#transatlanticism

She discovers her voice by the time Valentine’s Day rolls around, and what starts as mere babbling quickly turns into a language only the three of you can understand.

Jack especially can’t get enough of chatting to her. A firm hater of the baby-voice, he speaks to her like any other person - sometimes Gwen gets more levity than the likes of Robby. One of your favourite things to come home to is Jack running her bedtime routine on days where you have late classes.

Sometimes, you’ll hover in the hallway, listening to their little chats. Tonight, the topic appears to be the latest volume of the American Journal of Emergency Medicine.

He has her perched on his knee, one hand spreading the pages of the journal, the other at the wheel of his wheelchair, pushing them back and forth softly. She’s always loved the rhythm of the wheelchair - to the point where the rocking chair in her nursery has been replaced by one of Jack’s backups.

It’s a sure way to have her asleep within half an hour.

Jack loves that he’s the only one that can do it with her. Even if you try and sit in the chair, replicate his movements exactly, she’ll just start to fuss for her daddy.

“I see what you’re saying,” comes Jack’s voice, low and playful. “But it’s all about the politics, Gwenny. You can’t just decide on a uniform protocol for something like that - every doctor has their own preferences.”

Gwen responds in babbles, and you find yourself leaning against the wall to listen in, fighting a smile.

“Well, now you’re just being ridiculous. Sounding too much like your Uncle Robby for your own good, huh? We’ve got to think about the funding, Gwendoline. How are we going to pay for that?”

A small pause, before Jack pretends to gasp. “My credit card? And here I thought we had a few more years before you became a teenager.”

Only when Gwen erupts into a flurry of giggles do you finally enter, dropping your bag down in the doorway. “Are you trying to indoctrinate our daughter into medicine already?”

“Well, she clearly has the knack for it already, honey - even if her spending habits leave something to be desired.”

“Hm, I don’t know. I still think she’s got a novel or two in her. With the way she loves books and stories.”

“Why make her choose? She can be the world’s best doctor, and write books on the side to supplement. Make sure she can support us in our old age.”

The smile he shoots you is easy, and you find yourself leaning down to press a kiss to Gwen’s head. When you pull back from the wheelchair, Jack pouts. “Nothing for me?”

You roll your eyes dramatically, but there’s no heat behind the action, and you press a soft kiss to Jack’s cheek. “Happy now?”

“Very.”

*****

Now in April, Gwen is pulling herself up on every piece of furniture she can find. Her favourite target is the low coffee table, where Jack accidentally leaves his mug one evening. You catch her just as her stubby fingers wrap around the ceramic handle, her tongue sticking out in pure, concentrated determination.

"Gotcha," you breathe, lifting her away just in time.

"Good catch," Jack says, walking into the room with a stack of fresh diapers. His eyes drop to your mouth, just a flicker, before he blinks and looks down at the baby in your arms. "She’s getting too fast for us.”

“I’m sure we’ll blink and she’ll be twenty.”

“Don’t say that,” Jack groans. “She’s not allowed to ever get any older than she is right now.”

You laugh as Gwen immediately twists in your arms, reaching back toward the coffee table like she has unfinished business there.

“Oh, really? Because two months ago you were begging for her to sit up on her own.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

“Because sitting up is cute.” He points at Gwen. “This?” He gestures as she lunges for absolutely nothing in particular. “This is the beginning of the end.”

“The end of what?”

“Our peace.” You snort, while Jack drops the stack of diapers onto the sofa before holding his hands out. “Come here, kiddo.”

Gwen practically throws herself toward him. The betrayal is immediate. “Wow,” you say. “Nice to know where her loyalties lie. Guess if she likes you so much, you can take bedtime duty tonight.”

Jack’s head immediately snaps to yours. “What? I did it last night!”

“Are you seriously turning your daughter down?” You ask. It’s cruel, really, playing him by using Gwen. But after a full day of classes, you’re not sure you can face three rounds of The Hungry Cateroillar.

You pass her over, and Gwen rests her head briefly against Jack's shoulder. The sight catches you off guard, even though you’ve seen it on a daily basis for the past however many months. It’s just a startling reminder that she is, in fact, growing up. Slowly but surely, and yet somehow all too fast. These little flashes where she seems less like a baby and more like a tiny person with preferences and routines and opinions.

A tiny person who absolutely prefers Jack's left shoulder over his right.

A tiny person who laughs whenever you sneeze.

A tiny person who somehow knows exactly where forbidden objects are located at all times.

“You look sentimental,” Jack comments, and you snap out of your daze, realising you were staring. “All weepy like you’re the one who doesn’t want her to grow up.”

“Sorry. Uh, just thinking.”

“Yeah? About what?”

Suddenly slightly concerned you’re about to cry, you decide to dodge the topic altogether. “About how you should do bath and bedtime tonight?”

“Hm, you’re lucky I love you both.”

*****

You lie awake, staring at the ceiling and trying to warm your toes under the heavy duvet, when you hear it.

A muffled, choked sound comes from the bedroom down the hall. Far too low to be Gwen. You check the baby monitor, just to be safe, and see her sound asleep in her crib. A few seconds later, it happens again - a low, fractured groan that twists into a sharp, desperate gasp for air. It isn't the sound of someone snoring.

It sounds like somebody in pain.

Kicking off the covers, you slip out of bed. The hardwood floor is ice-cold against your bare feet as you creep down the dark hallway, bypassing Gwen’s room, and stop outside Jack’s cracked door.

The pale moonlight cuts through his blinds, casting sharp shadows across the room. Jack is thrashing under his sheets, his large frame tangled in the blankets. His head turns violently from side to side, his jaw locked tight.

"No," he chokes out, his voice thin and entirely stripped of his usual assurances. "No, wait. Don't go.”

"Jack," you whisper, stepping into the room.

He doesn't wake. He lets out another ragged, breathless sob that makes your chest ache. You cross the room and sit on the edge of the mattress - reach ping out to place a firm, steady hand on his bare shoulder. He’s burning hot and slick with sweat.

"Jack, wake up. You're dreaming," You murmur a little louder, shaking him gently.

He bolts upright with a violent gasp, his eyes wide and blank, staring straight through you. His chest heaves as he fights for oxygen, his hands instantly clawing at the sheets. He is entirely unmoored, trapped somewhere between the nightmare and reality.

"Hey, look at me," you insist, shifting closer and placing both of your hands on the sides of his face, forcing his frantic gaze to anchor on yours. “You were just dreaming. You’re fine. It’s okay, Jack.”

It takes another second for his eyes to refocus, and only when you reach out to take a hand do his shoulders start to relax. “Shit. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” You murmur. “Want to talk about it?”

He nods, but there’s no words don’t come, and instead he leans into your touch.

Your fingers gently smooth the hair at the back of his neck. "Was it the army? Or your mom?"

He stays still for a long moment, his forehead pressed hard against your shoulder as his breathing slowly hitches. When he finally pulls back just enough to look at you, his face is wet, his expression completely raw.

"No," he whispers, his voice cracking. "It wasn't them. It was you."

You blink, caught entirely off guard. "Me?”

“I dreamt I was losing you. That I’d already lost you. A-and we didn’t even have Gwen, and it was so awful, and-“

He cuts off in the horrible realisation that you both lived that dream almost eighteen months ago. "Jack, I'm right here," you say softly, your voice steady against the howling wind outside. "I'm not going anywhere.”

A single tear leaks down his cheek, and you pull him into your arms, until you can wrap them round his entire body. “C-Can you stay the night? I-If you don’t want to, that’s fine-“

He’s never sounded more vulnerable, and it breaks your heart. “Of course I can stay, Jackie.”

“You and Gwen are the best things in my life - you know that right?”

“You prove it to us every day.”

Almost tentatively, you draw him down towards the pillows, slipping under the duvet beside him. Jack turns onto his side, facing you, and pulls you tightly against his chest. His arm tucks securely under your head, anchoring you to him, while his other hand rests flat against your waist. You wrap your arms around his torso, burying your face in the crook of his neck, letting your heartbeat match his.

You stay awake for a while, listening to his breathing smooth out into a deep, uninterrupted sleep.

*****

Jack knows he’s being unreasonable. Insane, even. You’re only thirty minutes late from when you said you’d be home, and he can feel himself spiralling.

By minute thirty, his hands are shaking so badly he can barely scoop the formula into Gwen’s bedtime bottle. He has paced the living room until his leg aches, Gwen tracking his frantic movements from his arms. Every time he looks at the clock, the knots in his stomach tighten. He calls your phone for the sixth time. Straight to voicemail. The flat, automated tone triggers a sharp spike of adrenaline in his chest. His mind immediately bypasses every logical explanation and constructs a worst-case scenario: a car accident on the slick March roads, a breakdown on a dark shoulder, something terrible.

He cannot fathom how you possibly did this alone.

He cannot fathom doing any of it on his own.

"Come on, sweet girl, let's get you down," Jack mutters, his voice thick with a panic he is desperately trying to hide from the baby. Gwen responds with a sleepy little noise and presses her face into his shoulder. His left shoulder.

At least one of them is calm.

Jack glances at the clock again. Thirty-two minutes late. He swallows heavily, and begins to get Gwen changed into her pyjamas with hands that won't stop trembling. She watches him with wide eyes while he fumbles with snaps he's fastened a hundred times before.

"Sorry," He murmurs when he misses one. As if his eight-month-old daughter cares.

Normally, bedtime is his favourite part of the day, but tonight he can hardly focus, and when the front door lock finally clicks at fifty-seven minutes past the hour, Jack is waiting right there in the shadows of the hall.

You walk in, balancing your bag and a stack of papers, looking tired but entirely fine. "I am so sorry," you start immediately, kicking off your shoes. "One of my students needed help with an essay rewrite, and then my phone died on the way out, and I couldn't-"

You stop because Jack has crossed the carpet in two strides. He doesn't wait for you to finish. He drops his forehead against your shoulder, his hands gripping the heavy fabric of your winter coat so tightly his knuckles turn white. He is trembling, as he pulls you into the tightest hug of your life.

"Jack?" you ask, the papers slipping slightly in your grip. "What's wrong? Is Gwen okay?"

"Gwen is fine. She's asleep," He croaks, his voice thick and rough against your neck. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes bloodshot and frantic, searching your face as if verifying you are actually here. Here and okay. "Your phone was dead. You didn't text. I thought... I thought you were in a ditch somewhere. I thought someone hurt you."

"Jack, I'm less than an hour late," You say gently, shocked by the sheer terror radiating off him.

"I know that's not a long time. I know normal people don't immediately assume the worst because somebody's fifty minutes late."

"Jack-"

"I called you fourteen times."

You blink. "What?"

"Fourteen." His voice is flat with embarrassment now, and he runs a shaking hand over his face, his skin pale under the hallway light. "I started picturing the highway near the campus, thinking about how slick the roads get when the ice melts. Then I started thinking about someone cornering you in the parking lot after dark. I couldn't stop it. O-Or some kind of accident on the freeway-”

"Hey," you whisper gently, dropping your bag and the stack of papers onto the bench by the door. They slide and scatter slightly, but neither of you moves. You wrap your arms around his waist, pulling yourself tight against his solid frame. "Look at me. I'm right here. I'm safe. I'm completely okay. And I’m sorry. I should’ve charged it in the car.”

He’s shaking his head. “You don’t have to apologise.”

"Come on," You murmur, sliding your hands up his back, feeling the tense, knotted muscles of his shoulders begin to give way under your touch. "Let’s go sit down.”

Steering him gently, you guide him into the dimly lit living room, pulling him down beside you on the sofa

One hand slides into his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands at the back of his head, while the other settles firmly at his back.

For months, he's been trying to be everything for everyone. Strong for Gwen. Strong for you. You know him well enough to catch the signs. He still feels guilty for missing out, so he’ll run himself ragged in order to look after you both.

You haven’t seen a single bill in almost four months. Neither of you have ever had to want for anything. You can work whatever classes you want, because Jack will rearrange his own schedule to look after Gwen when needed.

Your fingers continue moving through his curls. Slow. Steady. The same way you soothe Gwen when she's upset - rubbing soft circles into her scalp.

Eventually, his shoulders begin to loosen, and he gently catches one of your hands, his thumb tracing over your knuckles - though he can't quite hold your gaze. "I'm so sorry for everything I did to you. I was just... I was so low after my mom died. I didn’t want to be here anymore. I was angry and exhausted and grieving, and somewhere along the way I convinced myself I didn't deserve to be happy."

“We don’t have to get into this again, Jackie.”

Finally, he looks up at you. “We do. I-I don’t feel like I’ll ever be able to apologise enough for leaving.”

“You’ve given both of us the best life - if I could go back and change the way I handled things, I would, but I really need you to stop feeling so guilty. And stop imagining a ditch.”

The corner of his mouth twitches despite himself. “Not just one ditch." You stare at him, and Jack sighs heavily. "There were several ditches."

A surprised laugh escapes you, and the tension breaks for half a second. “You’re insane-“

“I love you,” he bursts out, and you freeze.

“What?”

"I love you," he chokes out. "God, I love you so much, and the thought of losing you just destroyed me. I kept telling myself I didn't want to get married again. That I wasn't built for it anymore. That I'd already done it once and couldn't go through all of that a second time."

He lapses into a pause, and you wonder if you should speak. Before you can, he stumbles on, shaking his head again.

"But that wasn't the whole truth. The truth is I was scared." He looks away again, jaw tense. "After Marisol died, I felt guilty for everything. For laughing. For having good days. For even thinking about a future that didn't include her. Part of me got stuck there. In that hospital room. And every time things got serious with you, it felt like I was being forced to choose between holding on to her and moving forward. I thought if I let myself love someone else the way I loved her, it meant I was leaving her behind.”

“Marisol belonged to that specific time in my life. A-And I still love her, and miss her every day. But this? What I feel for you? It’s all-consuming. It’s this constant, heavy pull in my chest that I can't shake, no matter how hard I try. You’re just everywhere in my head now. And the thing is, I don't even want to fight it anymore.”

You have no idea how to sum up decades of history. Instead, you simply nudge his shoulder with your own, and mumble, "You had an entire collection of ditches."

"We’re still on that?” The words are murmured, and he finally leans sideways and lets his head fall against you.

"I'm sorry I scared you."

He lets out a long breath. "I wasn't scared."

You raise an eyebrow. "Jack."

"I was absolutely terrified." He swallows heavily, “I think I’ve always loved you a little bit. Since we were kids. But I’ve been the biggest fucking idiot on the planet, and I’d understand if you didn’t want anything to do with me like that. This house is as much yours as it is mine, and I-I don’t want you to feel like you can’t live here in peace.”

Unable to take it anymore, you shift angle, and press your lips to his.

Jack’s right. All-consuming is the only word for it. A desperation permeates into his every movement. One hand cups your face, so gently as if he’s terrified you’re about to disappear, while the other wraps around your waist, holding you as tightly to him as possible.

“Missed you so much, sweet girl,” He mumbles between kisses. “So fucking much.”

It’s teeth and tongue and gasping for breath, until you’re sitting in his lap and feeling like you might die if you don’t get to have him right now. “Bed?” You offer, knowing it’s what’s easiest on his leg.

“We don’t have to-“

You’re interrupting immediately. “But do you want to?”

“More than anything,” he breathes, and you’re back on each other. Your movements are clumsy as you navigate up the stairs, trying to keep quiet so you don’t accidentally wake Gwen - you’re pretty sure there are more apologies tumbling from Jack’s lips as he trails down your skin.

Clothes are discarded in heaps, and soon Jack is seeing your body for the first time since having Gwen. It’s a far different body to the one you used to have, and you’re still working on loving it. Jack Abbot seems to have no such problems. “God, you’re so beautiful, honey. Prettiest girl in the whole world. Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

You’re sure that’s not true, but when Jack dips his head to wrap his lips around your nipple, all you can focus on is the feeling of his tongue against you. He’s always been big on foreplay - insisting you get off before he even takes his pants off. Tonight, you just want to be near him. “J-Jack, need you-“

Ever a pleaser, he complies immediately, hand moving to your hip so he can draw you closer to him. He’s hard already, leaking against your thigh, and you’re dizzied by how good it feels to be with him like this again.

“Promise you’re up for this?” He asks, forehead dropping to rest against yours.

You just nod, lip between your teeth. “Don’t leave me again,” You whisper, a few tears leaking from your eyes as he finally pushes in.

“Never,” His reply is instantaneous. “I promise, sweetheart. M’so sorry.”

The rhythm he sets is slow and torturous, nothing like the frenzied kissing as you made your way upstairs. He’s savouring this, moving like he knows this is forever. He knows you have the rest of your lives to relearn each other’s bodies, and make each other happy. The way he should have been this entire time.

Six months later.

The September sun warms the secluded little clearing in the botanical gardens, filtering through the trees in patches of gold.

There’s just a simple wooden altar, ten chairs arranged on the grass for your closest friends, Jack, and a walking, fourteen-month-old Gwen in a tiny linen dress. Normally, the bride and groom are supposed to remain separated until the ceremony.

Given you've done everything else out of order, you don’t pay much attention to tradition. Last night, you and Jack put Gwen to bed together, before falling asleep in each other's arms. There's nowhere you'd rather have spent your last night as a single woman.

You stand in front of the full-length mirror, smoothing down the front of your wedding dress. The fabric is cool against your skin, flattering in all the right places. The baby weight still isn't gone entirely, but it's been nice having your boobs back to yourself with Gwen stopping breastfeeding.

A soft, hesitant knock sounds at the door.

Before you can answer, the handle turns, and the door creaks open. Jack steps into the room, holding Gwen against his hip. "I told her we should wait a little, but Gwenny wanted to see Mommy in her pretty dress-"

His voice trails off as you turn, finally getting the full view of it. Keeping the wedding dress secret had been one of the few traditions you'd actually subscribed to.

Gwen, entirely oblivious to the weight of the moment, breaks the silence. She lets out a loud, cheerful babble and reaches her chubby arms out toward you, her fingers curling and uncurling as she recognises your face. "Mama!"

The sound breaks Jack out of his trance. He lets out a soft, breathless laugh, his eyes never leaving yours as he finally walks into the room. He closes the distance in a few slow strides, stopping just inches away from you. "Doesn't Mama look beautiful?"

"Boo-tifull!" Gwen echoes, giggling.

"God," He whispers, his voice low and incredibly thick with emotion. He shifts Gwen slightly on his hip so he can reach out, resting his palm against your waist. "You look... you look absolutely beautiful. I knew you would, but seeing you standing there like that… can't believe how lucky I am."

"You look pretty incredible yourself," you say softly, a tear threatening to spill over your eyelashes as you look up at him.

Jack leans down, pressing his forehead gently against yours. The scent of his cologne washes over you, warm and familiar, anchoring you instantly. He closes his eyes, just breathing you in for a long, quiet second, his grip on your waist tightening as he holds his girls close.

"I love you so much," he murmurs against your skin.

Gwen chimes in again, smacking her tiny hands against Jack’s shoulder and demanding to be part of the huddle. You both laugh, the remaining nerves melting away entirely. You reach out, letting your fingers intertwine with Jack’s free hand, while your other hand gently strokes Gwen’s hair. "What do you say, Gwenny? Want to help Mommy and Daddy get married?"

A/N - thank you so much for reading!! hope you enjoyed this lil family <3