe exam, then slips out.

Jack gathers Birdie in his arms, careful to make sure her whole body is covered by the blanket.

“Babe, are you okay?” you ask softly, leaning against the exam table, your head against his shoulder. “You’re pretty quiet today.”

He turns his head toward you. He shrugs and leans his head down to kiss your temple.

“Just tired. Guess all the adrenaline is finally gone,” he says softly.

You kiss his shoulder. “Hopefully therapy helps today.”

Then the doctor knocks at the door. She’s nice and performs the exam very well, in Jack’s opinion. 

Soft spots of the skull are good, no signs of hip dysplasia, collarbones didn’t break during delivery, femoral pulse is strong, no irregularities anywhere.

“Possibly the most perfect baby ever,” the doctor jokes.

You ask a few questions that you came up with on the drive over. The doctor explains your concerns away, and when you look at Jack, he seems to be in agreement with the pediatrician that everything is normal.  

“Alright,” the doctor says as Jack puts Birdie’s onesie back on. “That’s it for Birdie for today. Cute nickname, by the way. Remember to also take care of yourselves. You guys are a team, so lean on each other and help each other out.”

“Yeah, we haven’t crashed and burned yet,” you joke. “Thank you so much, doctor.”

The doctor smiles and shuts the door behind her.

“Wanna get lunch on the way home?” you suggest as Jack goes to open the door.

“Yeah, sounds good,” he says, following you out while you push the stroller.

//

When you get home, the three of you take a nap after you nurse Birdie. Jack sets an alarm so he doesn’t miss therapy.

By the time the alarm does go off, you’re still sleeping. As Jack puts his prosthesis back on, Birdie starts fussing. He glances at his phone and decides she probably needs a bottle after he checks her diaper.

He scoops Birdie up and sniffs her bottom. Nothing, but he checks more carefully while her bottle warms up. A peek tells him she’s all dry. Just hungry.

“You wanna sit in on therapy with me, Birdie?” he mutters to the baby as he grabs her bottle. “Yeah? Gonna do your best to be quiet?”

Birdie just stares up at Jack with her big, bright eyes, waiting for a bottle or a breast.

Once he’s signed into the virtual waiting room, sitting in your home office, he brings the bottle to Birdie’s mouth. For something so tiny, she sure is a greedy eater.

His therapist, Leo, joins the call, surprised to see Birdie in Jack’s arms. 

“I see we have a guest,” he remarks, smiling.

“This is Birdie. Her mom’s sleeping, and she needed a bottle. Figured she doesn’t understand anything besides milk, so she could sit in today, if that’s okay,” Jack explains.

Leo smiles, eyes clearly fixed on the tiny baby rather than Jack as he talks. “Yeah, of course, as long as you’re fine with it. Wow, the baby’s finally here. How’re you feeling?”

Jack shrugs. “She was born on the sixth, early in the morning. We got home yesterday, took her to the doctor earlier. I feel… I feel good.” He looks down at Birdie, checking in to make sure she’s still taking the bottle okay. “She’s amazing, looks just like her mom except for the chin. I guess that’s from the sperm donor.”

There’s a pause, so Leo takes advantage.

“How do you feel about that? Your daughter having biological ties to another man?” Leo asks, blunt as always.

Jack swallows roughly. “I knew what I was getting myself into when I got involved with my wife. I always knew that Birdie wouldn’t look like me. I actually was kind of expecting her to look exactly like the sperm donor, but she’s really more of her mom’s twin, so I guess that makes me feel better.”

“Would it be possible for you to feel insecure about it if your daughter didn’t look like her mother?”

Jack doesn’t like that question; Leo can tell. Maybe that’s what makes it an important one to ask.

“Guess it could be possible,” Jack says softly, eyes fixed on the door rather than Leo on the screen or Birdie in his arms. “I wouldn’t… She’s my kid, blood or not, so I… I don’t know. I don’t want to sound like an asshole.”

Leo shakes his head. “It’s perfectly natural to want your children to look like you. With Birdie, that’s impossible, but you were there when she was born, Jack. You were friends with her mother in the early stages of pregnancy, and along the way became her romantic partner. Birdie doesn’t know that you didn’t contribute to her DNA, and she doesn’t care. You’re the man holding her right now. Nobody else is. She’ll give you gifts on Father’s Day, and her first word will probably be ‘Dada’, and even though that’s more of a phonics and developmental thing, she’ll be looking at you when she says it.”

Jack sighs and scrubs a hand over his face, holding Birdie and the bottle with one hand for a moment.

“I caught her,” Jack says softly. “When she started crowning, I moved down between my wife’s legs, and I was there to catch my daughter when she was born.”

Leo smiles softly. “You’ve delivered babies before. I assume this one was different.”

“Yeah.” Jack nods and looks down at Birdie, still suckling. “This one… I took this one home. I signed her birth certificate. She’s got my last name. I had to hold back tears when I got my hands on her head. She’s mine.” He swallows roughly again. “I never thought I’d have this.”

“Right.” Leo sighs. “Have you expressed your past feelings about children to your wife?”

Jack sighs now and lets out a sniffle. “No, I didn’t really see the point, honestly. I don’t want her to get the wrong idea and start thinking I’m not happy with how things have turned out.”

Leo nods. “It’s not uncommon to go from being neutral on an idea to being 100% on board. You fell in love with your wife, and the baby came with her.”

“It’s not just that,” Jack says. “Helene didn’t want kids. I thought it was better for me to maybe regret not having kids than her regretting having a child. Now that Birdie’s here, I can’t imagine there ever being a reality where I’m not her dad.”

His phone buzzes just then, the distinctive ringtone he set for your texts filling the room. He glances at the phone and reads the message: I know you’re in therapy, but if you want, I can pop in real quick and grab Birdie.

“It’s my wife,” he says as he sends a message back: That’d be nice. Thx

“Is she okay?”

“Yeah, she’s coming in to grab the baby.”

Then there’s a knock at the door, and Jack tells you to come in.

Eyes a little puffy from sleep, hair slightly mussed, still in the matching pink sweatshirt and shorts set, and the world’s softest and prettiest smile on your face. 

His beautiful wife, mother of his perfect daughter.

Still on the bottle, Jack carefully transfers Birdie into your arms and whispers a soft thank you to you on your way out of the office.

Once the door shuts, Leo smiles. “It’s obvious your wife loves you, Jack. I’m sure she’d understand your feelings. Besides, now that Birdie’s here, how do you feel about her presence, your role in her life?”

Jack nods and swallows the lump in his throat. 

“I’m happy,” he says, his voice warbly. “I don’t… I feel like I can’t believe that there was a universe where I was going to miss out on this, on being a dad. But, y’know, I wouldn’t have this if I hadn’t lost Helene, so I feel kind of… I don’t know, maybe guilty? That I’m having this life that I wouldn’t be having otherwise and…really loving it.”

The adrenaline is finally wearing off, and Jack can finally stop and let his mind get consumed with the question of how he got so lucky with you and also how to rationalize his love for both Helene and you.

He always thought everything bad that happened to him–losing his leg, his and Helene’s early struggles, Helene dying–was all punishment for every bad thing he did in his life, the things he did with the American flag on his shoulder that helped a younger Jack believe it was for the greater good.

That didn’t work for long.

“That’s a valid feeling,” Leo says. “It’s true that you wouldn’t have the life you do now if Helene was still here. Let me ask you this, Jack. Are you happy with where you are today?”

Jack sighs but doesn’t hesitate to nod his head.

“I am. I’m happy with my wife and with Birdie. I just… I look at Birdie…” He trails off, eyes squinting. He clears his throat, gaze fixed on a doodle you made on a sticky note next to the computer mouse. “I look at my daughter and wonder what I did that makes me worthy of her. It’s the same thing when I look at my wife, but Birdie… She’s two days old. She’s never done anything wrong in her entire life, and she’s so pure and loved, and I… I wonder if I deserve to be in their lives.”

Leo takes a moment to come up with a response. “Jack, from what you’ve told me, you’ve married a very intelligent and thoughtful woman. She gave up on men and was going to have Birdie on her own. Then she got to know you, and you’ve become her partner in all of this. If you’re feeling doubtful about your worthiness in your family, try thinking about your wife’s decision to involve you, how much you trust her.”

“Yeah,” Jack chokes. He clears his throat. “She’s great. Amazing woman, man, so fucking strong.” He can steer the conversation. “She didn’t get an epidural for about twelve hours. She managed to stay clear-headed the whole time. Like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

Leo doesn’t miss the avoidance, but one thing is for sure: Jack will talk about it when he’s ready, when he doesn’t feel so raw.

//

When Jack steps out of your office, he doesn’t join you and Birdie on the couch. You’re not upset; he just spent the better part of an hour talking about who knows what. He’s entitled to some alone time. You’re fine to sit on the couch with Birdie at your breast, the remote, water bottle, and a snack nearby.

It’s when nearly an hour goes by that you send him a text asking if he’s okay.

Five minutes go by, and he doesn’t respond, so you pad into the bedroom with Birdie in your arms.

He’s on the bed, back to the door, prosthesis near his nightstand.

You round the bed to put Birdie in her bassinet on your side of the bed, then crawl in next to him, leaving him some space. For someone who didn’t answer your text, he doesn’t seem to want the space as he pulls you toward him. You let him pull your left leg up and rest it on his hip as you bring a hand to his cheek.

“I love you, Jack,” you whisper as he pulls your head toward him so your foreheads touch. “I’m sorry if you’re feeling overwhelmed today, baby.”

He pecks your lips and sighs. 

“Baby, are you okay?” you ask softly, brow furrowed in concern, thumb rubbing back and forth across his cheek.

He nods softly and kisses your lips again.

“I’ve just got a lot on my mind, is all,” he mumbles against your lips. “Let’s just stay here for a while until Birdie needs something. Yeah?”

He’s probably got his entire life story leading up to this point on his mind right now. If he wants to process things on his own before he talks to you about it, that’s okay. You won’t argue against letting him hold you in his arms.

“Yeah,” you whisper back. “We’ll just chill for the rest of the day. Um, tomorrow, though, I wanted to take Birdie on a walk. I think it’d be good for all of us.”

“Sounds perfect, sweetheart,” he whispers softly before pressing another kiss to your lips.

//

As the next few days go by, Jack seems to relax a bit more, which makes you feel calmer, too. The two of you take Birdie on walks in the neighborhood with her fan attached to her stroller.

After the walks is when you shower since the girdle you wear during them creates a lot of sweat.

Today is day seven of being home, day eight since you’ve given birth. Jack has put Birdie down for a nap, so he watches you in the bathroom as you carefully remove the girdle.

“It’s not giving you trouble, is it?” he asks softly. “You feel okay when you wear it?”

You smile as you meet his eyes in the mirror. “I feel fine. It’s doing its job, making things a little easier.”

He nods along, his eyes flitting from your eyes to your still swollen middle.

“Okay, good.” He steps closer to you, his hip brushing your side. “Y’know you’re beautiful?”

You smile brighter, and you caress his cheek. “I do. Thanks for not letting me forget.”

He smiles softly, his gaze softening along with it. Pure would be a good word to describe the way he’s looking at you right now.

“I love you,” you say, rubbing your thumb back and forth across his cheekbone.

He kisses the juncture of your neck and shoulder. “I love you, too.”

He pulls back and you look him in his eyes. So full of love and adoration and peace. You wrap your arms around him, chest to chest, belly to belly.

“So much better without Birdie in the way,” you mutter, your voice muffled with your cheek against his chest.

Jack chuckles softly and kisses the top of your head before letting his arms fall.

When you get out of the shower, you find Jack on the bed with Birdie on his bare chest, a soft pink blanket over her back.

Skin-to-skin has become an addiction.

You walk to your dresser in just the postpartum diaper to put on a nursing bra before you join them on the bed. Jack holds an arm out to get you as close as possible. You sneak your left arm under his neck and cover his left bicep with your hand, your right hand going to Birdie’s fist. Jack’s right hand skates up and down your back, eyes fixed on Birdie like her lip occasionally twitching is the most bewitching thing he’s ever seen.

//

Jack has told you about his nightmares. He told you they didn’t happen very often anymore. You’re pretty sure the last one he told you about happened when you were 37 weeks pregnant, but he didn’t wake you up with his screams or his fingernails digging into your skin.

It’s almost 2:00 in the morning when you hear the sounds of Jack screaming. With the lack of sleep due to having a one-week-old baby in the house, you think it’s Birdie at first. Then you feel his nails dig into your thigh, and you know it’s him.

“Ow, fuck, Jack!” you whimper, whipping your head around in his direction to find his skin drenched in sweat, his left hand gripping your thigh like it’s personally offended him.

You vaguely remember a Google search telling you not to touch him or be too loud.

So you sit there in bed and start speaking in a calming voice.

“Jack, it’s okay,” you murmur. “Please wake up.”

Birdie starts crying in the bassinet to your left.

Your head turns back and forth between your daughter and your husband.

Birdie’s upset that she’s been woken up. Jack is fighting off metaphorical demons and taking it out on your thigh. Birdie’s going to have to cry it out for a second.

You lean your head down, your fists clenching as you fight the urge to caress Jack’s cheek.

“Baby, please wake up. You’re having a nightmare,” you say softly. “Jack, it’s okay. You’re safe.”

His eyes shoot open faster than you’ve ever seen. His grip on your thigh momentarily tightens, and you fight back your whimper while he shoots up in bed.

“Jack, it’s me. You’re safe. You’re in bed with me in our house,” you whisper, keeping your distance as you sit up.

As he comes to, all he can hear is his breathing and Birdie crying.

“I woke them up,” he mutters to himself. 

“Jack, it’s okay,” you say, but he barely hears it.

He finally looks at you, fear in his eyes. You’ve never seen him scared.

The hand he has on your thigh suddenly pulls back in toward himself as if he’s been burned.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his eyes glazing over.

You shake your head. “It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

His eyes focus on the bassinet behind you.

“She’s crying,” he whispers, sounding as if the notion is bringing him physical pain. “Please, you gotta pick her up.”

You furrow your brow, unsure if you should keep your focus on Jack or rock Birdie back to sleep, but his intense gaze decides for you.

Birdie’s cries die down when you finally pick her up, your legs hanging off the bed, your back to Jack as you stare at the broken blood vessels on your thigh.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, finally getting his breathing under control. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I haven’t… I haven’t had one like that in years. I’m so sorry I woke you up.”

You carefully lower Birdie back in the bassinet and turn back around.

“Jack, it’s not your fault. Everyone’s okay,” you whisper. “Do you want to go to the kitchen and have some water?”

He swallows roughly and eventually nods.

You slip out of bed and grab his crutch for him. He takes it and follows you to the kitchen. When you hand him the cup, his eyes fall to your thigh, the dotting on your thigh telling him something hurt you.

“Was that me?” he asks softly, guilt already seeping into his voice.

You chew on the inside of your cheek as you debate lying.

You land on staying silent as you wrap your arms around him. He melts into you, which is relieving. It could’ve gone either way, given his current state.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he sobs into your neck. 

“I know,” you whisper.

“You just had our baby,” he whimpers.

“It’s okay, Jack. It’ll heal in a day or two.”

“But I hurt you,” he reiterates. “You’re fragile, and I hurt you.”

“You didn’t mean to, baby. It doesn’t even hurt, I promise. I’m okay.”

You press a soft kiss to his cheek and scratch your fingernails up and down his bare back.

“I love you,” you whisper as you pull back slightly. “I’m okay. We’re all safe. Birdie’s asleep in our room, and you and I are having some water. I love you, Jack. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

He nods, taking in your words, eyes fluttering shut as he tries to take some deep breaths.

“I love you, too, sweetheart,” he breathes.

“We can sit out here in the living room and talk if you need,” you offer. “Or we can go back to bed. Whatever you need.”

Whatever he needs.

Fuck, you just had a baby. He’s supposed to be telling you that. He’s also amazed you feel safe enough to go back to bed with him after he just about detached your skin from your quads.

Slowly, he leans in to kiss you. You reciprocate immediately, your hands flexing against his back.

“I love you,” he whispers against your lips.

Flashbacks of the nightmare play in his head. Helene sits in the middle of the bathroom floor as blood pools beneath her. You clutch a lifeless Birdie as you bleed out. It makes his stomach churn.

“I love you, too, baby.”

Jack takes in a shuddering breath and pulls back to kiss your cheek now, your temple, your forehead, then pulls you closer with one arm while he balances on his crutch with the other.

Eventually, you go back to bed. Jack’s conflicted between wanting to keep a safe distance from you and wanting to hold you in his arms to lull himself to sleep like he usually does.

You decide for him, wrapping your arms around him in a way that makes his heart ache.

He feels a little better as you rest your head on his pillow, your nose brushing against his neck, your fingers gently stroking the top of his hair, your other arm secure around his middle.

His heart breaks a little when he feels your tears rub against his skin. Your hormones are still a little all over the place, and your brain is finally able to catch up to what just happened. Jack is your strong and tough husband, and seeing him crumble like he just did hasn’t made you believe that any less; it’s just made you sad over the fact that he’s feeling anything other than content. 

You shift a little closer and kiss the underside of his jaw and gently tighten your arm around his waist.

Jack begins gently scratching his fingernails up and down your back, and eventually, your stroking his hair and his scratching your back lulls both of you to sleep.

When you get things moving for the day around 10:00 AM, the sadness in both your and Jack’s eyes lessens just a bit as Birdie lies between her parents in their bed.

He grabs her tiny fist and kisses it while she looks at you like you’ve hung the moon. And after how you supported him last night, Jack would have to agree with his daughter.

*reminder that you get side eyed hard if you're on one of these taglists and don't reblog

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Songbird taglist: @itsmycorneroftheinternet @laughsandlivia