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Chapter Text

Jackson's Pov                     
Today is mine and Stiles's first day at the FBI. Back in high school, I know that I was a bully and a spoiled brat. When I found out that I was adopted I got so afraid that if I wasn't the best at everything then the Whittemore's wouldn't want me anymore. When Scott became better than me overnight I wanted the same thing he got because it would help me too. Putting together that Scott was a werewolf was one of the crazy things because I never really believed in the supernatural until Scott was bitten. I wanted to become just like Scott I never thought of the consequences of the bite. Never did I think that the circumstances around my birth parents or my break up with Lydia or my sexuality would cause my transformation into the Kanima. 

 After my death, my parents wanted to send me to London but I didn't want to go because I had just become a hybrid between a werewolf and Kanima. I need Derek and Peter to teach me how to be a werewolf and I wanted to repair my relationship with Scott, Stiles, Lydia, and Allison. I told my parents that I was fine and that I wanted to stay in Beacon Hills. They agreed and I got to stay in Beacon Hills which was one of the best things in my life because I was able to become friends with Stiles and Scott. Stiles's at first was suspicious of my attempt at wanting to become friends since I bullied them in middle school. When I came out as gay, Lydia was so happy that I was being true to myself. After coming out mine and Stiles's relationship started to slowly change. We went from being friends to being a couple. The first time we kissed it felt like fireworks. We told Derek and Peter about the kiss and they said that it sounded like mates. 

When Stiles was possessed by the Nogitsune, it hurt my soul and werewolf because of what Stiles was going through at the time. I never liked leaving Stiles during that time. When it was decided that Scott was going into his head with Lydia I was pissed because Lydia was going into my mate's head and I couldn't. I understand why Lydia was the one who had to go because she is a banshee. After getting Stiles back and killing the Nogitsune, the pack remembers how dangerous this life is when Allison was killed by the Oni. After that year with the Alaph pack and the Nogitsune, we thought that the rest of Junior year was going to be normal until the dead pool started along with Kate coming back to life. After Stiles saw my name on the dead pool he made me stay with him all of the time. To keep Stiles's mind off the dead pool at night we had a lot of sex. After the dead pool was stopped. I started to think about proposing because I don't want to live without Stiles. 

We will not talk about Theo, the Dread Doctors, and  La Bête du Gévaudan, also known as The Beast of Gevaudan. 

 When the ghost riders came and started taking people I didn't think I had to worry until Stile's told me he saw them and was going to be taken. I asked Stiles to marry me before he was taken. He said yes. After Stiles was taken I was the only one who remember him. That was the longest six months of my life. When we did get Stiles back I didn't let him out of my sight and we had sex for the next week. Stiles was the one who talked me into maybe joining the FBI instead of becoming a lawyer like my father. I agreed that I didn't want to follow in his footsteps. The good news about becoming FBI with Stiles is that I can keep him safe. 

When we are at the Academy an agent was watching us and after a few weeks, he asked both me and Stiles to join his team at the BAU. I was wanted on the team because of my physical strength and agility which comes from me being a hybrid. Stiles was wanted on the team because of his strength and profiling skills which he got from his dad. 

I walk over to Stiles and kiss him to which he wakes up. 

"We have to get ready for our first day in the FBI".I said. 

Stiles gets up and we get ready with our go bags. I drive to the office to see Aaron Hotchner waiting outside for us. 

"You both drove here together". asked Hotch. 

"We're roommates".Stiles said.

 We head inside and go to the 2nd floor. Hotch takes us to a room where his team is sitting at a table. 

"Guys I want you to meet our two new members Jackson Whittemore and Miec...How do you say your name". asked Hotch. 

"We call him Stiles". I say.

 "Stiles Stilinski". said Hotch. 

"The team is Me, David Rossi, Emily Prentiss, Penelope Garcia, Jennifer "JJ" Jareau, Spencer Reid and Derek Morgan". Hotch tells us pointing to each member. 

"You guys are right in time we have a case". says Garcia. We sit down and are given a file. 

'Dallas Texas, ten bodies have been found to have Sorbus Scopulina in their lungs and wounds". said Garcia.

 "What was found on them". asked Morgan. 

"Mountain Ash".Me and Stiles say at the same time.

 Everyone looks over at us. 

"Wheels up in ten". said Hotch. 

"Is there a pack in Dallas". I ask Stiles. 

"No, you will be good". said Stiles. 

We follow the team to the jet and get on. 

"How old are you two". asked Rossi.

 "21". I said.

 "How do you know each other". asked Hotch.

 I look at Stiles. 

"We went to high school together and are friends". said Stiles. 

"Where are you from". asked JJ. 

"Beacon Hills California". I said. 

"Beacon Hills has had a lot of death there".said Reid

We nod our heads before Stiles's phone goes off. I look at him and ask who texted him. 

"Scott says have a good first day". said Stiles.

 We land and head to the hotel with me and Stiles in the same room then we all head to the station. 

"Ried, Whittemore, and Stilinski go talk to the M.E.". said Hotch. 

We leave and go to talk to the M.E. Stiles looks at the first body why I look at the second and Reid talks to the M.E.

 "Jackson look at this". Stiles said. 

I walk over to Stiles. 

"What I'm looking at Stiles". I said. 

Stiles holds up the hand and I see the claws with the Kanima venom.

 "I thought I was the only Kanima ".I said in a low voice

"I did too but I can call Derek or Argent". said Stiles.

 We leave and head back to the station and when we get there Reid goes over to the team and Stiles calls Argent and Derek and told them about how we found a Kanima but one thing on my mind is you can't kill a Kanima I know because of what happened to me.

"Stiles". I say and he looks at me.

 "Ask if you can kill a Kanima without it going into the final stage". I say and Stiles looks at me with his mouth open like he forgot what happened when I died. 

"Derek, Argent can you kill a Kanima without it going into the final stage and with Mountain Ash". Stiles asked.

  Stiles moves his phone off his ear and I cover my ears because of the yelling on the phone between Derek and Argent. The team is looking at us because of  the yelling stops before we hear Derek yell Peter than Peter and Argent about the final stage.

 Stiles and I walk out of the station where I growl into the phone which stops the yelling.

 "We all know you can't kill a Kanima if we all look at what happened to Jackson and his case of venom". said Peter and Argent. 

"You have no room to talk Argent it was your father who was controlling me". I said. 

"Can Jackson still walk over Mountain Ash or does being a werewolf stop at". Stiles asked. " 

"Jackson can't pass Mountain Ash because of the Werewolf part but can't be put down with normal wolfbane. You have to use Yellow's wolfbane on Jackson or the other Kanima".said Derek, Peter, and Argent.

 We end the call and head back inside to see the team still looking at us. 

"Who was on the phone". asked Hotch.

 "A friend". I said

 "What friend".asked Hotch. 

"We are not telling anyone about the case but Stiles and I had a question to ask". I said. 

"Okay". said Hotch but I was listening to his heart to know he was lying.

  The end of the day came and we headed to the hotel. In our room, Stiles pushes me onto the bed and he starts to lick and suck on my neck.  We both know the mark will not be there in a few seconds which means the team will not know what is going on between me and Stiles. I listen to the team's heartbeats and when they slow down I know everyone is asleep. I nod my head at Stiles and We start to kiss and things start to get heated fast.         

The next day,   

Hotch's Pov               
I walk up and head downstairs to see the team but Stiles and Jackson. I walk upstairs and to their room and use my key to get in. I open the door and see Stiles and Jackson in the same bed with tears going down Jackson's cheeks with Stiles rubbing his back. 

"It's not your fault Jackson Matt used you". said Stiles.

 "Stiles I left you and Hale in the pool". said Jackson.

The team had joined me and we all listened to what was being said.

"I left you in the car shop and the police station". said Jackson. 

"I lived". said Stiles. 

"If I had stayed away from Derek and stayed with Lydia nothing would have happened". Jackson said. 

"If you would have stayed away from Derek after the dance then you would have stayed the jerk lacrosse co-captain and not the person I know today". said Stiles.

 "We both know what happened after I learned what had happened to Scott". said Jackson. 

"You did somethings but you helped keep Beacon Hills safe with Me, Scott, Lydia, Derek, Allison, Malia, Kira, Parrish, Theo at times, Isaac, Liam, Mason, Ethan and Aiden, Core, Deaton, Melissa, My dad, Erica, Corey, Boyd, Braeden, Brett, Danny, and Deucalion". said Stiles. 

"People still got killed when Jennifer, Gerard Argent, Matt, Kate, Tamora, Garrell, Meredith, Victoria, and Kail came to town".said Jackson. 

"Meredith can't really be blamed". said Stiles. 

"She put the dead pool together with Mine,  Scott, Liam, and the rest of our friend's names on it". said Jackson. 

"Peter was the reason for the dead pool".said Stiles. 

"Should we start talking about you Stiles".Jackson said. 

"What are you talking about Jackson". said Stiles.

 "Void Stiles". said Jackson. 

"I blame Void Stiles on Noshiko". said Stiles. 

"I think Void Stiles came to play after the mock death of you, Scott and Allison". said Jackson. 

"If it had been your real parents you would have done the mock death I did it to save my dad". said Stiles.

 "I'm happy your dad let me help you after the restraining order". said Jackson. 

"I kidnapped you and locked you in the transport van".said Stiles.

 "I heard everything you said and you were right about me being alone". said Jackson.

 "You crashed the jeep to get Lydia to me before I got out of the Beta stage". said Jackson. 

"I did not need to see you with spikes".Stiles said.

"You do know at I know you guys have been there the whole time right Hotch". Jackson said.

 We walk into the room and looked at them.

 "How did you know". asked Reid.

"Something he learned in Beacon Hills".said Stiles.

They get up and we see blood on the sheets. 

"What happened". asked Morgan. 

 We look over to the bed and then look at Jackson's hand and run into the bathroom.   

Chapter Text

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Hotch's Pov 

They get up and we see blood on the sheets.

"What happened". asked Morgan.

We look over to the bed and then look at Jackson's hand and run into the bathroom.  

Stiles's Pov

We run into the bathroom and look at Jackson's hand. His hand is covered in both wet and dried blood from where he dug his claws into his hand as an act of control. Over the years Jackson's control has gotten better from when he first became the Kanima than a werewolf.  I hate to say it but when Jackson first came back from the dead after Derek and Peter impaled him with their claws, he never had an issue with controlling his blood lust until Scott when he first became a werewolf. The reason why I think Jackson had no blood lust was that he was the kanima first. What I'm getting at is that even though Jackson never had a blood lust problem, he did have a control problem. At first, we tried different ways to get Jackson to learn control. We tried using anger, Lacross balls, Pain and Lydia. Lydia made Jackson lose control faster before one day Jackson had control over his wolf. When we asked how and what he used Jackson didn't tell us. It was on mine and Jackson six month anniversary that I learned what Jackson used to get control. He told me that I was the reason why he learned and got control over his wolf. I'm Jackson's anchor and how he heard what I had said during the time I kidnapped him and locked him in the prison van which is one of the reasons why he made me his anchor. 

I look at his hand and see the venom sitting around the claw marks. 

"Good thing the venom can't paralyze you".I say

 "One good thing about what I became". says Jackson.

I grab his wrist and carefully pull him over to the sink where Jackson starts to wash off the blood and venom. Once his hand is clean and dried, we see no claw marks. I look out the bathroom door to see the room empty which I'm thankful for.  After we leave the bathroom and start to get dressed and head downstairs to see the team waiting in the lobby. 

Walking out of the hotel, we head to the three cars that we are using. In our car are Jackson, Me, Reid, and Morgan with Morgan driving.

At the police station, we have a suspect who was found with three of the victim's blood on his clothes and under his nails. Hotch wants Jackson and Me to interrogate him. This will be our first official interrogation. 

We walk into the room to see a man in his late 20s. He is sitting with his hand on the table and keeps shifting around in the chair. He is nervous and I can that he is starting to sweat.  

I slowly start to sit down and Jackson gets a good look at him before sitting down.

 "Do you know why you are here". I ask

 He nods his head. 

Jackson is looking at him with his eyes locked onto his eyes. I know that Jackson is listening to his heartbeat to see if he lies.

 "Did you know the first victim Joy Rosebrooke"? I ask.

 "No, I did not know her". he says. 

"Your lying you did know her before killing her". said Jackson. 

"I did not kill her". he says. 

"What is your name"? I ask.

 "Toby". Toby says. 

Jackson gets up and walks behind Toby. 

"Why use Mountain Ash"? asked Jackson. 

He doesn't say anything and Jackson walks to the corner with the speaker on it and cuts the line then Jackson walks over and goes behind Toby. I can see Jackson's claws with the Kanima venom on them with his hand on the back of Toby's neck. 

"Did you know what Joy was or did you just not care"? Jackson said.

 "An abomination". says Toby

Jackson moves one of his claws to the middle of the back of Toby's neck. 

"She was not an abomination, she was a 19- year -old girl who you killed in cold blood". said Jackson with a hiss.

 I move out of the way because I know what Kanima Jackson can do.

 "Sounds like your an abomination too". Toby said.

 Jackson cuts his neck and Toby goes paralyzed and his body drops more into the chair 

 "Do you feel what is going through your veins right now"? ask Jackson

Toby nods his head the best he can. 

"It's a venom at can paralyze you from the neck down".I say

 I can see the team all looking at us and they can't hear us or what we are saying even if you can read lips. Jackson puts his hand on the back of Toby's neck and squeezes 

"You may be paralyzed but I know you can feel the pressure on your neck". says Jackson.

Why did you kill the nine other people"? I ask

 "Your second victim was a werewolf, the third one was a were coyote, fourth and fifth was a chimera,  sixth was a werejaguar,  seventh and eighth was a wendigo,  and ninth and tenth was a sluagh". Toby says

"Killing supernatural creatures sounds like someone like Gerard Argent and Tamora Monroe ". I said.

 Tobys nods his head and Jackson takes his hand before walking out of the room.

"You killed your own sister because of a psychopath". I say 

 I follow him and we see the team looking at us. 

"What happened". asked Hotch.

 "He is the one who killed them but is working for someone". I say because Jackson looks ready to kill Toby.

 "Jackson go clam down".I say

When Jackson looks up at me his right eye is blue and his left is slited-yellow. 

"Who is he working for". asked Morgan.

 "A woman named Tamora Monroe who tried to kill me and my friends". I say before walking away to go check on Jackson.

 "Hey". I say. "

Hi". says Jackson.

 "We will kill Monroe". I say

"Between Monroe and Gerard I hate being a werewolf/Kanima hybrid". says Jackson. 

I nod my head and kiss Jackson before we walk out and over to the team. 

"We have a location on Tamora Monroe". said JJ.

 We all head to the cars and head out. We get to a building in the middle of the woods.

 "You be careful because she could have yellow wolfsbane and Mountain Ash". I say to Jackson and he nods his head.

 Everyone but me and Jackson head into the building when Monroe comes out. 

"Jackson and Stiles nice to see you again". said Monroe. 

"Shut up Monroe". Jackson says. 

" Stiles come inside". said Monroe. 

"No because I know if I walk inside Jackson will be left out here due to the Mountain Ash". I say. 

"Plus we both know you made another yellow wolfsbane bullet". says Jackson. 

"We used the bullet on Scott". says Monroe.

 "I know how Gerard works". I say

We see Monroe pull out a glowing yellow bullet and she puts the bullet into her gun so I pull out my gun and shot her as she shoots her gun.

 My bullet hits her in the head and her bullet goes right past Jackson who has out his claws and blue glowing eyes.  The team walks out of the building a little bloody. I watch as Jackson walks over to the door of the building and he puts his hand up to the door and we see a blue light. Jackson picks up the yellow bullet and puts it in his pocket. 

We go to the station to clean up. We head to the hotel to get our stuff and check out.  We get on the plane. About an hour into the flight Jackson falls asleep with his head on my lap.

 In high school, Jackson was a spoiled kid with money. He was alone in the world and wanted to become a werewolf to not feel alone. Seeing Jackson cry when Lydia brought him back to life and when the ghost riders came he asked me to marry him then I got taken. I start to run my hand in his hair and he smiles.

"What happened to him"? asked Morgan. 

"Jackson's parents died and his mom was kept on life support for a c-section. He was adopted by his parents. His dad is a lawyer in Beacon Hills. He grow up a rich kid and spoiled. In high school was different Jackson was the captain of the Lacrosse team and had a girlfriend but something happened to my best friend Scott and Jackson wanted the same thing. Something went wrong and he became different. Jackson got used by a kid named Matt and an old hateful named Gerard. Myself and my friends were about to help him and he changed into a good person". I say.

 "You locked him in a prison transport van". said Hotch.

 "To get him to listen". I say. 

"Did it work"? asked Emily. 

"No me and Scott got a restraining order on us from Jackson". I say.

 Jackson starts to move and I look down at him to see the claws. That happens sometimes when Jackson is asleep and we don't know why. 

"Jackson wake up". I yell in his ears.

 Jackson shot up and looked at me. I point to my hand and he puts the claws away. The plane lands and we head home. I pin Jackson to the door and start to kiss him. We ended up on the couch with Jackson's tail around my waist.

Chapter Text

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Stiles's Pov

The plane lands and we head home. I pin Jackson to the door and start to kiss him. We ended up on the couch with Jackson's tail around my waist.

Jackson's Pov

I woke up on the couch with Stiles on top of me. I love the morning when I wake up with Stiles on top of me because when we first started dating, anytime Stiles would wake up on top of me, he would jump up and run to the other side of the room.  I hated it because it meant that Stiles didn't trust me. Over the months it got better until one day Stiles woke up on top of me and when he woke up, Stiles stayed right on top of me and that was what lead to us having sex for the first time. 

I see my tail around his waist and move it. Half of the time when we were dating, when I woke up I would see my tail wrapped around Stiles to make sure that he wouldn't fall off of me and hurt himself. Back then when Stiles started to move I would move my tail off from around his waist. 

 Stiles starts to wake up and he starts to fall off of me but my tail stops him from falling off. I unwrap my tail from around Stiles and sit up. I move Stiles off of me and stand up. I walk into the bathroom and Stiles follows. 

"We have to get to work".I say

We get dressed and cover the hickey on Stiles's neck. I love seeing Stiles marked up and my wolf is happy to see our mate carrying my marks.

I drive us to work and meet Morgan and Reid in the elevator. After getting off the elevator we all head to the bull pin to see the team.

" Good morning". says JJ.

" So three bodies were found in Ohio with claw marks all over them and then torn apart". said Garcia. 

"They were torn apart" said Morgan. 

"Yes and with what looked like an animal skull next to them" says Garcia.

 I look at Stiles and see the look on his face and know we are both thinking the same thing. They were killed by Berserkers.

 "wheels up in ten" said Hotch. 

"Do you think we can kill it before it kills us". I ask. 

"I hope so" says Stiles. 

On the plane, I'm trying to remember anything about Berserkers. I remember them for the time with the dead pool along with how Kate was controlling them somehow. I remember losing a fight with a Berserker. Stiles almost killed me after that fight because I came very close to losing my life. 

You two okay".asked Emily.

 We nod our heads and go back to thinking. 

When the plane lands, the first thing we do is head to the hotel. After putting our things in the hotel room. We get in the rental cars and head to the police station. When we get to the station I see a Beacon Hills police cruiser. I hit Stiles on the arm.

"Ow Jackson". says Stiles

I nod my head over to the cruiser and I watch Stiles's face when he reads Beacon Hills. Stiles grabs my hand and pulls me into the station before the rest of the team. When we get in I see both Stiles's dad and Jordan Parrish. 

"Sheriff Stilinski". I say. 

"Dad what are you doing here". 

"The sheriff here heard how we had something like this in Beacon Hills". said John.

The rest of the team comes in and stares at Stiles who is hugging his dad still because it's been a little over a year since they last saw each other in person. They talk on the phone all the time. 

 "Can we talk to you two".asked Parrish.

 I look at Hotch and he nods his head. We follow the Sheriff and Parrish into the interrogation room and I cut the sound. 

"Please tell us that we are not dealing with the Berserkers again". said John.

 I nod my head. 

"What do we do". asked John. 

"First off don't tell the team about the supernatural and the only way to kill a Berserker is breaking the skull on its head or throwing a bomb at it ".Stiles says.

 The good news is that we have Parrish and I who have the power to break the skull because we heal faster than you guys". I say.

 We leave the room and see the team and the whole station looking at us.

 "So you are Stiles dad" said Hotch.

 "Yes I raised him by myself from when he was eight years old". John said.

 "Why".asked Emily.

 "My wife died when Stiles was eight from frontotemporal dementia". said John.

 "I'm Aaron Hotchner unit chief". said Hotch.

 "I'm Sheriff John Stilinksi of Beacon Hill". said John. 

"I'm  Deputy Jordan Parrish of Beacon Hills". said Parrish.

 The rest of the team introduces themselves. The phone rings and the Sheriff of Ohio comes in saying we have a body.

 Me, Stiles, Morgan, Emily, Sheriff Stilinksi, and Parrish go to the crime scene. When we get there we see the body and the skull. 

"Its a bear skull". said Morgan. 

I look over the body and see claw marks across the arms and throat of the victim

"Both Stilinksi and Parrish come look at this". I say.

 They come over and look at the claw marks. 

"What caused them". asked Parrish.

 "Not the claws of werewolves or werecoyote".Stiles says. 

"What about werejaguar". asked John. 

"They are the only ones who can control a Berserker".I say. 

We all nod our heads because of Kate Argent.         

We get the body to the ME and start digging into the victim's past trying to find something that linked the victims together. 

It was on day 3 that Stiles found something but it's not fully a good thing. Watching Stiles staring at the pictures of the victims was normal but as I watched Stiles suddenly pull down the pictures and lay them on the table, I know that he saw something. 

"What did you see Stiles"? I ask 

"You need to call my dad, Parrish, and Chris". says Stiles

I pull out my phone and call them. When John and Jordan get to the station, Stiles pulls us into the interrogation room before making sure that the sound is off. I call Chirs back and put the phone back on speaker. 

"I was looking at pictures of the victims when I saw something on their arms which is why I think that these four people were targets for the Berserkers and I think I know who is controlling them". says Stiles

"Why and Who Stiles"? asks Chris 

"All four victims have a tattoo on their inner arms for The Calaveras and I think it's Kate who is killing people with the Berserker's help". says Stiles 

"It makes sense because the Calaveras took her when Peter killed her and only werejaguars can control the Berserkers. Kate is the only werejaguar we know". says Chris 

"What are we going to tell your team because there is no way that Kate will let herself get caught?" asks Jordan

"We don't tell them anything but we need to stop the Berserkers". says Stiles 

After Stiles tells us that we need to find the Berseker, we get a call about a body at the local high school. When we get to the school and try to find the body but can't. When I hear heavy footsteps along with the smell of death, I realize that this was a setup. Turning around with Parrish who also noticed the footsteps and death smell,  we see four Berserkers. Everyone else turns around when they noticed the Parrish and I see something.  

"What the hell is that thing". asked the team and local Sheriff.

 "Something that can and will kill you so stay out of the way".Me, Stiles, John, and Parrish say. 

 " Hey bear skulls". yelled Stiles.

 They turn to look at us and start to run at us. I run towards one and try to fight it without showing the team I'm not human. It doesn't work well and I'm thrown to the ground with a cut on my stomach. I can feel it starting to heal and I look around for Stiles. I see Stiles standing back-to-back with his dad. They both have their guns out and shooting at the Berserkers.

"You good Jackson" asked Stiles. 

"I'm fine". I say.

 After an hour of being beaten and tossed around, I finally grab one of the Berserker and break the skull. 

Parrish also breaks a skull and we both break the last two skulls before I walk over to Stiles and see he is bleeding from the check.

 I pick up a skull and crush it with my werewolf strength and walk over to the cars where the team and Sheriff James are hiding. 

 "What was at thing". asked Reid. 

"Reid do you know about the Norse warriors  Bereskers". I say. 

Reid looks me up and down. 

"How are you stilling standing". asked Reid. 

'What do you mean Reid". asked Morgan. 

"Sheriff Stilinksi and Stiles but Jackson and Deputy Parrish are still standing when they should be dead after fighting and being stabbed". said Reid. 

They all look at me and Parrish. 

"I don't know what you're talking about".I say.

"Yes you do because you are the first person to tell someone is lying and after fighting at things you are still alive". said Reid.

 I walk away because I'm losing control over the Kanima side of me and I see Parrish is losing control of the Hellhound. I haven't lost control in a while but with Ried questioning me, I can feel my control slipping but I'm not to sure why it's slipping. 

"We have to get them out of here now dad". I hear Stiles say.    

Stiles's Pov                 

I see Jackson and Parrish both losing control. 

"We have to get them out of here now dad". I say. 

"Why". asked Dad.

 I point to their eyes which have gone silted and orange.  My dad nods his head and I grab Jackson while Dad grabs Parrish before we start running and I look back to see the team looking at us. 

"Stiles let go I want to kill Reid". Jackson says. 

I shake my head and we run into the school and I put Mountain Ash around the door of the classroom and windows. The team comes running into the school and to the classroom but I push my dad out of the room and close the door. 

"We have to keep an eye on Parrish". I say. 

"Why"? asks my dad

"It's the Mountain Ash". I say

"Tell me Stiles he can't burn the Mountain Ash out". says Dad. 

"He burned the Mountain Ash right out of Eichen". I say looking at Parrish.

 "He burned it out".asked Dad.

 "Yes when we tried to get Lydia and stop Theo he burned the Mountain Ash out of the walls of the closed unit". I say.

The team joins us and I can tell they are confused. They must have heard the comment about Eichen house. 

 "Eichen".asked JJ. 

"Eichen House the mental hospital of Beacon Hills". I say. 

The room starts to glow and I look in the window to see Parrish on fire and Jackson with his tail out. 

"Nobody look in the room".I say. 

We stay there for two hours with my dad watching Parrish and me looking at Jackson and his tail. The hellfire goes out and the tail goes away. 

"Are you two good"? I and Dad ask

 I hear a yes from both of them. I open the door and a normal Jackson and Parrish walk out to see the team. I shake my head before Parrish can ask the question.  We all head to the hotel and crash of the night. 

Stiles's Pov

It has been a week and since there haven't been any more bodies, the team is heading home today and my dad and Parrish are driving to D.C.

I wake up before Jackson and see my dad and Parrish awake.

 "Are you dating anyone Parrish". I ask. 

"um..I'm dating Liam". says Parrish. 

"You're dating Liam". I say. 

"He is eighteen years old". Parrish say. 

Jackson starts to wake up and I walk over to him and kiss him. He kisses me back and stands up.

 We check out of the hotel and head to the plane. My dad and Parrish left about two hours ago because it's a six-hour drive to DC while on a plane, it's only an hour. When we land, heading to the office and finish the reports and paperwork for the case. I got a text from Parrish saying that they made it and our heading to the house. 

 We get home and I can't wait to sleep in my bed and send time with my husband.  When we get to the house I open the door open and walk inside to see Scott, Liam, Lydia, Mila, Mason, Corey, Peter, Ethan, Kira, Argent, Theo, and Derek. They all run and hug me and Jackson. 

"What are you guys doing here".asked Jackson. 

"We wanted to see you guys".said Scott.

 "How long are you guys here for"? I ask. 

"Two days" said Liam.

 Liam walks over to Parrish and stands next to him.

 Peter walks over to my dad and kisses him.

 I gag and look away.

"Dad you are dating Peter".I say. 

Chapter Text

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Stiles's Pov

Peter walks over to my dad and kisses him.

 I gag and look away.

"Dad you are dating Peter".I say

Jackson's Pov                             

We all watch Stiles drag his dad into the guest room and start yelling about Peter.

"Why in the fuck are you dating Peter "ZombieWolf" Hale". yells Stiles

"He is very sweet to me Stiles". says John

"Peter has killed seven people". says Stiles

"I know Stiles". says John

I tune out the rest of the conversation and start talking to Derek. 

About an hour later Stiles and his dad walk out of the room. Stiles walks over to me and sits down on my lap while his dad walks and sits down next to Peter on the couch. We start talking about dinner and Stiles says that we should order pizza. Stiles ordered a pizza for him, his dad, Lydia, Mason, and Chris along with nine pizzas for us were animals. The pizza arrive and we eat. Everyone talks about what they have been getting up to. We also talk about what has been happening in Beacon Hills. When everyone leaves and heads back to the hotel, Stiles and I head to bed.

(A week later)

Jackson's Pov

Waking up I see that Stiles's side of the bed is empty and cold which means that Stiles has been awake for a while. Getting up and heading to the bathroom to do my business. Leaving the bathroom and heading into the kitchen I see Stiles standing at the oven.  

"What are you cooking"? I ask

"Some eggs with bacon before we have to go to work". says Stiles

Stiles hands me a plate and I sit down at the table.

After eating we get dressed before heading to work. We get to the office and head upstairs.

"How was your weekend"?asks Reid.

"Good". Me and Stiles both say.

"We have a case". said Hotch.

We sit down and Garcia comes in. "

"Beacon Hills California". says Garcia.

"Great".I say.

"What happened in Beacon Hill"? asks Stiles.

"Four people died with black smoke coming out of the wounds and had the number five behind their ear". says Hotch.

I see Stiles tensed up and looking at me before he gets up and runs into the bathroom. I get up and run after him. I found Stiles throwing up in the toilet.

"The number five behind the ear". says Stiles.

"I know".I say

"Allison and Aiden".Stiles says

"I miss them too". I say.

"How did the fly get out". Stiles asks

"I don't know but we will find out". I say

Hotch walks in and tells us we are leaving for Beacon Hills and we get on the plane. I call Stiles dad and tell him what is going on. The plane lands and we head to the station. We see Stiles's dad, Chirs Argent, Derek, and Noshiko.

"We have to talk now".says Stiles.

 We go into John's office.

"It's the Nogitsune. I thought we killed the Nogitsune when Scott bit it the last time." asks Stiles 

Noshiko bring out the box and opens it.

 "The fly is not here".she says. 

"The Oni are looking for the Nogitsune". I say

 They nod their heads.

 "Why are they killing people".Stiles asked. 

"They are searching for it but people are shooting them which has caused the killings ".says Noshiko

"Why was the FBI called in"? I ask

"I tried not to get the FBI involved but the Oni killed an FBI agent". says John

 "Are you okay with this Stiles"? asks  Argent

"No, because when it took over me I killed Allison, and Aiden, stabbed Scott and kidnapped Lydia Shot Finstock with an arrow, and blew up the police station. says Stiles

"Allison died saving you". said Argent

"Aiden died saving you Stiles". said Derek

 We walk out of the office and into the room in between the holding cells. Derek and Noshiko leave. 

We have only been here an hour when an officer starts shooting. Turning around I see the Oni. I look over at Stiles and see that he is paler than normal. 

"Don't shoot them". Parrish yells.

 The officer shops shooting. 

The Oni walks over to us and looks at me. I feel the slash and fall.

Stiles's Pov                             

Jackson falls down and they moved onto the  FBI team and they all fall down then my dad and Parrish then they move over to me and stop before I feel a slash and fall down.  I came to an hour later and see everyone looking at me. Jackson runs over to me and turns my head. 

"Thank god you have the five". Jackson says. 

"Thank god I don't have to arrest my own son again". says my dad.

 "Me too". I say

"They stopped". I say

"What do you mean they stopped". said Jackson. 

"I think they saw what was there".I say

 "Stiles".says my dad. 

"Its not there anymore".I say

 At the end of the day the team heads to the hotel and my dad heads home. Me and Jackson head to Derek's loft to see our pack. 

"I'm so sorry Stiles".says Scott. 

I nod my head and hug Jackson.

 "He has the five".says Jackson. 

They all nod their heads and we talk about the Nogitsune. Jackson and I head to my dad's house and up to my room. Jackson lays down and spoons me from the back.       

(The next morning)           

We get up and eat with my dad before heading to the station. At the station, we meet up with the team.

 "Dad how is Eichen House".I ask

"Fine why". asked Dad

"Corporal Rhys was in the basement and where things ended ". I say

"Stiles you sure you want to go back to Eichen".asked Jackson

"I'm sure". I say. 

"Guys we are going to Eichen House and Parrish you have to come". I say

We head to Eichen and the guards run when they see Parrish. I guess they remember him from the last time we were at Eichen's house.  We walk into Eichen House and show the FBI badge and I take all of them to the basement. In the basement, I head to the area where Rhys is in the wall. I look at the picture of Noshiko and Rhys. After the last time with the Nogsitune, we chose not to move Rhys's body because we didn't know what would happen if we moved him so we didn't. 

"We have to move the body". said Hotch. 

"No". Jackson, I, and Parrish yell. 

"Why not we have to find out who it is and how they died". said Morgan. 

"Meet Corporal Rhys from WWII".I say

"How did Corporal Rhys die". said Reid.

 "He died at Oak Creek Internment Camp when a woman threw a Molotov cocktail at him and set him on fire". said Jackson. 

"He died here at Eichen House". said Parrish. 

The phone rings and Hotch gets it.

 "A body was found at a camp". said Hotch. 

"Oak Creek". I say

We head to Oak Creek and I tense up because I haven't been here since the fight and Allison death.

 "Stiles you good". asked Reid.

 I was going to say yes but I look at the wall and see Allison's blood on the wall.

 "Stiles". says Jackson

 I watch as Jackson follows where I was looking and saw the blood. 

"Its my fault".I say

 "No, it's not". says Jackson

I point to Allison blood.

"Yes, it is". I say

"This is where Allison Argent died". Parrish says 

"She died right here in Scott's arms".said Jackson

 "You were here before"? asks Hotch

"There are a lot of things of don't know about Beacon Hills or us". I say

"Stiles Jackosn can I talk to you". said Parrish

 We go with Parrish into the tunnels

I didn't want to come into the tunnels. Hell, I don't want to be here at all in Oak Creek. It brings back too many bad memories for me. 

"What happened here". asked Parrish

"When the Nogitsune took me over and everyone found out at I was possessed. Noshiko wanted to kill me with the Oni but Scott and the pack found a way to save me but not before the Nogitsune and I was split. The other me kidnapped Lydia and brought her here. The pack showed up and and the other me used a fox tail to get the Oni under his control and they were fighting the Oni. Allison shot and killed the Oni with a sliver arrow tip and the Oni stabbed her and she died in Scott's arms where the blood was on the wall. Lydia screamed". I tell Parrish.

 "Why didn't I know this". asked Parrish. 

"It was before you know about the supernatural and before we found out you were a hellhound".Jackson says

 We head back to the team and see them looking at the body of Corporal Rhys. He is covered in bandages.

 "Stiles". Rhys says.

 "What". I say

"What happened to void Stiles". says Rhys. 

I try to get the team out of there before it gets ugly but they won't go anywhere. I call the pack and tell them to come and bring the sword. They get here and with them is someone I haven't seen Allison died.

 "Isaac". I say

 "Hey Stiles". Isaac says

They see the team and look at us.

 "They won't leave". I say

 Scott nods his head then looks around and sees Allison's blood on the wall along with Isaac and Argent. None of us ever wanted to come back here to Oak Creek because of what happened the night Allison died. 

"Oh look Scott McCall". says Rhys.

 "The Nogitsune". says Isaac

 The team looks at us. The wolves have their claws out and Parrish's eyes are red. Lydia is looking at Allison's blood and then I see the look. Banshee's only screamed when someone is close to death or if they find a dead body. I know that Lydia has learned to use her scream as a weapon.

"Everyone cover your ear". I yell

The pack knows what is about to happen and the team looks at us and then covers their ears. Lydia lets out a Banshee scream and the Nogitsune falls to the floor. I take the sword from Scott and stabbed it. 

"THIS FOR TAKING OVER MY BODY AND KILLING MY FRIENDS".I yell

 A fly comes out and Derek catches it and crushes the fly so that the Nogitsune can't ever come back. 

"What was at thing"? asks Morgan

"A Nogitsune". Lydia says.

 "A what"? asks Emily.

"It's what they call a dark Kitsune in Japanese folklore. They call it a supernatural creature and it's only purpose than to create chaos on which it then feeds on". says Reid. 

"There is a reason why Beacon Hills is called a Beacon". Scott says

 "A Beacon to what"? asks Hotch. 

"The supernatural". says the pack

Chapter Text

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Stiles's Pov

Reid's Pov         

"The supernatural". said Jackson. 

"The what". Rossi says. 

"Werewolves". said Stiles. 

"They are not real". I say.

 Jackson holds up his hand with claws on them and something on them.

 "This are real". says Jackson. 

"What is on them". I ask

 "Venom at can paralyze you". Jackson says.

 "Paralyze". asked Hotch. 

Jackson nods his head and puts his claws away. 

"Scott can you get everyone in the pack at the old hale house". asked Stiles.       

Scott's Pov         

We head to the old hale house and I let out a roar while Stiles calls all of the human members of the pack along with allies that we have. About an hour later everyone gets here. When I say everyone I mean who is still alive. Liam, Mason, Corey, Malia, Jackson, Lydia, Peter, Derek, Stiles, Parrish,  Nolan, Theo, Isaac, Chris Argent, three members from The Calaveras, and Noshiko, John and my mom. 

The FBI team looks around at everyone.

 "Are you all werewolves". asked Reid.

 "No". said Argent. 

"Everyone into groups of what you are". I say

 They move around and I look around to see that we have many groups standing around. I move over to stand with the werewolves. In my group are Me, Liam, Peter, Isaac, and Derek. Malia is standing by herself. Stiles, Lydia, Mason, Nolan, Chris, John, my mom, and the three Calaveras are standing in a group. Jackson, Theo, and Corey are standing together. Noshiko is standing by herself. Parrish is standing by himself

 "What are the different groups". asked Hotch. 

"We are werewolves". I say

"I'm a werecoyote". say Malia.

"We are all human for the most part". says Stiles in his group

"What do you mean"? asks Ried

"Chris and the Calaveras are hunters, Lydia is a Banshee and the of us are human". says Stiles

 "Chimeras". said Theo and Corey 

 "Hybrid". says Jackson.

 "Kitsune" says Noshiko. 

"Hellhound". says Parrish

"How did you become a werewolf".asked Rossi. 

"I was bitten by Peter". I said

 "Scott bite me". says Liam. 

"Derek bit me ". says Isaac. 

"Peter and I were born werewolves". says Derek. 

"I was born a werecoyote". says Maila

"I was turned into a Chimera". says Theo and Corey. 

"Peter bit me". say Lydia

"Derek bit me". says Jackson 

"I was born a Kitsune". says Noshiko

"What hybrid are you".asked Rossi. 

"Werewolf and Kanima".said Jackson but he starts to cry and runs off.

 Stiles runs after him yelling Jackson's name.              

Jackson's Pov     

I start to cry. After all, I hate thinking about what I did during my time as the Kanima because I hurt my pack and Stiles. I run and can hear Stiles come after me. 

"Jackson". says Stiles. 

"Go away Stiles". I say

"No". says Stiles

I run to the jeep until I remember that Stiles has the keys. Turning around I see Stiles standing there. 

"Forget that I have the keys"? asks Stiles

I nod my head and keep it down

"You know that we don't blame you right". says Stiles

"You should blame me". I say

"Why"? asks Stiles

"Because I killed people and I hurt the pack". I say

"Do you blame me for the Nogitsune"? asks Stiles

"No, you were possessed".  I say

"Then you know why we don't don't blame you for what happened during your time as the Kanima because you were "possessed" by two men who only wanted to use the Kamina for their own gain". says Stiles

"I love you". I say

"I love you too". says Stiles 

Scott's Pov
Jackson and Stiles runoff and the FBI team are looking at us.

"What just happened"? asks Morgan

"Jackson didn't have the best time as a Kanima". I say

"How come"? asks Ried

"First you have to understand what a Kanima is". I say

"A Kanima is a werewolf who was bitten but it's a mutation of the werewolf gene that cannot fully transform until it resolves that in its past which manifest it. Once a Kanima manifests, it's a little like the wolf as the Kanima is a social creature but where the wolf seeks a pack the Kanima seeks a master.  The Kanima is a weapon of vengeance that is used to carry out the bidding of its master. The Kanima was once used by a South American priest who took it upon himself to rid his village of all murderers. The bond between master and servant grew stronger until the will of the master became that of the Kanima's and whomever the priest deemed unworthy, the Kanima served his vengeance. Jackson was used by two men who shouldn't have had the control they had over him and Jackson still lives with the guilt of what happened". says Peter 

"How many people did Jackson kill"? asks Hotch

"The Kanima killed ten people. Jackson didn't know he was the Kanima tell the second man took over. After the man took over Jackson killed himself with his claws but came back to life. Derek and Peter killed Jackson with their claws to change him into a werewolf. Just to be clear Jackson has no memories of the people who died under the control of his first master". I say

I can hear Stiles and Jackson coming back and I can see that I'm not the only one because Liam and Isaac start to move where we hear them coming from. I see Chris, Parrish, and John move their hands to where they keep their guns on them. Stiles and Jackson walk into the clearing and everyone who has a gun on them points it. The FBI are pointing their guns at Jackson. Stiles, Chris, Parrish, John, and the Calaveras are pointing their guns at the FBI team. 

Chapter Text

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Scott's Pov

I see Chris, Parrish, and John move their hands to where they keep their guns on them. Stiles and Jackson walk into the clearing and everyone who has a gun on them points it. The FBI are pointing their guns at Jackson. Stiles, Chris, Parrish, John, and the Calaveras are pointing their guns at the FBI team. 

Stiles's Pov

Looking around and seeing all of the guns at Jackson makes me nervous even though I know that they won't do much to him, but since I'm his husband, it still scares me. 

"Scott". I say

"Yeah Stiles". says Scott

"This is the reason why outsiders should not learn about what has happened in Beacon Hills". I say

"I agree with Stiles". says Jackson 

"Let's put down the guns and talk about this like adults". says my dad

We wait as Hotch and the rest of the team puts down their guns before everyone who owns one puts them away and we are all left standing in the front of the old Hale house.

"Why didn't you do anything Sheriff Stilinski"? asks Hotch

"I didn't find about the real reason until 6 months later when Stiles told me about the supernatural world. I also was not going to arrest a teenager who was brainwashed and didn't remember anything". says my dad

"Why didn't the hunters do anything"? asks Morgan

"For the most part, we were dealing with something else and when we joined the fight against the Kanima my father was in control of it and brainwashing my daughter." says Chris

We spend the next three hours answering questions about Beacon Hills and everything supernatural that has happened here. I go back with Jackson to my dad's house where we eat before heading to bed. 

Laying in bed, I think about everything that happened to my friends and me since that night I took Scott into the woods to look for a dead body. It's depressing to think about everyone we lost because of the supernatural. It is also hard to believe that we are still alive but I never will forget everyone who died. The main three members' deaths who still hit hard are Eric, Boyd, and Allison along with Aiden who I still feel guilty about because I caused Allison and Aiden's death. 

When I wake up I see Jackson is still asleep, so I carefully get out of bed and head downstairs to see my dad and Peter making out which is something I never wanted to see.

"Oh my god, I didn't need to see that".

"This is my house Stiles". says my dad

"Just because I moved out and got married, doesn't make this house no longer my childhood home". I say

I make my way over to the coffee pot and make myself a cup of coffee before sitting down at the table. Halfway through my cup, Jackson comes downstairs and kisses me on the forehead before grabbing a cup of coffee. I get a text from Hotch telling us to meet at the jet in an hour. Jackson and I go to Derek's loft to say bye to the pack before we leave. While we are there I can't help but look around and look at the pack. I feel proud about what we have come out of in the last 10 years and I can't wait to see what happens next in our lives. 

We get to the jet first and get on before finding seats and taking them. Hotch gets on next followed by Rossi and the rest of the team. The plane takes off and we head home. Halfway into the flight, Jackson falls asleep and I take to petting his hair. It's really soft due to the shampoo Jackson uses. It's a little funny because when you pet Jackson's hair, his leg will twitch like a dog who is being petted/starched in its sweet spot. I think this is the quietest the jet has been since Jackson and I started on the team. Nobody talks, Hotch is looking over a file, Rossi is writing something, JJ is reading a file, Emily has headphones in, Reid is reading a book, and Morgan is asleep with headphones in.

 This is one of the reasons why I didn't want to tell the team about the Supernatural because not everyone can handle it unlike most people in Beacon Hills who have known about the supernatural for the last ten years. Another reason is that it can be dangerous, just ask everyone who was killed by hunters, the dead pool, the Dread Doctors, and Gerard Argent and Tamora Monroe because they knew about the supernatural. I think that everything in the last week just proves to both Jackson and me that the team is not ready to learn that Jackson and I are married. Jackson wakes up in the last two hours of the flight. 

Once the jet lands we head back to the office so we can do our paperwork. We work on paperwork for the case and the other paperwork that has gather on our desks while we were gone for about four hours. When the clock hits 9 pm I'm closing the last of my paperwork along with Jackson and the team before we leave. Jackson and I get home, eat something, shower, and fall into bed. We both fall asleep when our heads hit the pillows. 

Chapter Text

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Stiles's Pov

Once the jet lands we head back to the office so we can do our paperwork. We work on paperwork for the case and the other paperwork that has gather on our desks while we were gone for about four hours. When the clock hits 9 pm I'm closing the last of my paperwork along with Jackson and the team before we leave. Jackson and I get home, eat something, shower, and fall into bed. We both fall asleep when our heads hit the pillows.

Six months later

Stiles's Pov

The last six months have been different with the team because of what happened in Beacon Hills. I don't want to say that the team doesn't trust us because they do but sometimes feel they're staring especially at Jackson, who has been having a hard time. 

Since we got back Jackson has been having nightmares of when he was the Kanima. It breaks my heart watching Jackson have a nightmare especially when Jackson won't let me touch him after the nightmare because he is afraid that he will hurt me. The last time Jackson had nightmares was when he returned from the dead as a werewolf and started hanging out. 

It took me some time to get Jackson to open up about his nightmares. Once we started dating and Jackson started sleeping at my house, I got to watch Jackson through a nightmare before he woke up and started crying along with saying how he shouldn't be with me because he was messed up but we got through it, then came the Nogitsune and Jackson and I went through the same thing as with Jackson. Now I feel like we are back to the start of our relationship with the nightmares. 

Jackson's Pov

If I thought that revealing the supernatural to the team would lead to my nightmares coming back I wouldn't have talked about it because now I'm having the nightmares that I had when I first came back from my "death". Still, now they are worse because in my nightmares, the master is making me kill Stiles, and when I feel the shaking of Stiles trying to wake me up, I scream and pull back until I'm off the bed and on the other side of the bedroom. When I look at the bed, it's covered in blood, and Stiles is lying in the middle of the bed with his throat slit and staring right at me. Looking at the sight on the bed every time makes me want to throw up because I love Stiles so much. 

Work has also been tense with the reveal, and since the team pulled their guns on me. I have caught the team staring at me when we are sitting at our desks and when on cases, they talk to Stiles first. I don't know how long I can deal with that before I go over the edge and say something to the team. I do feel sorry for Stiles because it's his dream to work with the FBI, and now he is between the team and me, but I know that if it came down to anything, Stiles would choose me over the team because 1.) he is my husband, and 2.) we have been through a lot together. 

Right now, it's 6 in the morning and I'm making breakfast for Stiles and me before we have to get ready for work. Stiles walks into the kitchen as  I put the toast in the toaster. 

"Good morning". says Stiles

"Morning". 

Stiles comes up behind me and wraps his arms around me and kisses the back of my neck. 

"Thank you for making breakfast". says Stiles

"You're welcome". 

We finish putting together the food before sitting down and start eating.

"Jackson". says  Stiles

"Yeah" I say

"Are you happy with our jobs"? asks Stiles

I put down my fork and stared at Stiles who is staring back at me.

"Why are you asking"? I ask

"I don't think you're happy with the team and haven't been since Beacon Hills". says Stiles

"I love being an FBI agent but you are right that I'm not happy with the team since Beacon Hills. I feel like I have lost the trust I had before my past came out. I didn't want to say anything because of you and how you are happy with the job and team". I say

Stiles gets up out of his chair, walks around, and sits down on my lap. 

"Jackson, I might love the job but you are my husband. I want you to be happy and if that means that we have to change teams then we change teams". says Stiles

"I don't want you to change teams Stiles because I know that you are good with the team but I do think that I need to change teams". I say 

"Okay, I will support your decision because I love you". says Stiles

"I will meet with Strauss and see if I can change teams. Good thing she knows about the supernatural and my past". I say

Stiles's Pov

We finish eating and clean up before we get dressed and head to work. When we get to work I head to my desk and I watch as Jackson heads to Strauss's office. 

"Why is Jackson heading to Strauss's office"? asks Morgan 

"He needs to talk to her". I say 

"Why"? asks Emily 

"It's none of your business". I say

I start on the paperwork that has been sitting on my desk. It's about 30 minutes later when Jackson comes into the bullpen and sits down at his desk. Jackson pulls out his phone and types something. I hear my phone beep, pull it out, and see that Jackson sent me a text. 

"Will talk at home".

I text okay back and go back to my work.  The rest of the day is spent doing paperwork until it's time to head home. 

Jackson's Pov

Stiles drives us home and I sit down on the couch. Stiles sits down next to me and looks at me.

"What did Strauss say"? I ask

"I told her everything that has happened since the case in Beacon Hills about how the team doesn't trust me as much and how I feel like I don't belong on the team anymore".  I say 

"What's going to happen"? Stiles asks

"Strauss said that she will move me onto a team that has an opening with  FBI Special Agent Tobias C. Fornell".  I say

"Doesn't Fornell work with NCIS sometimes"? asks Stiles

"Yep, with Gibbs and his team". I say

"Good luck with that". says Stiles

Stiles and I might have only been FBI agents for the last nine months but we know who Gibbs and his team are from Scott's dad who is also an FBI agent. I hope that I don't have to deal with Gibbs and his team too much. 

The rest of the night is spent cuddling on the couch, eating take out and watching Netflix. We get into bed and spoon. 

"I love you". says Stiles

"I love you too". I say 

Chapter Text

Hello,
I want to write this and tell all of you the reason Why I haven't updated yet. I have been really busy the last few months with College along with work. I'm stressed as hell with classes and I have been sleeping. Between school and work, I haven't had the time to sleep let alone write chapters that I'm proud of and want you as the readers to read. I will try to update as soon as I can but I'm asking for patience with me. 

Chapter Text

Update: I want to give an update about how I have been. There are a few things that I want to let you know.

First Thing:

Thank you to everyone still reading my stories and commenting because I know that you as readers are still enjoying the stories and that makes me happy. Also, thank you for all the comments on my last update and for being understanding and patient about the time in between chapter updates.

The second thing:

I'm personally doing good. I wanted to update during my spring break, but I also wanted to spend time with family and not worry about College. But a family emergency happened and I had to focus on that. Both my family thing and College are still stressful as hell, but I'm more prepared for this semester.

Third Thing:

Chapter updates are still going to be very random until probably June. I don't think I have said this, but I'm in college to become an EMT which is taking up a lot of my time, and I will be busy until after The National Registry of Emergency Medical Technicians, or known as the NREMT. It does mean that updates will come when I have the time to write. 

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Jackson's Pov

"Strauss said that she will move me onto a team that has an opening with  FBI Special Agent Tobias C. Fornell".  I say

"Doesn't Fornell work with NCIS sometimes"? asks Stiles

"Yep, with Gibbs and his team". I say

"Good luck with that". says Stiles

Stiles and I might have only been FBI agents for the last nine months but we know who Gibbs and his team are from Scott's dad who is also an FBI agent. I hope that I don't have to deal with Gibbs and his team too much.

The rest of the night is spent cuddling on the couch, eating take out and watching Netflix. We get into bed and spoon.

"I love you". says Stiles

"I love you too". I say

Jackson's Pov

Today is my first day with my new team, and I'm nervous because I don't want anything to happen on this team. I won't be working with Stiles, and he is a danger magnet. Another thing that I'm nervous about is how that Fornell sometimes works with Gibbs's team from NCIS, I heard a lot about Gibbs and his team from McCall's dad and from around the office at the FBI.  

I know that Stiles wants me to be happy and that is why he is fine with me switching teams but since my "death" as the kanima, Stiles and I have spent every day with each other with maybe two days away from each other before we moved in together, got engaged then married and have again spent every day with each other until now.  

Waking up with Stiles's arms around my waist and holding me close to his chest.  I don't want to get up and move away from Stiles's body heat.  I pull myself away from Stiles and into the bathroom to do my morning routine before moving into the kitchen and starting the coffee pot and making myself some toast while drinking a cup of coffee. Once done in the kitchen, I move into our bedroom where Stiles is still asleep in bed since he is off today and didn't have to wake up early. I get dressed before leaning over and kissing Stiles before leaving and heading to my car. Once Im at the FBI, I head up to Fornell's office and introduce myself. 

"Agent Fornell". I say

"Yes". say Fornell

"I'm your new Agent Jackson Whittemore". I say

"Ah yes, welcome." says Fornell 

He stands up and holds out his hand which I shake and then follow him to my new desk and meets the rest of the team.  About two hours later as I'm organizing my desk, I get a text from Stiles wishing that I have a good day at work and try not to stress out myself too much about being away from him. 

About an hour later, Fornell walks into the bullpen and tells us to grab our gear and follow him. We get into the car and head to NCIS for some reason. Once inside and through security, we get onto the elevator and head up. Stepping off, I follow to a bullpen where I see Agent Gibbs and his team. 

"What are you doing here Fornell"? asks Gibbs

"Just wanted to come to see you". says Fornell 

He walks over to Gibbs and kissed him on the lips. I look away and at his team. 

"Your new". says a woman 

"I just started on Fornell's team today". I say

"What's your name"? asks a man 

"Jackson Whittemore". I say

"I'm Tony DiNozzo". says a man wearing a suit

"I'm Ziva David". says the woman 

"I'm Tim McGee". says the other man 

"Nice to meet you". I say

 When I look back over at Gibbs's desk I see him looking at me. 

"How long have you been an FBI agent"? asks Gibbs

"Six months, I was on another team before Fornells". I say

"Why did you leave your other team"? asks Ziva

"Personal reasons". I say

We spend about 30 more minutes before heading back to the FBI. On the car ride back, Fornell asks me a question.

"You didn't seem surprised to see me kiss Gibbs, How come"? asks Fornell

"My husband is on the team I left and we hide the fact that we are married because to be on the same team." I say

"Oh. I didn't know you were married". says Fornell looking a little shocked

"Two years. We got married right out of High school ". I say 

Once back at the FBI, the rest of the day is spent working on paperwork before getting off and heading home. I get home to find Stiles in the bathroom taking a bath with his eyes closed, I take off my clothes, lean Stiles forward, and get into the tub behind him. 

"How was your first day"?

"It was good, got to meet my new team, Gibbs's team, and learn that Gibbs and Fornell are dating".

"Really, Gibbs and Fornell"? asks Stiles

I nod my head and kiss Stiles on the lips.  Once the water has gotten cold, we get out, dress, and eat leftovers before going to bed. 

"I love you". I say

"I love you too". says Stiles

We fall asleep with me holding Stiles. 

Chapter Text

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Jackson's Pov

Once back at the FBI, the rest of the day is spent working on paperwork before getting off and heading home. I get home to find Stiles in the bathroom taking a bath with his eyes closed, I take off my clothes, lean Stiles forward, and get into the tub behind him.

"How was your first day"?

"It was good, got to meet my new team, Gibbs's team, and learn that Gibbs and Fornell are dating".

"Really, Gibbs and Fornell"? asks Stiles

I nod my head and kiss Stiles on the lips. Once the water has gotten cold, we get out, dress, and eat leftovers before going to bed.

"I love you". I say

"I love you too". says Stiles

We fall asleep with me holding Stiles

Stiles's Pov

The last two months have been going well. Jackson has gotten used to working with Fornell along with Gibbs and his team when they get a case together or when Fornell wants to visit Gibbs. My team has been asking what they did wrong for the last two months because Strauss laid into the rest of the team about how they treated the ordeal with the supernatural and what happened with Jackson after we came back. I'm at my end with them asking about Jackson and how to apologize to him. I know the only reason that they want to say sorry is that Strauss told them off not because they truly want to. 

Today I was supposed to work but after yesterday, I couldn't find it in myself to leave Jackson. while Jackson has a few weeks off since his case the other day ended up with Fornell being shot and in the hospital. Fornell is okay because my werewolf/Kanima hybrid of a husband jumped in front of the bullet. Jackson was hit in the chest and it was a through-and-through gunshot wound before the bullet also hit  Fornell in the shoulder.  Despite his healing as a hybrid, getting the phone call that Jackson had been shot was scary because I love him so much and a bullet still could kill Jackson if it hit his heart or entered his brain because there are some things that a werewolf can't heal from. 

Jackson's Pov

When I became a Kanima, my healing was good then when I became a werewolf it got better. Once we find out I was a hybrid, we tested my healing and it was faster than both a werewolf and Kanima but I was well aware that my healing can't fix everything like a through-and-through gunshot wound to the chest. When the suspect started shooting at us during our case yesterday, I didn't think anything of it until I felt the tearing pain in my chest from the bullet and both Fornell and I were falling to the floor of the warehouse. 

Next thing I know I'm waking up in the ER with Stiles holding my hand telling me how he loves me along with how stupid I'm because I jumped in front of a bullet. Stiles tells me that I lost a lot of blood, the bullet hit my right lung, broke two ribs, and was a through-and-through along with how my healing wasn't working thanks to the wolfsbane that had been in the bullet. Even with the wolfsbane being worked out of my system, my healing isn't 100% yet, and according to the doctor who is a werewolf, the drugs that I'm on right now are affecting my healing so that they could do surgery on my lung since it won't heal on its own because of the wolfsbane. I'm scheduled for surgery tomorrow morning.  

Stiles has been worrying about the surgery tomorrow and I can understand why because we don't know what will happen with the surgery or with healing. I know that Stiles is sleeping here tonight which I'm not fully happy about but I know that Stiles will not leave because he is still a stubborn person and has been his whole life. 

Stiles's Pov

Right now it's about 5 in the morning and Jackson is scheduled for surgery at 7 this morning. I didn't sleep last night because my thoughts were keeping me awake about the what ifs on the surgery or about Jackson's healing when they start to take him off the meds keeping his healing from working and making the damage worse. Jackson didn't sleep because every two hours a nurse came in and checked up on him. 

"Stiles". 

"Yea Jacks". 

"It will be okay". 

"How do you know that Jackson?"

"I don't but I'm hoping everything will be okay". 

"I love you"

"I love you too". 

At 5:30, Jackson's doctor comes in and tells us how the surgery is going to go and how long it will take. They are coming in to take Jackson down at 6:30 where I will wait in the waiting room until Jackson is taken into recovery. The doctor says the surgery will take about two hours if no complications happen which I'm praying will not happen because I love Jackson too much for anything to happen to him.  

At 6:30, the nurses come and get Jackson and we tell each other that we love each other before I head to the surgery waiting room. 

(Two hours later)

The last two hours have been painful since about an hour into the surgery a code blue came from the OR where Jackson is. A code blue is used for cardiac arrest and I was not happy to hear that which means that Jackson's heart stopped during the surgery. I look up as the door opens and I see Jackson's doctor. 

"Mr. Stilinski-Whittmore". says Dr. Hayes

I nod my head

"The surgery started off fine. Jackson went under fine and as we started the surgery that was when the first problem came up because of the drugs we have Jackson on, his healing wasn't working and we didn't know that Jackson was bleeding inside of his chest cavity because the MRI yesterday didn't show any bleeding in his chest but we think that the bleeding started happened during the night. Jackson lost about two pints of blood during the night but he lost another pint of blood during the surgery and it caused stress to his heart and he went into cardiac arrest and we called a code blue". says Dr. Hayes

"I heard over the intercom". I say

"I'm sorry that couldn't have been easy to hear but we got his heart started again and finished the surgery to repair his lung but after the surgery and moving Jackson to the recovery and as we tried to wake up Jackson, we couldn't. I'm sorry to say this but Jackson has fallen into a coma. The coma is from the trauma and blood loss that Jackson has suffered in the last day. We won't know the damage from the blood loss until Jackson wakes up. Over the next few days, we will start to wean Jackson off the medications that are keeping his healing suppressed and we will see if his healing will start to bring Jackson out of the coma. I'm going to take you to see Jackosn". says Dr. Hayes

I get up and follow Dr. Hayes to Jackson's room and I was not ready to see the sight in the room. Jackson is laying in the bed with a breathing tube down his throat, he is pale and not moving. The only movement from Jackson is his chest as the machine breathes for him. All of the wires coming off of him makes me want to cry because this is the love of my life. I take a sit next to him and grab his hand. 

"I love you so much and I need you to wake up because I can't live without you". I say

I stay with Jackson for the rest of the night and just hold his hand until I fall asleep. 

Chapter Text

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Stiles's Pov

I get up and follow Dr. Hayes to Jackson's room and I was not ready to see the sight in the room. Jackson is laying in the bed with a breathing tube down his throat, he is pale and not moving. The only movement from Jackson is his chest as the machine breathes for him. All of the wires coming off of him makes me want to cry because this is the love of my life. I take a sit next to him and grab his hand.

"I love you so much and I need you to wake up because I can't live without you". I say

I stay with Jackson for the rest of the night and just hold his hand until I fall asleep. 

Stiles Pov

It has been a week since Jackson fell into a coma following his surgery. His doctor has started to wean him off the medications that are keeping his healing from kicking in which we hope that once Jackson's body gets used to being off the meds that his healing will kick in and make him heal faster. I want him to wake up so badly and tell him how much I have missed him. I have thankfully been given time off which means that I spend my days sitting next to Jackson just waiting. I called the pack and told me what has been happening and they are all praying for him. 

Fornell is out of the hospital and is back at work on desk duty which I'm glad the Fornell is okay and that nothing worse happened to him. Fornell and the rest of his team have been by to see Jackson and Fornell thanks him for saving him by jumping in front of the bullet. Even Gibbs and his team have even stopped by and I get to meet Gibbs himself. I know that I surprised Gibbs and his team about being his husband because I might not be who they were expecting but Jackson and I are use to that since we got together since Jackson is the popular jock type while I'm the nerd type but we work and don't care about what other people think about us. 

Since I have just been sitting in the hospital, I brought my laptop with me and have been looking at vacation places so that once Jackson is out of the hospital we can go somewhere away from everyone and Jackson can heal without questions being asked about why he healed so fast. Jackson and I have been talking about going to Bora Bora for vacation and once Jackson wakes up, it might be time to go and head to Bora Bora as he "heals" from being shot.  I plan on talking to Strauss about taking family leave once Jackson wakes up so that I can be with him. 

As I looked at hotels in Bora Bora, an alarm started to sound from Jackson's bed, and nurses and his doctor came running into the room. 

"What's happening?" I ask 

"He's starting to crash. I need you to leave the room." says Dr. Hayes 

I leave the room and watch as Dr. Hayes and the nurses start CPR on Jackson and I can't watch. 

"I need a crash crate in room 233." yells Dr. Hayes

As a nurse comes running past me with the crate, I pull out my phone and call my dad as I start crying. 

"Dad." 

"Stiles, what's wrong."

"I'm watching a doctor do CPR on Jackson." 

"Oh Stiles." 

"I need him to be okay Dad. He has to be okay." 

"I will be there as fast as I can Stiles, okay."

"Okay. I love you." 

When I get off the phone, I see them get Jackson stable before they pull the bed out of the room. 

"We got his heart started again, and we are going to take him to CT then maybe the operating room." says Dr. Harris

I nod my head. 

About 30 minutes later, a nurse came up to me and told me that they rushed Jackson into surgery because he was bleeding into his chest from a collapsed lung and a tear in his lung. I pray to whoever is listening that Jackson will be okay and wake up. I don't know how long I have been sitting in the chair and staring at the floor until someone comes in. Looking up I see my dad and Peter coming in. 

"Stiles." says dad

"Dad." 

"What happened Stiles?" asks Peter

"I don't know, One minute I'm on my laptop and the next an alarm goes off and nurses and his doctor come running into the room. Jackson started crashing, and they took him to CT and then to surgery. A nurse told me that he was bleeding into his chest from a collapsed lung and a tear in his lung.  Dad, Peter I can't lose him." I say 

My dad hugs me and I start crying into his shoulder. 

"How did you get here so fast?" I ask 

"Peter and I arrived yesterday and planned on coming to see you when you called me." says Dad

It's an hour later when Dr. Hayes walks into the room. 

"We managed to get Jackson stable and repair the tear in his lung and he now has a chest tube to keep his lung from collapsing again. This is not the outcome we wanted when I started to wean Jackson off the medication that was keeping his healing suppressed. Jackson is going to be moved into the ICU where we can keep a closer eye on him. Right now he is still in recovery and will be moved into the ICU soon. Either me or a nurse will come and get you when we move Jackson into his room." says Dr. Hayes

A nurse comes in and takes us to Jackson's new room and it is hard to look at Jackson with all of the tubes and wires coming from him. I sit down in the chair next to him and take his hand.

"I love you so much and I need you to come back to me". I say 

I lean over and carefully kiss him on the lips. 

"Please come back to me." 

Chapter Text

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Stiles's Pov

A nurse comes in and takes us to Jackson's new room and it is hard to look at Jackson with all of the tubes and wires coming from him. I sit down in the chair next to him and take his hand.

"I love you so much and I need you to come back to me". I say

I lean over and carefully kiss him on the lips.

"Please come back to me." 

Stiles's Pov

It has been two weeks since Jackson coded and was rushed into surgery and he still hasn't woken up yet. I haven't left his side because I'm scared to leave in case something happens. The only time I have left his side is when Peter dragged me out of the room, took me home, and made me eat, shower, and take a nap while my dad sat with him. I hate to say it but it did make me feel better.  For work, I have been given a paid year off which I wasn't accepting since I haven't talked to my boss about it but I will take it since I can focus on Jackson. I told Hotch about being given the time off and told him to find another person for the team. I had my dad and Peter go get my things from the office since I didn't want to see the team. 

According to Jackson's doctor, his body is starting to heal but for some reason, his healing isn't working as well. The doctors have been running tests on Jackson to see if they can find any underlying causes that could have caused his healing not to work as well. I hate not having answers on what is wrong with Jackson. I miss talking to him so much because over the years Jackson has become my best friend and I love him so much. 

I have been keeping the pack updated about what has been happening and they are keeping Jackson in their thoughts. 

It's officially been a month since Jackson has been in a coma and I miss him so much. I miss his smile and hearing his voice. Jackson and I have been talking about starting a family but I need him awake 

Today Jackson is being taken for a CT scan and an MRI to look at his lungs and brain. I'm hoping that Jackson will wake up soon. Although there has been talk about whether Jackson's brain has been getting oxygen or that there is brain damage from his cardiac arrest we will not know until he wakes up. His doctor is hopeful that with his healing his brain should be fine but I just don't know. The one that I'm the most scared of is that Jackson never wakes up. I don't want to think about that but right now it's a real thought the long that Jackson is in the coma. They have been running blood tests daily on him to check if there is any wolfsbane left in his system and there is now. 

There has been talk about maybe putting Jackson on life support if his vitals start changing which is something I'm hoping to avoid because that is the last stop before saying that I'm giving up on Jackson which I refuse to do because I will keep fighting for Jackson. 

2 months, that is how long it has been since I have heard Jackson's voice. Jackson's doctor has started to slowly wean him off of the meds keeping his healing suppressed but a lot slower than the first time because we don't want to have his lung re-tear since that is what happened the last time. A new test that the doctors had started was looking at Jackson's brain waves to make sure that he was still having brain activity which he does. That is a good thing because it means that Jackson is still fighting to come back but we still don't know if he will have any brain damage. My dad and Peter have been taking turns getting me to go home just for a few hours so that I can shower and nap before heading back to the hospital and Jackson's side. 

All of Jackson's tests have been positive and have not shown any more complications. The doctors have been talking about taking out the chest tube in the next few weeks to see if Jackson's lung will stay inflated which is a good thing because it means that Jackson is healing.

Fornell and his team have come to see Jackson. It's new to see that Fornell is healing and he told me that he blamed himself for what happened with Jackson because Jackson jumped in front of the bullet. I told him that I didn't blame him for what happened to Jackson. Fornell told me that when Jackson is ready to come back to work, his spot on the team is always open. 

I got told by the doctor that there is something in Jackson's bloodwork that they want to keep an eye on and I don't know how I feel about that because they haven't told me what they found in his bloodwork but I did get told that I will get updated more on it once the doctors know more about it. 

I have just been dragged home by Peter. Walking into my bedroom, I take off my clothes so I can get into the shower. After I shower and get dressed, I go into the kitchen and cook some food for me and Peter, once we are done eating, I make Peter clean the kitchen and I head to bed. 

About three hours later, I'm awake and check my phone, nothing which is good. Once we eat dinner, Peter and I head back up to the hospital and I take my place back in the chair next to Jackson. 

"I love you so much and I need you to come back." 

Chapter Text

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Stiles's Pov

About three hours later, I'm awake and check my phone, nothing which is good. Once we eat dinner, Peter and I head back up to the hospital and I take my place back in the chair next to Jackson.

"I love you so much and I need you to come back." 

Stiles's Pov

The last few weeks have been okay. Nothing has changed in Jackson except the chest tube came out and so far his lungs are doing okay but they have been keeping an eye on it. His vitals have been stable which I'm hoping and praying that it means we can take life support out of the talk about what is the next step going forward. At this point, I just want Jackson to wake up because I miss my best friend and husband. It's coming up on three months since Jackson coded and four since he fell into a coma. It's hard to believe that it's been four months since Jackson fell into a coma and I'm ready for this nightmare to be over and for Jackson to be awake. 

All of the tests that the doctors have been running on Jackson have been coming back good and one of the last tests showed a lower level of wolfsbane in Jackson's blood now which should hope that he awakes up soon but his healing is still working very slowly and we still don't know why his healing is so slow since it's never been slow like this before. The tests show that Jackson should be healing but whatever it is that the doctors saw in one of his blood tests might be the reason why he isn't healing like he should be. I'm still waiting to find out what they might have found in his blood work and if it's the reason why. 

My dad and Peter have been helping around the apartment and making sure that I'm taking care of myself because they brought up a good point that I can't take care of Jackson if I end up next to him in a hospital bed. Peter will come in around 7 and he will stay the whole night with Jackson until the next morning which is when I come back, this is how we have been doing it for the last few weeks with my dad and Peter switching every night. 

Peter's Pov

Tonight is my night to sit with Jackson. Over the years I have come to like Jackson which was not something that I accepted from the first time I met Jackson when he was back in high school but he's now a part of the family and it's sad to see him hooked up to all of these machines. I have no idea what could be affecting his healing because Stiles told me that the doctors had taken Jackson off the medications that were keeping his healing suppressed. He also told us about how the doctors found something in his blood work but won't say anything yet because they are not sure what it is. 

As I'm sitting in the chair reading my book, I see something in the corner of my eye. Saving my spot in the book, I set down the book and watched Jackson. I can see his eyes moving a little before I watch him open his eyes. 

Jackson's Pov

I don't know how long I have staring at the black but it feels like it has been a while. I think I have heard Stiles talking to me but it's hard to remember what he said to me. I can feel my eyes moving before I try to open them. It's hard to open them but it manage to open my eyes. It hurts at first to have my eyes open and I can't speak for some reason. I turn my head to the side and see someone whom I was not expecting to see, Peter Hale looking at me. 

"Jackson, if you can hear me, give me a thumbs up." says Peter

I give a thumbs up.

Peter moves to call the doctor and they come running in. I don't know how long it takes for them to check me over before they leave. During that time, I can hear Peter talking to someone on the phone.

About 30 minutes later, Stiles comes running into the room and lands his eyes on me. 

"Jackson." says Stiles

Stiles's Pov

I didn't know what to think when Peter called me at 2:30 in the morning but Jackson waking up was not it. I jump out of bed and get changed before telling my dad what happened before we leave for the hospital. Thankfully you can come and go from the ER to the main hospital during the night. I get up to his room and my eyes land on Jackson to see that he is awake, and I have never been more happy in my life to see Jackson's eyes. 

"Jackson." I say

Jackson waves me over to him and I hug me and press kisses all over his face. 

"The doctors have checked him over and they said depending on how he does for the rest of the night, they will think about taking out the tube in the morning." says Peter

I nod my head. I'm just glad that Jackson is awake.

I take my spot in the chair next to the hospital bed and I grab Jackson's hand and don't let go. 

It's currently 7 in the morning and Jackson has been sleeping off and on. Dr. Hayes came in around 5:30 and talked about doing a chest x-ray and an MRI to see how Jackson's lungs were doing before they removed the tube. They took Jackson at 6 and now we are waiting for the results to come back and I hope that they can remove the tube. 

It's around 7:30 when Dr.Hayes comes in. 

"I looked over Jackson's chest x-rays and MRI results and I feel like his lungs are healed enough that the intubation tube can come out but Jackson will still have to be on oxygen via a nasal canal." says Dr. Hayes

A nurse comes into the room and I watch as she removes the tube. Jackson starts coughing once the tube is removed and the nurse hands Jackson a cup of water. Dr. Hayes puts the nasal canal on once Jackson is done with the water. 

"I will be back to check on you later Jackson." says Dr. Hayes

Jackson nods his head before he looks over at me and waves me over to the bed. I sit down on the bed and take his hand. 

"I'm glad that you are awake." I say

"How long has it been." says Jackson although his voice sounds raw

"It's been four months since you fell into a coma during your first lung surgery." 

"What happened?"

"During your first surgery, it started fine but nobody knew that you were bleeding into your chest and you lost about two pints of blood during the night and lost another pint of blood during the surgery and it caused stress to your heart and he went into cardiac arrest and they called a code blue which was so scary to hear. They got your heart started again but you had fallen into a coma. A week later, Dr. Hayes started to wean you off the meds keeping your healing suppressed but there was a complication and you had a tear in your lung and a collapsed lung and you were bleeding into your chest again. You have coded twice and I have watched them do CPR once on you. The last four months have been a nightmare but I'm so happy that you are awake now." I say

"I'm sorry Stiles." 

"It's not your fault." 

"I love you." says Jackson 

"I love you too Jackson". 

Chapter Text

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Stiles's Pov

"I'm sorry Stiles."

"It's not your fault."

"I love you." says Jackson

"I love you too Jackson". 

Jacksons's Pov

As I lay there, my mind struggling to grasp the reality of waking up after what felt like an eternity of darkness, I couldn't shake the overwhelming sense of disorientation that washed over me. The sterile smell of the hospital room, the soft hum of machines in the background—it all felt like a distant dream, one that I couldn't quite make sense of.

Stiles' words washed over me like a soothing balm, grounding me in the present moment even as memories of the past few months threatened to engulf me in a tidal wave of emotions. Four months. It was hard to fathom how much time had passed, and how much I had missed while trapped in the void of unconsciousness.

As Stiles recounted the events that had led to my current state, a wave of guilt washed over me, threatening to drown me in its depths. The thought of Stiles bearing the weight of my suffering alone, of watching me slip away with each passing day—it was almost too much to bear.

But as his words of reassurance washed over me, I felt a glimmer of hope flicker to life within me. Stiles was right—it wasn't my fault. I couldn't change what had happened, couldn't undo the mistakes that had led us here. All I could do was hold on to the love that bound us together, the love that had sustained me through the darkest moments of my journey.

As I lay there, grappling with the frustration and confusion that seemed to grow with each passing moment, I couldn't shake the nagging question that gnawed at the edges of my consciousness.

"Why isn't my healing working, even though I'm on a lower dose of the meds keeping it suppressed?" The words spilled from my lips, tinged with a mixture of frustration and fear. It was a question I had asked myself countless times since waking from my coma, each time met with the same elusive answers that did little to assuage my concerns.

Stiles' brow furrowed with concern as he sat beside me, his hand gently squeezing mine in a silent gesture of support. "I wish I had an answer for you, Jackson," he admitted, his voice heavy with regret. "But we're doing everything we can to figure it out."

His words offered little solace, but the sincerity in his eyes gave me a glimmer of hope. As the door to my hospital room creaked open, announcing Dr. Hayes's arrival, a surge of anticipation pulsed through me. Stiles sat beside me, his presence a comforting anchor amidst the uncertainty that clouded my mind.

"Jackson, Stiles," Dr. Hayes greeted us, his expression serious yet tinged with a glimmer of hope. "I'm here to take some blood work. We need to gather more information based on what we observed in one of your recent blood tests."

My heart skipped a beat at the mention of the test results, a sense of unease settling in the pit of my stomach. Despite my best efforts to remain calm, the unknown loomed large before me, casting a shadow over the promise of answers that Dr. Hayes's visit held.

Stiles offered a reassuring smile as he shifted closer, his hand finding mine in a silent gesture of solidarity. With his support, I summoned the courage to extend my arm to Dr. Hayes, steeling myself for the inevitable prick of the needle.

As Dr. Hayes deftly drew the blood, his movements precise and efficient, I couldn't help but wonder what secrets my veins held, what revelations lay hidden within the crimson tide that flowed through my veins.

Once the procedure was complete, Dr. Hayes offered a nod of acknowledgment, his gaze steady and unwavering. "We'll have the results soon," he assured us, his voice a beacon of reassurance in the darkness. "In the meantime, try not to worry. We're here for you every step of the way."

 As Dr. Hayes left the room, leaving us to contemplate the impending results of the blood test, a heavy silence settled between Stiles and me. I could sense his worry, mirrored by my own, as we both grappled with the uncertainty that loomed over us like a dark cloud.

"Stiles," I began, my voice breaking the silence with a hesitant tone. "Do you... do you think we should be worried about the blood test?"

Stiles's expression softened at my question, his eyes filled with a mixture of concern and determination. He reached out, squeezing my hand gently in reassurance before offering a small, reassuring smile.

"I don't know, Jackson," he admitted, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "But whatever the results may be, we'll face them together. We've been through worse, right?"

His words offered a sliver of comfort, reminding me that no matter what challenges lay ahead, Stiles would always be by my side, ready to weather the storm with me. With his unwavering support, I found the strength to push aside the doubts and fears that threatened to overwhelm me.

"Yeah," I replied, returning his smile with a shaky one of my own. "We've definitely been through worse."

A few hours passed in a blur of anxious anticipation, each minute feeling like an eternity as we waited for news of the blood test results. Stiles and I remained by each other's side, our silent solidarity a source of strength amidst the uncertainty that hung heavy in the air.

As the afternoon sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the hospital room, a soft knock at the door broke the tense silence. My heart leaped into my throat as Dr. Hayes entered, his expression unreadable as he held a folder containing the results of the blood test.

"Jackson, Stiles," Dr. Hayes greeted us, his voice calm yet tinged with gravity. "I have the results of your blood test."

I could feel my pulse quicken with nervous anticipation as Dr. Hayes approached, the folder held tightly in his grasp. Stiles reached out, his hand finding mine in a reassuring gesture as we waited with bated breath for the news that would shape our future.

With a deep breath, Dr. Hayes began to speak, his words measured and deliberate. "The blood test revealed some abnormalities in your white blood cell count, Jackson," he explained, his voice tinged with concern. "It's possible that there's an underlying infection or other issue that's been affecting your healing."

My heart sank at the news, a knot of fear tightening in my chest as I struggled to process the implications of Dr. Hayes's words. But as I looked into Stiles's eyes, the unwavering determination reflected in his gaze filled me with a renewed sense of hope.

"We'll need to run some further tests to determine the cause," Dr. Hayes continued, his voice cutting through the silence like a beacon of reassurance. "But whatever it is, we'll do everything in our power to address it and get you back on the road to recovery."

As Dr. Hayes delivered the unsettling news about the abnormalities in my blood test results, Stiles's brows furrowed in confusion and concern. His mind, sharp as ever, immediately began to piece together the puzzle, searching for answers to the questions that loomed large in the air.

"Wait, how could Jackson have any underlying infection or other issues if he's a werewolf/Kanima hybrid?" Stiles interjected, his voice tinged with a mixture of frustration and disbelief. "Wouldn't his enhanced healing abilities prevent something like that from happening?"

Dr. Hayes paused, his expression thoughtful as he considered Stiles's question. "It's true that Jackson's supernatural nature may provide him with certain advantages when it comes to healing," he conceded, his tone measured. "But even supernatural beings are susceptible to illness and infection under the right circumstances."

Stiles's expression darkened at the implication, a flicker of concern crossing his features as he processed Dr. Hayes's words. "So, what does this mean for Jackson's recovery?" he pressed, his voice steady despite the undercurrent of worry that ran beneath his words.

Dr. Hayes sighed, his gaze sympathetic as he met Stiles's eyes. "It means that we'll need to conduct further tests to determine the underlying cause of these abnormalities," he explained, his tone gentle yet firm. "Once we have a better understanding of what we're dealing with, we can develop a treatment plan to address it and hopefully get Jackson back on track."

Stiles nodded, his jaw set with determination as he absorbed Dr. Hayes's words. Despite the uncertainty that lay ahead, I could see the steely resolve in his eyes, and the unwavering commitment to supporting me through whatever challenges we might face.

"We'll get through this, Jackson," Stiles said, his voice filled with quiet determination. "Together."

And as I looked into his eyes, the unwavering love and support reflected in his gaze filled me with a renewed sense of hope.

In the days that followed Dr. Hayes's revelation about the abnormalities in my blood test results, a flurry of tests and procedures ensued, each one a step towards unraveling the mystery of my stalled healing. Stiles remained by my side throughout, his unwavering support a constant source of strength amidst the uncertainty that surrounded us.

From MRI scans to biopsies, the doctors left no stone unturned in their quest for answers. As the results trickled in, each one seemed to raise more questions than it answered, leaving us grasping at straws in search of a solution.

Despite the frustration and uncertainty that clouded our minds, Stiles and I clung to each other, drawing strength from the bond that bound us together. Together, we faced the barrage of tests and procedures with a quiet determination, refusing to let fear and uncertainty dictate our actions.  As the days stretched into weeks, and the barrage of tests and procedures continued, Stiles and I found ourselves facing a new challenge—one that we had never anticipated. During one of our appointments with a specialist, the conversation took an unexpected turn, veering into territory that left us both feeling uneasy.

The doctor's questions about our intimate life caught us off guard, their probing inquiries digging into the most private corners of our relationship. Stiles's hand tightened around mine, a silent reassurance amidst the uncomfortable scrutiny that surrounded us.

"I'm sorry, but why is our intimate life relevant to Jackson's medical condition?" Stiles interjected, his voice laced with a mixture of frustration and indignation. It was a question that echoed the thoughts swirling through my mind, a silent plea for answers in the face of the doctor's intrusive line of questioning.

The specialist paused, their expression unreadable as they considered Stiles's question. "I understand that this may seem uncomfortable, but certain medical conditions can be influenced by factors such as stress and emotional well-being," they explained, their tone measured yet firm. "It's important for us to consider all aspects of your life in order to provide you with the best possible care."

Stiles's grip on my hand never faltered, his unwavering support a silent reminder that we were in this together. Despite the discomfort that lingered in the air, we faced the doctor's questions with a united front, refusing to let their probing inquiries shake our resolve.

As the days wore on and the challenges of my recovery seemed insurmountable, I felt the creeping tendrils of despair tightening their grip around my heart. Despite the tireless efforts of the medical team and the unwavering support of Stiles, my health began to falter once more, slipping through my fingers like grains of sand.

The signs were subtle at first—a slight shortness of breath, a lingering fatigue that refused to dissipate. But as the days passed, the symptoms grew more pronounced, casting a dark shadow over the fragile hope that had sustained me thus far.

Stiles, ever vigilant by my side, watched with growing concern as my condition deteriorated, his worry etched across his features like a mask of sorrow. His touch was a balm against the pain that ravaged my body, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, I was not alone.

Stiles's Pov

As I watched Jackson's health start to decline once again, a wave of fear and helplessness washed over me, threatening to drown me in its depths. Despite our best efforts and the tireless dedication of the medical team, it felt like we were losing the battle against an invisible enemy.

Every labored breath he took, every pained grimace that crossed his face, felt like a dagger to my heart, a reminder of the fragility of life and the cruelty of fate. I felt powerless, like a mere spectator in the face of the overwhelming forces that sought to tear us apart.

But amidst the darkness that threatened to consume us, I refused to give in to despair. I clung to hope like a lifeline, a beacon of light in the suffocating darkness that surrounded us. I poured every ounce of love and determination I possessed into caring for Jackson, refusing to let him face this battle alone.

As I watched him struggle, I felt a surge of anger rise within me—a primal, gut-wrenching rage at the injustice of it all. How could life be so cruel, to afflict someone as kind and courageous as Jackson with such suffering?

The revelation landed like a seismic wave, shaking the very foundation of our understanding of Jackson's past. As the doctor's words echoed in the sterile room, my mind struggled to process the enormity of what we had just learned.

"Jackson, you were supposed to be a twin," the doctor began, their voice measured as they delivered the news. "Your mother was pregnant with a boy and a girl, but during the early stages of her pregnancy, something called Vanishing Twin Syndrome occurred. The girl twin did not survive, and you absorbed her tissue, leading to some of the abnormalities we've observed in your medical tests."

The air felt thick with the weight of the revelation, a heavy silence settling between us as we absorbed the truth of what we had just learned. For Jackson, the news carried a profound sense of loss—a reminder of the sister he never knew, the bond that had been severed before it ever had a chance to form.

I could see the pain etched across his features, a haunted look in his eyes that spoke volumes of the grief he carried in his heart. It was a grief that mirrored my own, a shared sense of loss for the life that could have been, the sibling lost to the cruel whims of fate. As the weight of the revelation settled over us like a heavy shroud, I couldn't help but wonder what implications it might hold for Jackson's health. The doctor's words lingered in the air, casting a shadow of uncertainty over our already tumultuous journey.

"Doctor," I began, my voice betraying the fear and concern that gnawed at the edges of my consciousness. "What could this mean for Jackson's health? Could the Vanishing Twin Syndrome have any long-term effects or complications?"

The doctor paused, their expression thoughtful as they considered my question. "It's difficult to say for certain," they replied, their tone measured yet empathetic. "Vanishing Twin Syndrome is a relatively rare occurrence, and its effects can vary widely from one individual to another. In some cases, there may be no long-term consequences, while in others, it can lead to certain medical issues or complications."

I felt a knot tighten in the pit of my stomach at the doctor's words, a surge of anxiety coursing through my veins. The thought of Jackson facing yet another obstacle in his already arduous journey filled me with a sense of helplessness, a desperate longing to shield him from any further harm.

As Jackson remained in the hospital, a series of additional tests were ordered to uncover the underlying cause of his health issues. Doctors and specialists worked tirelessly, leaving no stone unturned in their quest for answers, while I stood by his side, offering whatever support and comfort I could muster in the face of uncertainty.

Days turned into weeks as we awaited the results of the tests, each passing moment filled with a sense of anticipation and apprehension. Jackson's condition remained stable, but the unknown loomed large, casting a shadow over our hopes for his recovery.

Blood tests, imaging studies, and various screenings were conducted, each one a crucial step in our journey to uncover the truth. With each test came a glimmer of hope that we were one step closer to understanding what was happening to Jackson, yet also a mounting sense of anxiety as we waited for answers.

As we sat together in the hospital room, the silence was deafening, broken only by the occasional beep of the machines monitoring Jackson's vital signs. His hand found mine, his grip tight with nerves as we braced ourselves for whatever news the tests might bring.

Finally, the day arrived when the results were ready to be revealed. We sat across from the doctor, our hearts pounding in our chests as we waited anxiously for the answers we so desperately sought.

The doctor's expression was grave as they delivered the news, their words weighted with significance. "The tests have revealed some abnormalities," they began, their tone measured yet tinged with hope. "But we're still working to determine the underlying cause."

Exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster of the day, Jackson and I found ourselves drifting into a fitful slumber in the dimly lit hospital room. The soft hum of the medical equipment provided a gentle backdrop as we sought refuge in the solace of sleep, our intertwined hands a tangible reminder of the bond that held us together.

Despite the uncertainty that loomed over us like a dark cloud, there was a sense of peace that settled over us in those quiet moments. Wrapped in each other's arms, we found solace in the warmth of our shared embrace, drawing strength from the love that bound us together.

As sleep claimed us, our dreams were filled with visions of a future filled with hope and possibility. In that fleeting moment of respite, the worries of the world faded away, replaced by a sense of calm and tranquility that enveloped us like a gentle embrace.

Chapter Text

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Stiles's Pov

Despite the uncertainty that loomed over us like a dark cloud, there was a sense of peace that settled over us in those quiet moments. Wrapped in each other's arms, we found solace in the warmth of our shared embrace, drawing strength from the love that bound us together.

As sleep claimed us, our dreams were filled with visions of a future filled with hope and possibility. In that fleeting moment of respite, the worries of the world faded away, replaced by a sense of calm and tranquility that enveloped us like a gentle embrace.

Stiles's Pov

As the days passed and the results of countless tests trickled in, a glimmer of hope began to emerge amidst the uncertainty that had gripped us for so long. Despite the setbacks and the obstacles that lay in our path, there was a tangible sense of progress, a flicker of light at the end of the tunnel.

And then, finally, came the news we had been waiting for—the news that Jackson's lung was healing. It was a moment of overwhelming relief, a weight lifted from our shoulders as we dared to believe that perhaps, just perhaps, we were finally turning a corner in our journey. Dr. Hayes entered the room, his expression was a mix of cautious optimism and professional reserve. I could sense the gravity of his presence as he approached Jackson's bedside, his gaze steady as he prepared to deliver the news we had been hoping for.

"Jackson," he began, his voice measured yet tinged with a hint of anticipation. "After reviewing your latest test results and monitoring your progress over the past few weeks, I believe it's time to take you off the medications that have been suppressing your healing."

A surge of emotion washed over me as Dr. Hayes spoke, the weight of his words sinking in like a lifeline in the darkness. After so many months of uncertainty and setbacks, this felt like a moment of triumph, a sign that perhaps, just perhaps, we were finally on the road to recovery.

Jackson's eyes widened with disbelief, a mixture of hope and apprehension flickering in their depths. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Dr. Hayes nodded, his confidence unwavering. "Yes, I'm sure," he replied. "Your latest tests show significant improvement in your lung function, and I believe that your body is strong enough to continue healing on its own."

A sense of relief flooded through me as I watched Jackson absorb the news, his features softened by a smile that mirrored my own. It was a moment of triumph, a victory against the odds that had been stacked against us for so long.

As Dr. Hayes left the room, I turned to Jackson, my heart overflowing with gratitude. "We did it," I whispered, my voice choked with emotion.

Jackson's eyes met mine, a spark of determination shining brightly in their depths. "We did," he agreed, his voice filled with quiet resolve. "Together."

As Jackson underwent the ultrasound examination, the room was filled with a tense anticipation. The technician maneuvered the wand expertly over Jackson's abdomen, capturing images of his internal organs with meticulous precision. With each passing moment, the air seemed to crackle with a sense of expectation, our hearts pounding in rhythm with the soft hum of the ultrasound machine. We sat in Dr. Hayes' office, and the weight of the revelation hung heavy in the air. Jackson's eyes widened in disbelief as Dr. Hayes explained the unexpected twist in his medical history.

"Jackson," Dr. Hayes began, his tone gentle yet solemn. "Based on the results of the ultrasound and further examination, it appears that you have a womb."

The words seemed to hang in the air, the implications sinking in slowly as we processed the enormity of what Dr. Hayes was saying. I could see the confusion and disbelief written across Jackson's face, mirrored by the tumult of emotions raging within me.

"A womb?" Jackson repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

Dr. Hayes nodded, his expression sympathetic. "Yes," he confirmed. "It appears that during the early stages of your development, you absorbed some of the tissue from your twin sister, including her reproductive organs."

The room seemed to spin as the weight of the revelation settled over us like a heavy shroud. Twin siblings who shared a bond that transcended even the boundaries of life and death. It was a revelation that defied comprehension, challenging everything we thought we knew about Jackson's medical history. As the weight of Dr. Hayes' revelation settled over us, Jackson turned to him with a mixture of confusion and concern etched across his features. "What does this mean?" he asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

Dr. Hayes regarded Jackson with a compassionate expression, understanding the gravity of the situation. "Well, Jackson," he began, his tone measured yet empathetic. "Having a womb means that you have the reproductive organs typically associated with females."

The words hung in the air, heavy with implication, as Jackson absorbed the reality of what Dr. Hayes was saying. His brow furrowed in thought as he processed the information, his mind undoubtedly racing with a thousand questions.

"Does this mean I can get pregnant?" Jackson asked, his voice barely above a whisper, the weight of the revelation settling over him like a leaden blanket.

Dr. Hayes nodded, his expression sympathetic. "Yes," he confirmed. "Given your anatomy, it is possible for you to conceive and carry a child."

The room seemed to spin as the enormity of Dr. Hayes' words sank in, the implications of Jackson's unique physiology echoing in the silence. It was a revelation that challenged everything we thought we knew about Jackson's identity and his place in the world.

Jackson's question hung in the air, the weight of it palpable as we awaited Dr. Hayes' response. The implications of his words were profound, challenging everything we thought we knew about Jackson's physiology.

Dr. Hayes regarded Jackson with a thoughtful expression, his brow furrowed in contemplation. "It's certainly a possibility," he admitted, his tone measured yet tinged with uncertainty. "Given the abnormalities we've seen in your blood work and the revelation about your anatomy, it's not outside the realm of possibility that you could be pregnant."

A sense of disbelief washed over us as Dr. Hayes' words sank in, the enormity of the revelation settling over us like a heavy shroud. It was a revelation that defied comprehension, challenging the very foundation of our understanding.

Jackson's eyes widened in shock, his mind undoubtedly racing with a thousand questions. "But how is that even possible?" he asked, his voice trembling with disbelief.

Dr. Hayes sighed, his expression sympathetic. "It's difficult to say for certain," he admitted. "But given the unique circumstances of your medical history, it's clear that we're dealing with something extraordinary."

As the shock of the ultrasound revelation settled over us, Dr. Hayes' expression was one of determined focus. He wasted no time in outlining the next steps in our journey towards understanding Jackson's unique physiology.

"Given what we've discovered today, I'd like to order a blood pregnancy test and another ultrasound," Dr. Hayes said, his voice calm yet resolute. "We need to gather more information to fully understand the implications of this discovery."

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, the enormity of the situation sinking in as we processed the reality of what was happening. Jackson's eyes widened in disbelief, his mind undoubtedly racing with a thousand questions.

"A pregnancy test?" Jackson repeated, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

Dr. Hayes nodded, his expression sympathetic. "Yes," he confirmed. "Given the abnormalities we've seen in your blood work and the revelation about your anatomy, it's important that we explore all possibilities."

In Dr. Hayes' office, the tension was palpable as Jackson prepared to undergo the blood pregnancy test. With each passing moment, the weight of anticipation seemed to grow heavier, the air thick with uncertainty and nerves.

Dr. Hayes approached with a calm demeanor, his steady presence a source of reassurance amidst the swirling emotions. With gentle efficiency, he prepared the necessary equipment, his movements deliberate and precise.

As Jackson offered his arm for the blood draw, I stood by his side, offering silent support and encouragement. The prick of the needle was a sharp reminder of the gravity of the moment, yet Jackson bore it with quiet resolve, his eyes fixed on the task at hand.

Once the blood sample was collected, Dr. Hayes offered a reassuring smile. "We'll have the results soon," he said, his voice gentle yet filled with determination. "Try not to worry too much in the meantime."

As Dr. Hayes left the room to send the sample for testing, I could feel the weight of anticipation pressing down on us like a heavy burden. But amidst the uncertainty, there was also a glimmer of hope—a belief that whatever the results might reveal, we would face them together, hand in hand. As we awaited the results of the blood pregnancy test, the air in Dr. Hayes' office was thick with tension and uncertainty. Jackson's hand found mine, his grip tight with nerves as we braced ourselves for the news that awaited us.

Minutes stretched into eternity as we waited anxiously for the phone call that would deliver the results. Each passing moment felt like an eternity, the weight of the unknown pressing down on us like a heavy burden.

And then, finally, the phone rang, shattering the silence of the room. Dr. Hayes answered the call, his expression inscrutable as he listened intently to the voice on the other end of the line.

As he hung up the phone, Dr. Hayes turned to us, his face a mask of solemnity. "The blood test confirms it," he said, his voice heavy with emotion. "Jackson, you're pregnant."

The words hung in the air, the enormity of the revelation settling over us like a heavy blanket. It was a moment that defied comprehension, challenging everything we thought we knew about Jackson's anatomy and our future together.

Tears welled in my eyes as I looked at Jackson, his face a mixture of shock and disbelief. But amidst the chaos of our emotions, there was also a sense of wonder—a reminder of the miracle unfolding before our eyes.

In the ultrasound room, anticipation hung thick in the air, palpable with every breath. Jackson lay on the examination table, his eyes fixed on the screen as the technician maneuvered the ultrasound wand over his abdomen with gentle precision.

As the image began to form on the monitor, I held my breath, my heart pounding in my chest. The tension in the room was almost tangible as we awaited the revelation that awaited us.

And then, there it was—the unmistakable shape of a tiny form nestled within Jackson's womb. Tears welled in my eyes as I beheld the miracle of life unfolding before us, a profound sense of wonder washing over me.

The technician's voice broke through the silence, their words a gentle reassurance amidst the overwhelming emotions. "Congratulations," they said, their tone filled with warmth. "You're going to be parents."

A rush of emotion washed over us as we absorbed the enormity of the revelation.

Jackson's Pov

As I lay on the examination table, the rhythmic hum of the ultrasound machine filled the room, drowning out the tumult of emotions raging within me. With each pass of the wand over my abdomen, my heart seemed to beat faster, a nervous fluttering in my chest.

The recent revelations about my anatomy—the discovery of a womb—seemed almost surreal, like something out of a science fiction novel. I couldn't wrap my head around the idea that I, Jackson Whittemore, could potentially carry a child. It was a notion that defied everything I thought I knew about myself.

But beneath the disbelief, there was also a sense of wonder—a quiet awe at the miracle unfolding within me. The idea of nurturing new life, of bringing a child into the world, filled me with a sense of profound responsibility. It was a daunting prospect, to be sure, but also one filled with boundless possibility.

Yet, amidst the wonder and uncertainty, there was also fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of what the future might hold. Would I be a good parent? Could I handle the challenges that lay ahead? The questions swirled in my mind like a relentless storm, threatening to overwhelm me.

But then, as I stole a glance at Stiles, my heart swelled with love and gratitude. In his eyes, I found reassurance—a silent promise that no matter what challenges we faced, we would face them together. And in that moment, I found solace amidst the chaos, knowing that as long as we had each other, we could weather any storm.

As the ultrasound continued, I couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at the life growing within me. It was a reminder that amidst the uncertainty and fear, there was also hope—a belief that no matter what lay ahead, we would find a way through, together. As the realization sank in that I was fourteen weeks pregnant, my mind spun with a whirlwind of emotions. Fourteen weeks—nearly four and a half months—of carrying a life within me. But what struck me the most was the revelation that I had been pregnant when I was shot with a wolfsbane bullet. 

The shock of the revelation threatened to overwhelm me as I tried to make sense of it all. The events of that fateful day replayed in my mind—the chaos, the fear, the pain. And all the while, I had been carrying a life within me, completely unaware of the miracle unfolding inside.

Beside me, Stiles's grip tightened on my hand, his eyes filled with a mixture of concern and disbelief. I could see the questions swirling in his mind, the uncertainty mirrored in his expression. As we absorbed the enormity of the revelation, a sense of awe washed over me. Despite the violence and turmoil that had surrounded us, life had continued to flourish within me, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit.

Third Person Pov

Stiles stared at Dr. Hayes, his expression a mixture of disbelief and concern. "Dr. Hayes, I'm struggling to understand how Jackson could be fourteen weeks pregnant, and yet none of the tests we've done picked up on it. How is that possible?"

Dr. Hayes sighed, his gaze thoughtful as he considered Stiles's question. "I understand your confusion, Stiles," he began, his tone gentle yet firm. "Pregnancy tests, particularly in the early stages, can sometimes yield false negatives, especially if conducted under unusual circumstances."

"But we had multiple blood tests and ultrasounds," Stiles pressed, his frustration evident. "Shouldn't at least one of them have shown something?"

Dr. Hayes nodded, acknowledging Stiles's concerns. "In most cases, yes," he admitted. "But there are instances where pregnancies can go undetected, particularly if they occur shortly after traumatic events, like the shooting."

Stiles frowned, his mind racing with a myriad of questions. "So, you're saying that the trauma of the shooting could have affected the accuracy of the tests?" he asked, seeking clarification.

"It's a possibility," Dr. Hayes confirmed. "The body's response to trauma can sometimes interfere with hormonal levels and other indicators of pregnancy, making it more difficult to detect."

As Stiles absorbed Dr. Hayes's explanation, a sense of unease lingered in the air. The revelation that Jackson had been pregnant during the shooting added another layer of complexity to an already bewildering situation.

Jackson's Pov

The concern over the potential impact of wolfsbane on the baby weighed heavily on my mind as I turned to Dr. Hayes. "Dr. Hayes," I began, my voice tinged with worry, "could the wolfsbane cause any problems for the baby?"

Dr. Hayes paused, his expression thoughtful as he considered my question. "Wolfsbane is indeed a potent substance, and its effects can be quite unpredictable," he acknowledged. "While there isn't a wealth of research specifically regarding its impact on pregnancy, it's generally considered harmful to both werewolves and humans alike, especially in high doses."

The knot of anxiety tightened in my chest as I absorbed his words. "So, you're saying there's a risk?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Dr. Hayes nodded gravely. "It's difficult to say for certain," he admitted. "But given wolfsbane's toxic properties, it's certainly possible that it could pose a threat to the baby's health, especially if exposure occurred during critical stages of development."

The weight of his words settled over me like a heavy shroud, the realization of the potential danger leaving me feeling helpless and afraid. As the weight of Dr. Hayes's words settled over me, a wave of panic surged through my veins, threatening to engulf me in its suffocating embrace. Wolfsbane—a substance known for its toxicity and danger—had been coursing through my body at the time I was pregnant. The thought of its potential harm to our unborn child sent shivers down my spine, filling me with a sense of overwhelming dread.

Fingers trembling, I reached out to grasp Stiles's hand, seeking solace in his touch. "Stiles," I whispered, my voice barely above a hoarse murmur, "what if... what if the wolfsbane...?"

But the words caught in my throat, choked by the rising tide of fear that threatened to consume me. Images of worst-case scenarios flashed through my mind, each one more terrifying than the last.

Stiles's grip tightened on my hand, his eyes filled with concern and compassion. "Jackson," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm against the storm raging within me, "we'll figure this out. Together."

But his words offered little comfort in the face of the uncertainty that loomed before us. The fear of the unknown gnawed at my insides, a relentless monster that refused to be silenced.

As tears welled in my eyes, I felt a desperate need to escape—to flee from the suffocating grip of fear that threatened to consume me whole. But even as I longed to run, a part of me knew that there was no escaping the reality of our situation.

With a heavy heart, I squeezed Stiles's hand tightly, drawing strength from his unwavering presence. No matter what lay ahead, we would face it together, hand in hand, united in our love and determination to protect our family.

As I sat there, grappling with the overwhelming fear and uncertainty brought on by the news of the potential danger posed by the wolfsbane, my gaze involuntarily drifted downward to my still-flat stomach.

In that moment, my stomach seemed to symbolize everything that was at stake—the precious life growing within me, vulnerable and fragile, yet hidden from view. I couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt, a sense of responsibility weighing heavily on my shoulders.

Was our unborn child already affected by the wolfsbane? Was there any way to protect them from harm? The questions swirled in my mind, a relentless chorus of doubt and fear that threatened to drown out all reason.

I reached out a trembling hand, placing it gently over my stomach as if seeking reassurance. But all I felt was the hollow ache of uncertainty, the silent reminder of the unknown that lay ahead.

Beside me, Stiles's hand found mine, his touch a comforting anchor amidst the storm of emotions raging within me. "Jackson," he whispered, his voice soft yet resolute, "we'll get through this."

As the day of my discharge finally arrived after four long and arduous months in the hospital, a mixture of emotions washed over me. Relief, gratitude, and a lingering sense of apprehension all mingled together as I prepared to leave the familiar confines of the hospital behind.

As I sat on the edge of the hospital bed, dressed in fresh clothes provided by Stiles, I couldn't help but feel a sense of disbelief that this day had finally come. Four months—four long months of surgeries, treatments, and uncertainty—had passed in what felt like the blink of an eye.

Beside me, Stiles stood, his expression a mirror of my own tumultuous emotions. His hand found mine, squeezing it gently in silent reassurance. "We're finally going home," he said, his voice soft but filled with undeniable relief.

I nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of my lips. Home. The word carried with it a sense of warmth and familiarity, a beacon of hope in the midst of the unknown.

With Stiles by my side, I stood, feeling the weight of my time in the hospital lift from my shoulders with each step. As we made our way through the corridors, past the bustling nurses' station and rows of patient rooms, I couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia for the place that had become my temporary home.

But amidst the nostalgia, there was also a profound sense of gratitude—for the doctors and nurses who had cared for me, for the friends and family who had supported me, and most of all, for Stiles, whose unwavering love had been my anchor through it all.

As we stepped through the hospital doors and into the warm embrace of the sunlight, I felt a surge of hope wash over me.

As Stiles and I stepped through the threshold of our home, a sense of relief washed over me. It had been four long months since I had last seen the familiar surroundings of our living space, and the sight of it now felt like a balm to my weary soul.

The soft glow of the lights, the comforting warmth of the air, the familiar scent of home—all of it enveloped me in a sense of calm and belonging that I had sorely missed during my time in the hospital.

I took a moment to simply stand there, drinking in the sights and sounds of our home, each one a precious reminder of the life we had built together.

Stiles came up beside me, his hand finding mine in a silent gesture of solidarity. "Welcome home, Jackson," he said, his voice filled with emotion.

A lump formed in my throat as I turned to him, my heart overflowing with gratitude for his unwavering support throughout everything we had been through. "Thank you, Stiles," I replied, my voice choked with emotion. "For everything."

As I stood before the mirror, the reflection staring back at me bore the marks of the trials I had endured over the past four months. My gaze lingered on the scar that marred my chest, a stark reminder of the surgery that had saved my life yet left its indelible mark upon me.

Tracing a finger along the jagged line of the scar, I couldn't help but marvel at the resilience of the human body, how it could endure such trauma and yet still carry on, a testament to the strength that lay within us all.

But as my eyes traveled downward, lingering on my still-flat stomach, a pang of sadness pierced through me. The sight served as a stark reminder of the life growing within me—a life that had been conceived amidst the chaos and uncertainty of the past few months.

I reached out a trembling hand, pressing it gently against my abdomen as if seeking reassurance. But all I felt was the hollow ache of uncertainty, the silent reminder of the unknown that lay ahead.

Beside me, Stiles appeared in the reflection, his eyes filled with concern and love. "Jackson," he murmured, his voice soft but filled with unwavering support, "you're a survivor. And no matter what lies ahead, we'll face it together."

His words were like a lifeline, grounding me in the present moment and offering a glimmer of hope amidst the uncertainty that loomed before us.

Taking a deep breath, I met his gaze in the mirror, drawing strength from the love and support that radiated from him. No matter what challenges lay ahead, I knew that as long as we faced them together, we could overcome anything.

And as I stood there, hand pressed against my scarred chest, I made a silent vow—to embrace the scars of the past as reminders of the battles I had fought and the strength I had gained, and to look to the future with hope and determination, knowing that no matter what lay ahead, we would face it together, hand in hand.

As Stiles and I made our way to the FBI headquarters, a sense of anticipation gnawed at the pit of my stomach. The decision to return to work after my extended absence was not one I had made lightly, but it was a necessary step forward—one that I hoped would bring a sense of normalcy back into our lives.

As we entered the bustling corridors of the headquarters, I couldn't help but feel a surge of nervous energy coursing through me. It had been months since I had set foot in this building, and the familiarity of it all was both comforting and overwhelming.

We made our way to Tobias Fornell's office, the weight of our conversation hanging heavy in the air between us. Stiles reached out, his hand finding mine in a silent gesture of support, and I drew strength from his presence as we approached the door.

With a deep breath, I knocked on the door, the sound echoing in the quiet of the hallway. "Come in," came Fornell's gruff voice from within, and I pushed open the door, stepping into the familiar confines of his office.

Fornell looked up from his desk, his expression a mixture of surprise and concern as he took in our presence. "Whittemore, Stilinski," he greeted, his voice gruff but not unkind. "What brings you here?"

I exchanged a glance with Stiles, silently steeling myself for the conversation ahead. "Boss, there's something we need to talk to you about," I began, my voice steady despite the nervous fluttering in my chest.

As I explained the situation to Fornell—about my time in the hospital, about the pregnancy I couldn't help but feel a sense of vulnerability wash over me. It was a difficult conversation to have, but it needed to happen.

Fornell listened quietly as I spoke, his expression unreadable. When I finished, there was a moment of silence, as if he was processing everything I had just said.

Finally, he spoke, his voice measured but not unkind. "Whittemore, I appreciate you being honest with me," he said, his gaze steady. "And I understand that these past few months have been... complicated."

I nodded, grateful for his understanding, but also acutely aware of the uncertainty that still lay ahead. "Boss, I want to come back to work," I said, my voice firm. "But I also need to be there for Stiles and our child. I don't know how to balance it all."

Fornell regarded me thoughtfully, his expression softened by a glimmer of empathy. "Whittemore, I can't promise it'll be easy," he said, his tone gentle but firm. "But I can promise you this—we'll figure it out together."

When I finished speaking, there was a brief moment of silence before he spoke.

"Whittemore," Fornell began, his voice carrying a weight of gratitude, "thank you for telling me. And thank you for your bravery—jumping in front of that bullet to protect your team took immense courage."

His words caught me off guard, and for a moment, I was at a loss for how to respond. The memory of that moment—the split-second decision to put myself in harm's way to shield my team from danger—felt like a lifetime ago, yet the weight of it still lingered.

Stiles squeezed my hand, a silent reassurance that I wasn't alone. I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat making it difficult to speak. "I... I just did what I had to do," I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper.

But Fornell nodded, his gaze steady. "And for that, I'm grateful," he replied, his tone sincere. "You saved lives that day, Whittemore. Never forget that."

As we left Fornell's office, his words echoed in my mind, a reminder of the sacrifices we had made and the bonds that held us together.

Chapter Text

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Jackson's Pov

Stiles squeezed my hand, a silent reassurance that I wasn't alone. I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat making it difficult to speak. "I... I just did what I had to do," I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper.

But Fornell nodded, his gaze steady. "And for that, I'm grateful," he replied, his tone sincere. "You saved lives that day, Whittemore. Never forget that."

As we left Fornell's office, his words echoed in my mind, a reminder of the sacrifices we had made and the bonds that held us together.

Jackson's Pov

(15 weeks pregnant)

As Stiles and I navigated the journey of my pregnancy, reaching the milestone of 15 weeks filled us with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. With each passing week, our baby's development continued to amaze us, reminding us of the miracle unfolding within.

At 15 weeks, our baby was about the size of a navel orange, their tiny form gradually taking shape. Their tiny fingers and toes were beginning to form, and their delicate features were becoming more defined with each passing day. It was a surreal experience, knowing that within me, a new life was blossoming, full of endless possibilities and potential.

But alongside the wonder of our baby's development, there were also the inevitable symptoms that came with pregnancy. For me, the nausea had begun to subside somewhat, replaced by a newfound energy and sense of well-being. Yet, I still experienced occasional bouts of fatigue and mood swings, reminders that my body was undergoing profound changes to nurture and protect our growing child.

As my pregnancy progressed, I began to notice subtle changes in my body. My clothes felt a bit snugger, and there was a faint curve beginning to form at my waistline—a visible testament to the life growing within me. It was a surreal feeling.

As I stepped through the bustling corridors of the FBI headquarters, a sense of anticipation tingled in the air around me. It had been a long road to get here—four months of uncertainty, of fear, and of resilience—but finally, I was back at work, ready to resume my duties after my extended absence.

The past few months had been a whirlwind of emotions, marked by the highs and lows of my recovery and the unexpected journey of my pregnancy. But now, as I settled into my new routine, I couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the journey that had brought me here, and a renewed determination to embrace the challenges that lay ahead.

As I made my way to my desk, the familiar sights and sounds of the office greeted me like an old friend. Colleagues nodded in greeting as I passed, their smiles filled with genuine warmth and camaraderie. It was good to be back, to be surrounded by the familiar rhythms of office life once more.

Settling into my chair, I glanced around at the familiar surroundings of my workspace, a sense of comfort washing over me. The desk was exactly as I had left it—neat and organized, with a stack of case files waiting to be reviewed. It felt good to be back in the thick of things, to once again be a part of the team working tirelessly to keep our community safe.

But amidst the familiar routines of office life, there was also the undeniable presence of change—a change that was both exhilarating and daunting in its scope. The knowledge that I was now responsible not only for my well-being but also for the life growing within me, filled me with a sense of awe and wonder.

As I settled into my work, my mind wandered to thoughts of the future—of the challenges and joys that lay ahead, and of the profound transformation that awaited us as we prepared to welcome our child into the world. It was a journey filled with uncertainty, yet also with boundless potential—a journey that I was grateful to share with Stiles by my side.

As the hours passed, I threw myself into my work with renewed vigor, tackling each task with a sense of purpose and determination. There were challenges ahead, of that I was certain, but I knew that with the love and support of my colleagues—and of Stiles—I could face whatever lay ahead with courage and grace.

As I sat at my desk, surrounded by the familiar sights and sounds of the FBI headquarters, my mind couldn't help but wander back to the journey that had brought me to this point.

It all started back in high school—a time when I was a bully, a spoiled brat who thought he had everything figured out. But when I found out I was adopted, everything changed. I became obsessed with being the best, afraid that if I wasn't, my adoptive parents wouldn't want me anymore. It was a toxic mindset, one that led me down a dangerous path of jealousy and resentment.

When Scott became a werewolf, it was like a wake-up call for me. Suddenly, the supernatural world that I had always dismissed as fiction became a reality, and I found myself drawn into a world of danger and intrigue that I never could have imagined.

Becoming a werewolf myself was both a blessing and a curse. It brought me closer to Scott and the others, but it also brought its own set of challenges and dangers. And when I discovered that I was also a Kanima, it was like a punch to the gut—a reminder of the darkness that lurked within me, waiting to be unleashed.

But despite the challenges I faced, there were also moments of light and hope. Repairing my relationships with Scott, Stiles, Lydia, and Allison was one of the best things that ever happened to me. And falling in love with Stiles—that was a revelation, a feeling unlike anything I had ever experienced before.

When Stiles was possessed by the Nogitsune, it felt like my world was crumbling around me. I hated leaving him, knowing that he was suffering and I couldn't do anything to help him. But together, we weathered the storm, emerging stronger than ever before.

And then there were the ghost riders—their arrival heralding a new wave of terror and uncertainty. When Stiles was taken, it was like a knife through my heart. Those six months without him were the longest of my life, filled with fear and longing for his return.

But now, as I sat at my desk, surrounded by the familiar sights and sounds of the FBI headquarters, I couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the journey that had brought me here. And as I glanced at Stiles, his eyes shining with pride and love, I knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, we would face them together, hand in hand, united in our love and unwavering support for each other and our growing family.

Stiles's Pov

As I sat beside Jackson, watching him work diligently at his desk in the FBI headquarters, my mind couldn't help but drift back to the journey that had brought us to this point—a journey filled with twists and turns, triumphs and tribulations, but above all, boundless love and unwavering support.

It all started back in high school, a time when I was just a nerdy kid with a penchant for solving mysteries and a best friend who seemed to attract trouble like a magnet. Jackson, on the other hand, was the popular jock, the one who seemed to have it all figured out—or so I thought.

When Jackson revealed that he was adopted, it was like a crack appeared in the façade he had built around himself, revealing the vulnerable boy beneath. Suddenly, I saw him in a new light—not as the arrogant bully I had once perceived him to be, but as someone struggling to find his place in the world, just like me.

Our friendship began tentatively, born out of a shared sense of loneliness and a desire for acceptance. But as we spent more time together, I began to see glimpses of the real Jackson—the kind, caring, fiercely loyal person hidden beneath the tough exterior.

And then, there was the revelation that changed everything—Jackson's transformation into a Kanima and later, a werewolf. It was a shock, to say the least, but it also brought us closer together, forging a bond between us that was unbreakable.

When I was possessed by the Nogitsune, it was Jackson who stood by my side, unwavering in his determination to save me from myself. And when the ghost riders came, threatening to tear us apart, it was his love and devotion that sustained me through those long, agonizing months without him.

Now, as I watched him work, surrounded by the familiar sights and sounds of the FBI headquarters, I couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at how far we had come. From high school rivals to partners in the FBI, our journey had been anything but ordinary—but it was a journey I wouldn't trade for anything in the world.

As I glanced at Jackson, his expression focused and determined, I felt a surge of pride and gratitude swell within me. No matter what challenges lay ahead, I knew that as long as we had each other, we could overcome anything that came our way.

As I reached out to take his hand in mine, I knew that no matter where life took us, we would face it together, hand in hand, united in our love and unwavering support for each other and our growing family.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm golden glow over the city skyline, Jackson and I made our way home after a long day at the FBI headquarters. The streets were bathed in the soft light of dusk, the hustle and bustle of the city giving way to a sense of calm and tranquility as we walked hand in hand, lost in our own thoughts.

Entering our cozy apartment, a sense of relief washed over me as I kicked off my shoes and sank into the familiar comfort of our living space. The soft glow of the lamps cast a warm, inviting light over the room, creating a sanctuary from the outside world—a place where we could unwind and relax after a busy day.

As I headed into the kitchen to prepare dinner, Jackson settled onto the couch, flipping through the channels on the TV with a contented sigh. The sound of his quiet laughter filled the air, a soothing melody that eased the tension from my shoulders as I moved about the kitchen, the familiar routine of cooking bringing a sense of comfort and familiarity to the evening.

Soon, the tantalizing aroma of dinner filled the air, mingling with the soft strains of music playing in the background as we sat down to eat. We talked and laughed, sharing stories of our day and reveling in the simple pleasure of each other's company.

After dinner, we settled onto the couch, snuggled together beneath a cozy blanket as we watched a movie, the gentle glow of the TV casting shadows across the room. It was a moment of pure contentment, a time to unwind and relax in each other's arms after a long day.

As the movie drew to a close, we exchanged sleepy smiles, our eyelids growing heavy with the promise of a restful night's sleep. Rising from the couch, we made our way to the bedroom, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting a warm, inviting light over the room.

Crawling beneath the covers, we settled into bed, the familiar weight of Jackson's arm draped over me like a comforting embrace. As we lay in bed, our hands resting gently on Jackson's bump, a sense of anticipation hung in the air. The day had been long, filled with the usual chaos of work and the hustle and bustle of city life, but now, in the quiet darkness of our bedroom, there was nothing but the soft sound of our breathing and the comforting warmth of each other's presence.

As we lay there, lost in our own thoughts, I felt a sudden movement beneath my fingertips—a fluttering sensation, so light and delicate that at first, I wasn't sure if I had imagined it. But then it happened again, a gentle kick that sent a surge of excitement coursing through me.

"Did you feel that?" I whispered, my voice barely above a breath.

Jackson nodded beside me, his eyes shining with wonder and awe. "Yeah," he replied, his voice filled with emotion. "I think... I think the baby just kicked."

A rush of emotion washed over me as I realized the significance of the moment. It was our baby, our little miracle, making their presence known for the first time—a tiny spark of life, growing and thriving within Jackson's womb.

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes as I gently caressed Jackson's bump, feeling another faint kick beneath my fingertips. It was a moment of pure joy, a reminder of the incredible journey we were on together, and the boundless love that filled our hearts.

As we lay there, lost in the wonder of the moment, I knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, we would face them together, hand in hand, united in our love for each other and our growing family. And as I pressed a kiss to Jackson's bump, feeling another flutter of movement beneath my lips, I whispered a silent promise to our baby—to always cherish and protect them, and to fill their life with as much love and happiness as they had already brought to ours. We drifted off to sleep, wrapped in the warmth and love of each other's presence—a reminder of the simple joys and blessings that filled our lives every day.

Chapter Text

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Stiles's Pov

As we lay there, lost in the wonder of the moment, I knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, we would face them together, hand in hand, united in our love for each other and our growing family. And as I pressed a kiss to Jackson's bump, feeling another flutter of movement beneath my lips, I whispered a silent promise to our baby—to always cherish and protect them, and to fill their life with as much love and happiness as they had already brought to ours. We drifted off to sleep, wrapped in the warmth and love of each other's presence—a reminder of the simple joys and blessings that filled our lives every day.

Jackson's Pov

(16 weeks pregnant)

As I sit here, my hands resting gently on my bump, I can't help but marvel at the miracle unfolding within me. Sixteen weeks pregnant, and already our baby is growing and developing at an astonishing rate. It's hard to believe that in just a few short months, our little one will be joining us in the world, bringing with them a lifetime of love and joy.

At sixteen weeks, our baby is about the size of an avocado, their tiny form gradually taking shape. Their limbs are becoming more defined, and they're starting to develop their own unique features—a tiny nose, delicate fingers, and maybe even a hint of hair starting to grow on their head. It's a surreal experience, knowing that within me, a new life is blossoming, full of endless possibilities and potential.

But alongside the wonder of our baby's development, there are also the inevitable symptoms that come with pregnancy. For me, the nausea has finally started to ease up, replaced by a newfound energy and sense of well-being. Yet, I still experience occasional bouts of fatigue and mood swings, reminders that my body is undergoing profound changes to nurture and protect our growing child.

As I glance down at my bump, I can't help but smile at the sight of it—a tiny bulge barely noticeable beneath my clothes, but to me, it's a constant reminder of the life growing within me. It's still early days, and my bump is small compared to some of the other pregnant people I've seen, but I know that as the weeks go by, it will continue to grow and expand, until it's undeniable to anyone who looks at me.

But for now, I'm content to cherish every moment of this journey, from the fluttering kicks of our baby to the quiet moments spent with Stiles, our hands intertwined as we marvel at the miracle unfolding before us. And as I feel our baby move beneath my fingertips, I can't help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the gift of new life growing within me, and the love and support of my partner by my side.

As I close my eyes, lost in the wonder of it all, I know that no matter what challenges lie ahead, we will face them together, hand in hand, united in our love and unwavering support for each other and our growing family. And as I drift off to sleep, I whisper a silent prayer for the health and happiness of our baby, and for the countless adventures that await us in the days and weeks to come.

As Stiles and I lay in bed, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting shadows across the room, I couldn't help but feel a sense of wonder and anticipation swirling within me. Sixteen weeks pregnant, and already our baby's presence was felt in every corner of our lives, filling our days with excitement and joy.

But as we lay there, our hands intertwined, a question lingered in the air between us—a question that had been on our minds ever since we found out we were expecting. "Do you think it's a boy or a girl?" Stiles asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

I glanced over at him, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. It was a question we had pondered countless times since we first found out we were going to be parents, a question that held so much significance and meaning for both of us.

"I don't know," I replied honestly, my voice filled with wonder and awe. "But part of me hopes it's a boy. I can't explain it, but there's something about the idea of having a son that just feels right."

Stiles nodded, his expression thoughtful. "I get that," he said, his voice soft and reassuring. "But part of me hopes it's a girl. I've always imagined having a daughter—someone to share all my nerdy interests with, someone to watch cheesy movies and solve mysteries with."

I couldn't help but chuckle at his words, the image of Stiles bonding with our hypothetical daughter bringing a warm feeling to my chest. "Either way," I said, my voice filled with certainty, "I know that our baby is going to be amazing, no matter what gender they are."

Stiles smiled at me, his eyes shining with love and excitement. "Yeah," he agreed, his voice filled with emotion. "They're going to be perfect, just like their dads."

And as we lay there, lost in the wonder of the moment, I couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude for the journey that had brought us here—together, hand in hand, united in our love and unwavering support for each other and our growing family. As I pressed a gentle kiss to Stiles's forehead, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my lips, I knew that no matter what lay ahead, we would face it together, with love and laughter guiding us every step of the way.

(17 weeks pregnant)

As I sit here, my hands resting gently on my burgeoning bump, I can't help but marvel at the miracle unfolding within me. Seventeen weeks pregnant, and already our baby is growing and developing at an astonishing rate. It's hard to believe that in just a few short months, our little one will be joining us in the world, bringing with them a lifetime of love and joy.

At seventeen weeks, our baby is about the size of a turnip, their tiny form gradually taking shape. Their bones are hardening, their muscles are growing stronger, and they're even starting to develop their own unique fingerprints. It's a surreal experience, knowing that within me, a new life is blossoming, full of endless possibilities and potential.

But alongside the wonder of our baby's development, there are also the inevitable symptoms that come with pregnancy. For me, the nausea has finally started to ease up, replaced by a newfound energy and sense of well-being. Yet, I still experience occasional bouts of fatigue and mood swings, reminders that my body is undergoing profound changes to nurture and protect our growing child.

But perhaps the most noticeable change of all is the way my body has transformed over the past few weeks. My bump, once barely noticeable beneath my clothes, has now popped, swelling to a size that is impossible to hide. It's a strange feeling, seeing my body change in such a dramatic way, but also a comforting one—a tangible reminder of the life growing within me.

As I look down at my bump, I can't help but marvel at its size, tracing the curve of it with my fingertips as I feel our baby move beneath my hands. It's a surreal feeling, knowing that within me, a new life is blossoming, full of endless possibilities and potential.

But despite the changes my body has undergone, I can't help but feel a sense of awe and gratitude for the journey that has brought me here. From the moment we found out we were expecting, to the countless doctor's appointments and ultrasounds, each step of the way has been a reminder of the miracle unfolding within me.

And as I look over at Stiles, his eyes filled with wonder and awe, I know that no matter what challenges lie ahead, we will face them together, hand in hand, united in our love and unwavering support for each other and our growing family.

As we prepare to welcome our little one into the world, I can't help but feel a surge of excitement and anticipation wash over me. Seventeen weeks pregnant, and already our baby is filling our lives with love and joy, reminding us of the beauty and wonder of new life.

As I lay here, my hands resting gently on my bump, I can't help but smile at the thought of the adventures that await us as we embark on this journey together. With each passing day, our bond grows stronger, our love deeper, as we eagerly await the arrival of our precious miracle—a testament to the love that has brought us here and the love that will carry us through whatever lies ahead.

As Stiles and I sat together in our cozy apartment, surrounded by the familiar sights and sounds of home, a question lingered in the air between us—a question that had been on our minds for quite some time now. "Do you think we should move into a house?" Stiles asked, his voice tentative.

I looked over at him, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. It was a question we had pondered countless times since we found out we were going to be parents, a question that held so much significance and meaning for both of us.

"I think it's worth considering," I replied, my voice filled with excitement and anticipation. "I mean, our apartment is great and all, but it's starting to feel a bit cramped, especially with the baby on the way."

Stiles nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Yeah, I've been feeling the same way," he admitted, his voice soft and reassuring. "I think a house would give us more space to spread out, and it would be nice to have a yard for the baby to play in."

I couldn't help but smile at the thought, imagining our little one running around in the sunshine, their laughter filling the air. "Plus," I added, "it would be nice to have a bit more privacy. I love our neighbors and all, but sometimes it feels like we're living on top of each other."

Stiles chuckled, nodding in agreement. "True," he said, "but I'm going to miss the convenience of living in the city. Everything is so close by—the grocery store, the coffee shop, even the park."

I nodded, acknowledging his point. "Yeah, I get that," I said, "but I think the pros outweigh the cons. Plus, we can always find a house that's close to all the amenities we love."

Stiles smiled at me, his eyes shining with excitement. "You're right," he said, his voice filled with determination. "Let's start looking for houses tomorrow. I want our little one to have the best possible start in life, and I think a house would be the perfect place to raise them."

And as we sat there, lost in conversation about our future home, I couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude for the journey that had brought us here. From high school rivals to partners and working in the FBI, our journey had been anything but ordinary—but it was a journey I wouldn't trade for anything in the world.

As Stiles and I embarked on our journey to find the perfect home for our growing family, excitement and anticipation filled the air around us. Living in Quantico, Virginia, we were surrounded by picturesque landscapes and charming neighborhoods, each offering its own unique charm and appeal.

Our search began in earnest, with us poring over listings online, making phone calls to real estate agents, and scheduling appointments to view potential properties. It was an exciting time for us, filled with dreams of our future and the possibilities that lay ahead.

Our first stop was a cozy cottage nestled in the heart of Old Town Quantico. As we stepped inside, the warmth of the hardwood floors and the soft natural light streaming through the windows filled us with a sense of comfort and belonging. The kitchen was spacious and inviting, with plenty of room for us to cook meals together and entertain guests. And the backyard was a lush oasis, with a sprawling lawn and a charming patio where we could relax and unwind after a long day.

But as much as we loved the cottage, we couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't quite right for us. It was a beautiful home, to be sure, but it lacked the space and privacy we were hoping for, especially with a baby on the way.

Our next stop was a spacious colonial-style house located just outside of town. As we stepped inside, we were greeted by soaring ceilings and an open floor plan that felt both grand and inviting. The kitchen was a chef's dream, with state-of-the-art appliances and plenty of counter space for us to prepare meals together. And the backyard was a sprawling paradise, with a sparkling pool and a lush garden where we could grow our own fruits and vegetables.

But despite its many charms, the colonial house felt too big and impersonal for us. It was a beautiful home, to be sure, but it lacked the cozy charm and intimacy we were hoping for, especially as we prepared to welcome our little one into the world.

Our search continued, each property offering its own unique blend of features and amenities. Some were too small, others too big. Some were too far from town, others too close to noisy highways. But through it all, one thing remained constant—the love and support we shared for each other and our growing family.

And then, just when we least expected it, we stumbled upon our dream home—a charming bungalow nestled in a quiet cul-de-sac just a few blocks from downtown Quantico. As we stepped inside, we knew we had found something special. The cozy living room was bathed in natural light, with a fireplace that would be perfect for cozying up on cold winter nights. The kitchen was bright and airy, with gleaming countertops and stainless steel appliances that sparkled in the sunlight. And the backyard was a peaceful retreat, with a deck where we could enjoy meals al fresco and a spacious lawn where our little one could play and explore to their heart's content.

But it wasn't just the physical features of the house that drew us in—it was the feeling of warmth and welcome that seemed to emanate from every corner. It was as if the house was calling out to us, inviting us to make it our own and fill it with love and laughter for years to come.

As we stood there, hand in hand, we knew that this was the place where we were meant to build our future together. As we signed the papers and officially became the proud owners of our dream home, we couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the journey that had brought us here.

As Stiles and I stood on the front steps of our new home, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of moving day, a sense of excitement and anticipation filled the air around us. Our friends and packmates had gathered to lend a helping hand, their laughter and chatter echoing through the neighborhood as they unloaded boxes and carried furniture into the house.

It was a scene straight out of a movie—chaotic yet exhilarating, filled with the promise of new beginnings and fresh starts. As I looked around at the familiar faces of our friends, I couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude for the love and support they had shown us throughout this journey.

"Are you sure you want to break the lease on the apartment?" Stiles asked, his brow furrowed with concern as he glanced over at me.

I nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "Yeah, I think it's time," I replied, my voice filled with determination. "This house feels like home, and I want us to focus on building a life here, together."

Stiles smiled back at me, his eyes shining with excitement. "Okay then," he said, his voice filled with enthusiasm. "Let's make it official."

And with that, Stiles pulled out his phone and dialed the number for our landlord, informing them of our decision to break the lease on the apartment. It was a bittersweet moment, saying goodbye to the place where we had shared so many memories together, but it also marked the beginning of a new chapter in our lives—a chapter filled with endless possibilities and potential.

As our friends continued to unload boxes and set up furniture inside the house, Stiles and I took a moment to explore our new surroundings. The living room was cozy and inviting, with a fireplace that would be perfect for cozying up on cold winter nights. The kitchen was bright and airy, with gleaming countertops and plenty of cabinet space for all of our cooking gadgets. And the backyard was a peaceful retreat, with a deck where we could enjoy meals al fresco and a spacious lawn where our little one could play and explore to their heart's content.

But it wasn't just the physical features of the house that made it feel like home—it was the love and laughter that seemed to fill every corner, a tangible reminder of the life we were building together. And as I looked around at the familiar faces of our friends, I knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, we would face them together, hand in hand, united in our love and unwavering support for each other and our growing family.

As the day wore on and the last box was finally unloaded, our friends gathered in the backyard for a celebratory barbecue, the smell of grilled burgers and laughter filling the air. It was a moment of pure joy and happiness, a testament to the bonds of friendship and the power of love.

As I looked around at the smiling faces of our friends, I couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude for the journey that had brought us here—together, surrounded by the people we loved most in the world. As I reached out to take Stiles's hand in mine, I knew that no matter what the future held, as long as we had each other, we could overcome anything that came our way. 

(18 weeks pregnant)

As Stiles and I lay in bed together, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting shadows across the room, a sense of peace and contentment washed over us. Eighteen weeks pregnant, and already our baby was growing and developing at a remarkable pace. It was a surreal feeling, knowing that within me, a new life was blossoming—a life that would forever change our world in ways we couldn't even begin to imagine.

At eighteen weeks, our baby was about the size of a sweet potato, their tiny form gradually taking shape. Their bones were hardening, their muscles were growing stronger, and they were even starting to develop their own unique fingerprints. It was a miraculous process, one that filled us with awe and wonder every time we thought about it.

But alongside the wonder of our baby's development, there were also the inevitable symptoms that came with pregnancy. For me, the nausea had finally started to ease up, replaced by a newfound energy and sense of well-being. Yet, I still experienced occasional bouts of fatigue and mood swings, reminders that my body was undergoing profound changes to nurture and protect our growing child.

But despite the challenges of pregnancy, there were also moments of pure joy and magic—moments like the one we were experiencing now, as we lay together in the quiet darkness of our bedroom, our hands resting gently on my bump.

And then, it happened—the moment we had been waiting for, the moment that would change everything. I felt a fluttering sensation in my stomach, a tiny movement that sent a wave of excitement coursing through my veins.

"Did you feel that?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper as I turned to look at Stiles.

Stiles's eyes widened with excitement, his hand reaching out to rest on my bump. "Yeah," he breathed, his voice filled with wonder and awe. "I think the baby just kicked."

I couldn't help but smile at the thought, the realization sinking in that our little one was already making their presence known in the world. It was a moment I would never forget, a moment that filled me with a sense of wonder and joy, unlike anything I had ever experienced before.

As we lay there together, lost in the magic of the moment, I knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, we would face them together, hand in hand, united in our love and unwavering support for each other and our growing family. We fall asleep like this.

Chapter Text

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Jackson's Pov

I couldn't help but smile at the thought, the realization sinking in that our little one was already making their presence known in the world. It was a moment I would never forget, a moment that filled me with a sense of wonder and joy, unlike anything I had ever experienced before.

As we lay there together, lost in the magic of the moment, I knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, we would face them together, hand in hand, united in our love and unwavering support for each other and our growing family. We fall asleep like this.

(19 weeks pregnant) 

Jackson's Pov

As I entered my nineteenth week of pregnancy, the anticipation and excitement surrounding the impending arrival of our little one only seemed to grow stronger with each passing day. Our baby was now about the size of a mango, their tiny form continuing to develop and take shape within the confines of my womb. It was a miraculous process that never ceased to fill me with awe and wonder.

Despite the awe-inspiring nature of pregnancy, there were also the inevitable symptoms that came along with it. The nausea had finally begun to subside for me, replaced by a newfound energy and sense of well-being. Yet, there were still moments when fatigue and mood swings threatened to overwhelm me, reminders that my body was undergoing profound changes to nurture and protect our growing child.

However, one of the unexpected joys of pregnancy was my newfound appreciation for desk duty. As a member of the FBI, I was accustomed to the fast-paced, adrenaline-fueled world of fieldwork—chasing down leads, apprehending suspects, and solving cases with my partner and husband, Stiles, by my side. But now, with a baby on the way, desk duty had taken on a whole new significance for me.

Instead of feeling frustrated or confined by the limitations of desk duty, I embraced the opportunity to catch up on paperwork, research leads, and coordinate with other departments. It was a chance to slow down, take a step back from the chaos of the field, and focus on the important work of keeping our community safe.

And so, as I settled into my desk at the FBI headquarters in Quantico, Virginia, I couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the opportunity to contribute differently. Each day, I threw myself into my work with renewed vigor, determined to make the most of this new chapter in my life.

"Jackson, Fornell wants to see you in his office," my colleague, Emily, called out from across the room, snapping me out of my reverie.

I nodded, pushing myself up from my desk and going to Fornell's office. As I entered, I found him poring over a stack of paperwork, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" I asked, taking a seat across from him.

Fornell looked up, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Jackson, I need you to come with me to NCIS," he said, his voice serious. "We've got a case that's gotten mixed up with Gibbs and his team, and I need you to help sort things out."

I nodded, excitement coursing through my veins at the prospect of working with NCIS. It was a rare opportunity I wasn't about to pass up.

"Of course, sir," I replied, my voice filled with determination. "I'll do whatever it takes to help."

Fornell nodded, a look of approval in his eyes. "Good," he said. "Let's go."

As we headed to NCIS headquarters, my mind buzzed with anticipation. Working alongside Gibbs and his team was an honor, and I was determined to prove myself worthy of the opportunity.

When we arrived, Gibbs and his team were already amid a briefing, their voices low and intense as they discussed the case details. I couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement as I took in the scene before me, the familiar sights and sounds of a well-oiled investigative team at work.

Fornell and I joined the briefing, listening intently as Gibbs outlined the case details. It was complex, involving multiple suspects and a web of lies and deception that stretched across state lines.

As the briefing ended, Gibbs turned to me, his eyes narrowing with curiosity. "It's nice to see you again, Whittemore," he said, his voice gruff but not unkind.

I nodded, offering him a small smile. "Thank you, Gibbs," I replied. 

Gibbs nodded in acknowledgment, his gaze momentarily lingering on me before returning to the rest of his team. "Alright, let's get to work," he said, his voice firm and commanding.

As the team dispersed, Fornell pulled me aside, a serious look on his face. "I need you to stay here with Abby," he said, gesturing towards the forensic scientist who was busy at work in her lab. "Everyone else is going out into the field, but you know why you can't go into the field"

I nodded, understanding the importance of the task at hand. "Yes I do, sir," I replied, my voice filled with determination.

Fornell clapped me on the shoulder, a reassuring smile on his face. "I know you will, Jackson," he said. "Now go and help Abby with whatever she needs."

As I made my way over to Abby's lab, I couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and anticipation. Working alongside one of the best forensic scientists in the business was a rare opportunity that I wasn't about to take lightly.

"Hey there, Jackson!" Abby exclaimed, her face lighting up with a bright smile as I entered the lab. "I'm so glad you're here! I could use an extra pair of hands."

I grinned back at her, eager to dive into the work ahead. "I'm here to help in any way I can," I replied, my voice filled with enthusiasm.

As Abby and I began analyzing evidence and piecing together clues, I couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement at the thought of the challenges and adventures ahead. With each passing moment, I grew more confident in my abilities and more determined to make a difference in the world. I glanced over at Abby, her eyes shining with excitement and passion. I knew that we could accomplish anything we set our minds to together. With each passing day, our bond grew stronger, our friendship deeper, as we worked tirelessly to uncover the truth and bring justice to those who deserved it most.

As Abby and I delved into the task at hand, analyzing evidence and piecing together clues, a comfortable silence settled between us. But as the hours passed and the work stretched on, Abby's curiosity got the better of her, and she turned to me with a curious gleam in her eye.

"So, Jackson," she began, her voice warm and inviting, "what's it like to be pregnant?"

I couldn't help but chuckle at the question, grateful for the opportunity to share my experiences with someone genuinely interested. "Well, Abby," I replied, my voice tinged with amusement, "it's certainly been a journey, that's for sure."

Abby nodded, her expression thoughtful as she listened intently. "I can imagine," she said, her voice soft and empathic. "It must be such an amazing feeling, knowing that you're bringing a new life into the world."

I smiled at the thought, feeling pride and excitement inside me. "It is," I admitted, my voice filled with emotion. "Every kick, every flutter—a reminder of the miracle growing inside me, a constant source of joy and wonder."

Abby's eyes sparkled with curiosity as she leaned in closer, her eagerness palpable. "Have you and Stiles started thinking about names yet?" she asked, her voice filled with anticipation.

I nodded, a smile playing at the corners of my lips. "Yeah, we have," I replied, my voice tinged with excitement. "We've been tossing around a few ideas, but nothing feels right. We want to ensure we choose a perfect name for our little one."

Abby's face lit up with delight, her excitement contagious. "That's so sweet," she exclaimed, her voice filled with admiration. "I'm sure your chosen name will be perfect for your baby."

I grinned back at her, feeling grateful for her kind words. "Thanks, Abby," I said, my voice warm with appreciation. "That means a lot to us."

As we continued to work, the conversation flowed easily between us. I couldn't help but feel a sense of connection and camaraderie with Abby. Despite our differences, we shared a common bond—a deep love and appreciation for the mysteries of life and the wonders of the universe.

With each passing moment, our bond grew stronger, our friendship deeper as we shared stories, laughter, dreams, and aspirations. As the day wore on and the sun began to sink below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the bustling streets of Quantico, I knew that I had found a true friend in Abby Sciuto.

Chapter Text

Team Boy or Team Girl

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Jackson's Pov

As we settled into bed together, wrapped in each other's arms, I couldn't help but feel a sense of peace and contentment wash over me. No matter what challenges lay ahead, as long as I had Stiles, I knew everything would be okay.

With each passing moment, our bond grew stronger, our love deeper, as we cherished the simple yet profound moments of togetherness that made life worth living. As I closed my eyes and felt the steady rhythm of Stiles's heartbeat against my chest, I knew the best was yet to come.

Jackson's Pov

(20 weeks pregnant)

As I reached the halfway point of my pregnancy at twenty weeks, the reality of becoming a parent settled more deeply into my consciousness. Our baby was now about the size of a banana, measuring around six and a half inches from head to rump. They were starting to develop their own unique sleep and wake cycles, and their taste buds were forming, allowing them to start tasting the foods I ate through the amniotic fluid.

The changes in my body were more noticeable now. My bump had grown significantly, and it was clear to anyone who looked at me that I was expecting. Despite the discomforts—occasional backaches, swollen feet, and the constant need to find a comfortable sleeping position—I couldn't help but feel a profound sense of wonder and gratitude for the life growing within me.

One evening, as Stiles and I settled on the couch after dinner, I felt our baby's strong kicks and movements. I placed my hand on my bump, a smile spreading across my face. "Stiles, come here. The baby is really active tonight."

Stiles immediately set down the book he was reading and moved closer, placing his hand next to mine on my bump. "Hey, little one," he whispered, his voice filled with awe and affection. "Your dad is feeling you move a lot tonight."

We sat in silence for a few moments, feeling the rhythmic kicks and movements. Stiles's eyes widened with each kick, and his smile grew wider. "It's incredible," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Our baby is really in there, growing and moving around."

I nodded, feeling a swell of emotion at the sight of Stiles's joy and wonder. "Yeah, it's pretty amazing. I still can't believe we're halfway there."

Stiles leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to my bump. "You're doing an incredible job, Jackson. I know it's not easy, but you're handling everything so well."

I smiled, feeling a mix of pride and gratitude. "Thanks, Stiles. It hasn't been easy, but it's all worth it. I can't wait to meet our little one."

Stiles wrapped his arm around me, pulling me close. "Me too. We're going to be great parents, Jackson. I just know it."

As we sat there together, feeling our baby's movements and dreaming about the future, I couldn't help but reflect on how far we had come. From our high school days in Beacon Hills to our careers in the FBI and now preparing to become parents, our journey had been anything but ordinary. But through it all, our love and partnership had only grown stronger.

The next day at work, Fornell approached me with a concerned look on his face. "Jackson, how are you feeling? I know you're halfway through your pregnancy now, and I want to make sure you're not overexerting yourself."

I appreciated his concern and gave him a reassuring smile. "I'm doing okay, Fornell. It's definitely getting more challenging, but I'm managing. And Stiles has been amazing, helping me at home and ensuring I'm taking care of myself."

Fornell nodded, his expression softening. "That's good to hear. Just remember, please let me know if you need to take a break or adjust your workload. Your health and the baby's well-being are the most important things right now."

"Thank you, Fornell. I appreciate it," I replied, feeling grateful for his understanding and support.

As Stiles and I settled into bed, the room bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the curtains, a sense of peace enveloped us. At twenty weeks pregnant, our lives were in anticipation and excitement. We often spent our evenings talking about our baby and the future we were building together.

Stiles shifted closer to me, his hand resting gently on my bump. "Do you ever think about whether we want a boy or a girl?" he asked, his voice soft and filled with curiosity.

I smiled, placing my hand over his. "All the time," I admitted. "But honestly, I don't think it really matters to me. I just want our baby to be healthy and happy."

Stiles nodded, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on my bump. "Same here. But it's still fun to think about, isn't it? Like, what if we have a little boy who's as mischievous as you were in high school?"

I chuckled at the thought. "That would be something, wouldn't it? But what if we have a girl who’s just as brilliant and curious as you? Someone who questions everything and never stops seeking the truth."

Stiles's eyes sparkled with excitement. "That would be amazing too. I can already see her, running around the house, solving mysteries and keeping us on our toes."

We both laughed at the images we were conjuring up, the joy and excitement of parenthood filling the room. "Do you have any names in mind?" I asked, curious about Stiles's thoughts.

Stiles thought for a moment, his brow furrowing in concentration. "For a boy, I've always liked the name Eli. It has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

"Eli," I repeated, testing the name on my tongue. "Yeah, I like it. Strong and simple."

"And for a girl," Stiles continued, his voice softening, "I've always loved the name Lyla. It feels timeless and beautiful."

"Lyla," I echoed, a warm feeling spreading through me. "That's a lovely name. I can picture it now—Eli or Lyla running around, filling our lives with even more love and chaos."

Stiles grinned, his excitement palpable. "It doesn't matter to me whether we have a boy or a girl. I just want them to know how much they're loved, even before they're born."

I nodded, feeling a swell of emotion at his words. "They will, Stiles. I promise you that. We'll make sure they grow up knowing they're surrounded by love and support."

As we lay there, dreaming about our future, I felt our baby kick again, a reminder of the life growing within me. I placed Stiles's hand on my bump, letting him feel the movements.

"Feeling active tonight, aren't we?" Stiles murmured, his eyes filled with wonder.

I smiled, feeling a sense of connection to our baby and to Stiles. "It's like they know we're talking about them."

Stiles leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to my bump. "Hey there, little one. We're so excited to meet you. Whether you're a boy or a girl, it doesn't matter to us. We already love you more than you can imagine."

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes as I watched Stiles interact with our baby. It was in these quiet moments, filled with love and anticipation, that I realized how lucky I was to have him by my side.

"You're going to be an amazing dad," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion.

Stiles looked up at me, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "And you're going to be an amazing dad too, Jackson. Our baby is so lucky to have you."

We lay there in silence for a while, simply enjoying being together and dreaming about the future. The world outside our bedroom faded away, leaving just the two of us and the baby we eagerly awaited.

As the night wore on and we drifted closer to sleep, I felt a profound sense of peace and contentment. Despite the challenges and uncertainties that lay ahead, I knew that as long as we had each other, we could handle anything that came our way.

Our journey was beginning, and I couldn't wait to see where it would take us. Whether we had a boy or a girl, it didn't matter. What mattered was the love we shared and the family we were building together.

With Stiles by my side and our baby growing stronger daily, I knew that the future was bright and filled with endless possibilities. As I closed my eyes, feeling the steady rhythm of our baby's kicks beneath my fingertips, I knew that the best was yet to come.

As the date for our OB appointment approached, Stiles and I frequently discussed the future—our hopes, dreams, and fears. One evening, after a quiet dinner at home, we sat on the couch, the soft glow of the living room lamp casting a warm light around us. The topic hovering at the edges of our conversations finally took center stage.

"Jackson," Stiles began, his voice soft but serious. Have you considered what we’ll do if the baby is supernatural?"

I looked at him, his earnest eyes reflecting both concern and curiosity. It was a question that had been on my mind ever since we found out we were expecting, but I hadn't quite found the words to express my thoughts.

"Yeah, I have," I admitted, leaning back against the couch cushions. "It's hard not to think about it, considering everything we've been through. I mean, look at us. You're human, and I'm a hybrid of werewolf and Kanima. There's a good chance our baby could inherit some supernatural traits."

Stiles nodded, his expression thoughtful. "And if they do, we need to be prepared. We need to know how to help them, how to guide them. We’ve both seen how tough it can be growing up with supernatural abilities."

I sighed, feeling the weight of his words. "You're right. We can't just hope for the best and ignore the possibilities. If our baby is supernatural, we need to be ready to support them, to teach them how to control their abilities, and to keep them safe."

Stiles reached out and took my hand, his touch a comforting anchor. "And we will, Jackson. We have the pack, and we have each other. We'll make sure our child grows up knowing they’re loved and supported, no matter what."

I squeezed his hand, grateful for his unwavering support. "I know we will. But it still scares me. I don’t want our child to go through the same struggles we did. I don’t want them to feel like they have to hide who they are."

Stiles nodded, his eyes filled with empathy. "Me neither. But think about how much more we know now. We have resources, knowledge, and a community that understands. Our child won't have to face this alone. And they’ll have two parents who love them more than anything."

A small smile tugged at my lips as I thought about our baby growing up surrounded by the pack, learning from the experiences of those who had come before them. "You’re right. We’ve been through a lot, but we’ve also learned a lot. We can use that to help our child navigate their world, supernatural or not."

Stiles leaned in closer, his gaze intense and filled with love. "And no matter what, we’ll make sure they know that being different doesn’t make them any less loved or valued. It just makes them special."

I felt a surge of emotion at his words, a mixture of love and determination welling up inside me. "Exactly. We’ll be there for them every step of the way, helping them understand their abilities and showing them that they’re perfect just the way they are."

Stiles grinned, his eyes shining with pride and excitement. "You’re going to be an amazing dad, Jackson. Our baby is so lucky to have you."

I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes, overwhelmed by the love and support radiating from Stiles. "And they’re lucky to have you too, Stiles. We will be a great team, no matter the challenges."

As we sat there, holding each other close and dreaming about the future, I felt a sense of peace settle over me. Despite the uncertainties and fears, I knew we could handle anything together. Our love was strong enough to face any challenge, and our commitment to our child was unwavering.

As we prepared for our OB appointment the next day, the conversation from the night before lingered in my mind. I felt renewed determination and hope, ready to face whatever the future held for our growing family.

As Stiles and I drove to our OB appointment, a mix of excitement and nerves bubbled up inside me. Today, we were scheduled for a detailed ultrasound and a checkup that would give us a closer look at our baby and how they were developing at the halfway point of the pregnancy.

"You okay?" Stiles asked, glancing over at me as he maneuvered the car through the bustling streets of Quantico.

"Yeah," I replied, smiling at his concern. "Just a little nervous, I guess. I know everything's probably fine, but I can't help but worry a little."

Stiles reached over and squeezed my hand, offering a comforting smile. "I know what you mean. But we're in good hands, and I'm sure Dr. Roberts will tell us that everything is right on track."

I nodded, appreciating his reassurance. Dr. Roberts had been wonderful throughout the pregnancy so far, and I trusted her expertise completely. Still, there was always that nagging worry in the back of my mind, a constant companion throughout this journey.

We arrived at the clinic and checked in at the front desk. The waiting room was quiet, with a few other expectant parents flipping through magazines or scrolling through their phones. We found seats near the window, and I tried to focus on the serene view outside to calm my nerves.

"Jackson Whittemore?" The nurse called, her voice bright and cheerful.

Stiles and I stood up, and I felt a flutter of anticipation in my chest. We followed the nurse down the hall to the examination room, where she took my vitals and chatted with us about how we were feeling.

"How's the pregnancy treating you so far, Jackson?" she asked, her tone warm and friendly.

"Pretty well, actually," I replied. "The nausea has mostly gone away, and I'm starting to feel more energized. The baby's been really active lately, too."

The nurse smiled. "That's great to hear. Dr. Roberts will be in shortly to do the ultrasound. You can go ahead and get comfortable on the table."

As I settled onto the examination table, Stiles took a seat beside me, his hand finding mine once again. "This is it," he said, his voice filled with excitement. "We're going to see our baby again."

A few minutes later, Dr. Roberts entered the room, her presence calm and reassuring. "Hello, Jackson, Stiles," she greeted us with a warm smile. "How are you both doing today?"

"We're good, Dr. Roberts," I replied. "Excited to see the baby."

"Excellent," she said, pulling on a pair of gloves. "Let's get started, shall we?"

Dr. Roberts prepared the ultrasound machine and applied the cool gel to my abdomen. As she moved the transducer over my bump, the screen flickered to life, revealing the image of our baby.

"There's your little one," she said, her voice filled with warmth. "Everything looks great. The baby's measuring right on track for twenty weeks."

Stiles and I gazed at the screen in awe, our eyes fixed on the tiny, wiggling form of our baby. "Look at that," Stiles whispered, his voice filled with wonder. "That's our baby."

I felt a surge of emotion at the sight, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. "They're beautiful," I said, my voice choked with emotion.

Dr. Roberts continued to take measurements and check the baby's development, her voice calm and reassuring as she explained each step. "The baby's heart looks strong, and all the major organs are developing normally. Everything is looking perfect."

As she finished the ultrasound, she turned to us with a smile. "Would you like to know the baby's gender, or do you want to keep it a surprise?"

Stiles and I exchanged a glance, a silent conversation passing between us. "What do you think?" he asked, his eyes sparkling excitedly.

"I think I'd like to know," I replied, my heart pounding with anticipation. "But only if you want to, too."

Stiles grinned. "Yeah, let's find out."

Dr. Roberts maneuvered the ultrasound wand, focusing on a specific angle. "It looks like you're having a..."

Chapter Text

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Jackson's Pov

"I think I'd like to know," I replied, my heart pounding with anticipation. "But only if you want to, too."

Stiles grinned. "Yeah, let's find out."

Dr. Roberts maneuvered the ultrasound wand, focusing on a specific angle. "It looks like you're having a..."

"Congratulations, you're having a baby boy."

A rush of emotions flooded through me—joy, excitement, and a profound sense of wonder. "A boy," I whispered, my voice trembling with emotion. "We're having a son."

Stiles squeezed my hand, his eyes shining with tears. "A son. Jackson, we're going to have a little boy."

Dr. Roberts finished up the ultrasound and handed us a few printed images of our baby. "Everything looks great," she said, her voice warm and reassuring. "Keep doing what you're doing, and we'll see you again for your next appointment."

As we left the clinic, the reality of what we had just learned settled over us. We were going to have a son. The thought filled me with a sense of awe and excitement, a feeling that stayed with me as we made our way home.

That evening, as we lay in bed, our hands resting gently on my bump, we talked about our future and the life we were building together.

"I can't believe it," Stiles said, his voice filled with wonder. "We're going to have a son."

"I know," I replied, my voice soft with emotion. "It's still sinking in for me, too."

Stiles leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to my bump. "Hey there, little guy. We can't wait to meet you. You're already so loved."

I smiled, feeling a sense of peace and contentment wash over me. "He's going to be amazing, Stiles. I know it."

Stiles wrapped his arm around me, pulling me close. "Yeah, he is. And we're going to be amazing parents."

As we lay there, dreaming about our future and the adventures that awaited us, I knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, we would face them together, hand in hand, united in our love and unwavering support for each other and our growing family.

With each passing day, our bond grew stronger, our love deeper, as we eagerly awaited the arrival of our precious miracle—a testament to the love that had brought us here and the love that would

21 weeks pregnant

At 21 weeks pregnant, every day brought new changes and experiences. Our baby was now about the size of a large banana, and his movements were becoming more pronounced, with kicks and flutters that Stiles and I could feel regularly. These moments brought us incredible joy and reinforced the deep bond we were forming with our son even before his birth.

Yet, with these joyous developments came a few challenges. My backaches had intensified due to the growing weight I was carrying, and I often found myself battling fatigue, which struck at unpredictable times. Despite these discomforts, my excitement overshadowed the inconveniences.

Stiles and I enjoyed a leisurely breakfast one quiet Saturday morning, a rare slow start to our usually busy weekends.

"Hey, how's the star player doing this morning?" Stiles asked playfully, reaching over to rub my belly gently.

"He's been pretty active today," I replied, chuckling as I felt another flutter. "Feels like he's practicing some gymnastics in there."

Stiles smiled, his eyes filled with wonder. "It's amazing to think about all the growth and development happening right now. Just a few weeks ago, he was the size of a carrot, and now he's a full-blown banana!"

I laughed, appreciating Stiles's attempt to lighten the mood with his quirky sense of humor. "From vegetables to fruits, huh? What's next, a pumpkin?"

"Only if he plans on arriving around Halloween," Stiles quipped, then grew more serious. "But seriously, Jackson, how are you feeling with all these changes? I know the backaches have been tough on you."

I sighed, appreciating his concern. "It's been hard, I won't lie. The back pain is more intense, and I get tired so easily. But every kick, every little movement he makes—it all reminds me why it's worth it."

Stiles reached for my hand across the table, squeezing it reassuringly. "You're doing an incredible job, you know that? I see how strong you are, how you handle everything with such grace."

"Thanks, babe," I said, feeling a rush of affection for him. "It means a lot to hear that, especially from you. Sometimes I just need a little reminder that I can do this."

"You can do anything, Jackson. And remember, you’re not doing it alone. I’m here, every step of the way."

Our conversation was interrupted by my phone buzzing with a calendar notification. "Oh, it looks like we have our prenatal yoga class this afternoon. Are you still up for it?" I asked, knowing that Stiles had eagerly signed us up as a way to support me and also bond as a family.

"Absolutely," Stiles replied with enthusiasm. "I’ve read that it can really help with your back pain and overall well-being. Plus, it gives me an excuse to show off my not-so-flexible yoga skills."

I laughed, grateful for his willingness to dive headfirst into all aspects of this pregnancy with me. "Well, let’s hope you don’t pull a muscle. Our son needs his dad in top form."

Later that day, as we laid out our yoga mats in the tranquil studio filled with other expectant couples, I felt a sense of community and support that only strengthened my resolve and excitement. The instructor greeted us warmly, guiding us through gentle poses designed to help with the discomforts of pregnancy and prepare our bodies for childbirth.

Throughout the session, I couldn’t help but notice Stiles’s attentive glances and his protective hand that often reached out to ensure I was stable and comfortable. It was these small gestures that continually reminded me of the depth of his love and commitment.

As we concluded the session with a relaxing meditation, the instructor spoke softly, "Allow yourself to feel connected not only with your body but with the new life growing inside of you. Embrace the journey with love and patience."

Her words resonated deeply with me, and as we packed up to leave, I felt refreshed and more connected with our baby and with Stiles.

On the drive home, I turned to Stiles, reaching out to place my hand over his as he drove. "Today was perfect," I said sincerely. "Thank you for being here, for doing this with me."

Stiles smiled, his eyes reflecting his love. "There’s nowhere else I’d rather be, Jackson. These are the moments that matter. You, me, and our little guy—we’re in this together."

As we arrived home and settled back into the comfort of our living space, I reflected on the day. Each kick, each moment of connection—it all built up to a profound appreciation for the life we were creating and the future we were excited to meet head-on.

Lying in bed that night, Stiles's hand resting gently on my bump, we both felt a powerful kick, a reminder of the vibrant life growing steadily within me.

"Looks like he enjoyed yoga too," I whispered, smiling in the dim light of our bedroom.

"Definitely a yogi in the making," Stiles replied, his voice full of joy and anticipation.

As sleep began to overtake us, enveloped in the quiet peace of our shared existence, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude and love. The journey might be fraught with challenges and unknowns, but together, we were ready for anything—and more in love than ever.

As I settled into another day of desk duty at the FBI headquarters in Quantico, I couldn't help but appreciate the slower pace that my current role allowed. Being 21 weeks pregnant, the less physically demanding nature of desk duty was a blessing, though I still missed the adrenaline of fieldwork. The office buzz hummed around me, a constant reminder of the agency's unending activity.

Stiles stopped by my desk on his way to a meeting, coffee in hand, offering me a warm, comforting smile. "How's the best desk jockey in the bureau doing this morning?" he teased gently, leaning against my desk.

I chuckled, glancing up at him with a mock glare. "Watch it, or I'll spill the beans about who really does all the paperwork in our partnership," I shot back playfully, taking the coffee he offered with gratitude.

"Your secret's safe with me," Stiles replied, winking. "But seriously, how are you holding up? I know this isn't exactly where you want to be."

I sighed, taking a sip of my coffee. "It's not so bad. Honestly, it's probably for the best right now. This little guy," I said, patting my growing bump, "doesn't need the extra stress of fieldwork."

Stiles nodded, his expression softening. "Just make sure you're not overdoing it, even here. Remember, you're not just working for one anymore."

I smiled, touched by his concern. "I promise. I've actually been enjoying digging deeper into the analytics side of things. It's given me a new perspective on our cases."

The conversation shifted as Fornell approached my desk, a folder in his hands. "Whittemore," he greeted, his tone business-like yet friendly, "got a moment?"

"Of course, sir," I replied, gesturing to the chair opposite my desk.

Fornell sat down, placing the folder in front of me. "I need your analytical mind on this. We've got a string of cyber-attacks that seem random, but I'm betting they're connected. Take a look and see what patterns you can find."

I opened the folder, intrigued by the challenge. "I'll dive into it," I assured him. "If there's a connection, I'll find it."

"Good man," Fornell said, standing. He paused, looking at me more closely. "And how are you feeling, Jackson? Desk duty treating you okay?"

I nodded, grateful for his concern. "Yes, sir. It's been good, actually. Keeps me grounded and focused."

"Good to hear," Fornell replied, a hint of a smile on his face. "We need you sharp, but don't hesitate to take a break if you need it."

After Fornell left, I delved into the case, analyzing data patterns and cross-referencing incidents. The challenge was stimulating, and I felt a surge of satisfaction as I began to piece together potential links between the attacks.

Hours passed, and I was so engrossed in my work that I barely noticed the time until Stiles returned, his own day winding down. "Finding anything interesting?" he asked, glancing at the scattered papers on my desk.

"Yeah, actually," I said, pointing to a series of data points on my screen. "These attacks aren't random. There's a pattern of targeting specific industries at critical times. It looks like someone's trying to manipulate market conditions."

Stiles whistled, impressed. "Leave it to you to uncover a conspiracy from behind a desk."

I grinned, a sense of pride filling me. "Guess I've still got it, huh?"

"You never lost it," Stiles affirmed, his eyes warm with pride and affection. "Just keep taking care of yourself, too."

As the day ended and we prepared to leave, I felt accomplished. Desk duty might not have been my first choice, but it was rewarding in unexpected ways. And with Stiles's support, I felt capable of handling anything—even the complexities of impending fatherhood mixed with the demands of my career.

Together, we walked out of the office, discussing our evening plans. The setting sun cast a warm glow over the parking lot, and I took Stiles's hand, feeling content.

"Thanks for being here, Stiles," I said, squeezing his hand. "For everything."

Stiles smiled, squeezing back. "Always, Jackson. We're in this together, remember?"

I nodded, a sense of peace settling over me. Desk duty might be my present, but with Stiles at my side and our son on the way, I was ready for the future. As we drove home, I felt prepared and eager for the next challenges, knowing that we could face anything together.

The evening was quiet as Stiles and I sat on the couch, surrounded by baby books and name lists that we had gathered over the past few weeks. Our home, now comfortably settled with the baby gear and furniture, felt like a haven of anticipation and excitement. The lamp's soft glow cast a warm light over our faces as we began to discuss one of the most significant decisions we would make for our son: his name.

I glanced at Stiles, who was flipping through a baby name book with a furrowed brow. "We should probably start narrowing down our options. We’ve got a lot of names here."

Stiles looked up, his eyes meeting mine with a thoughtful expression. "Yeah, it’s like trying to pick a favorite book when you’ve read so many. They all sound great, but we need to find one that feels just right."

I nodded, leaning back on the couch and rubbing my growing belly absentmindedly. "It’s a big decision. I want a name that suits him, something meaningful and strong."

Stiles set the book aside and reached for a notepad where we had jotted down names over the past few weeks. "So far, we’ve got a pretty good list. How about we start by narrowing down the names that both of us like?"

"Sounds good," I said, picking up a pen. "Let’s do this systematically. I’ll call out a name, and you tell me what you think."

Stiles chuckled. "Alright, let’s see if we can come to an agreement without getting into a naming war."

I grinned. "Deal. First up: Lucas."

Stiles pondered for a moment. "Lucas is nice. It’s classic and strong. What do you think of it?"

"I like it too," I said, nodding. "It’s got a timeless quality to it."

"Okay, Lucas is a contender. How about Ethan?"

"Ethan’s a great name. It’s simple, but it has a lot of character. I think it’s a strong choice."

"Agreed. Ethan it is. Next one: Mason."

"Mason’s good. It’s modern and popular, but it still feels grounded. It could be a strong name for him."

Stiles made a note, then flipped to the next page. "What about Noah?"

"Noah’s a great name, but it’s pretty common. I like it, but I don’t know if it stands out enough for what we’re looking for."

"Fair point," Stiles said, jotting it down but clearly considering it more critically. "What about something a bit more unique, like Declan?"

"Declan is unique and has a nice ring to it. It feels like a name with character, don’t you think?"

"Definitely. Declan’s one to keep in mind. How about Henry?"

"I love Henry. It’s classic, strong, and has a certain charm. I think it’s a strong contender."

Stiles nodded enthusiastically. "Henry it is. And what do you think about Oliver?"

"Oliver’s great. It’s friendly and has a bit of an old-school feel but also works well today."

Stiles looked at the list and then at me, a thoughtful expression on his face. "We’ve got a good mix of names here. Lucas, Ethan, Mason, Declan, Henry, and Oliver."

"Yeah, I think we’re getting closer," I said, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. "It’s hard to choose just one."

Stiles reached over and took my hand. "I know it is. But no matter which name we choose, it’s going to be perfect because it’ll be his."

I squeezed his hand, feeling a swell of affection. "You’re right. It’ll be perfect because it’ll be our choice."

We continued sifting through names, each sparking a different reaction and discussion. We talked about each name's meaning, how it sounded with our last name, and how we felt about it. The process was both intimate and revealing, giving us a deeper understanding of what we wanted for our son.

Eventually, as the night wore on, we narrowed our choices further. Stiles was particularly fond of Henry and Declan, while I was leaning towards Ethan and Lucas.

Stiles looked at me with a soft smile. "How about we sleep on it? I think we’re almost there, but it might help to let it settle in our minds."

"That sounds like a good idea," I agreed, feeling content with how the discussion had gone. "We’ll make our final decision soon, but I’m glad we’re on the same page."

Stiles leaned in and kissed me gently. "Me too. No matter what, I know we’re going to choose the perfect name for our little guy."

As we prepared for bed, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of calm and excitement. The journey to choosing a name for our son had been an adventure in itself, filled with moments of laughter, deep conversations, and shared dreams. I was grateful for Stiles’s partnership and support through it all.

In the quiet of our bedroom, as I lay beside him, I felt the familiar fluttering movements of our baby. It was a reminder of the life growing inside me and the incredible journey we were on together. As Stiles and I drifted off to sleep, the sense of anticipation and love was palpable, and I felt a deep sense of contentment, knowing that whatever name we chose, it would be a perfect fit for our little one.

The following week, Stiles and I had our routine OB appointment. It was one of the regular check-ups that were becoming a comforting part of our schedule. The prospect of hearing our baby's heartbeat and checking on his development always brought a mix of excitement and nervousness.

As we arrived at the clinic, we were greeted by the familiar face of Dr. Hayes, who had been guiding us through this pregnancy with such care and expertise. After the usual check-in and weighing, we were led to the examination room.

"Hey, Jackson, Stiles," Dr. Hayes greeted us warmly. "Ready to check on how our little one is doing today?"

"Absolutely," Stiles said, squeezing my hand as we settled into our seats.

Dr. Hayes started with the routine measurements and questions, and then moved on to the ultrasound. "Let’s see how our baby boy is growing."

I lay back on the examination table, feeling a mixture of excitement and anticipation. Stiles stood beside me, his eyes fixed on the monitor as Dr. Hayes started the ultrasound.

The room was filled with the soft hum of the ultrasound machine as the screen came to life. We watched in awe as our baby appeared in black and white, his tiny form moving gracefully.

"Here’s our little guy," Dr. Hayes said, pointing to the screen. "He’s growing well and everything looks good."

Stiles’s eyes were wide with wonder. "He looks amazing."

"He does," I agreed, feeling a swell of emotion as I watched our baby wriggle on the screen.

Dr. Hayes took measurements and checked everything thoroughly. "The baby is measuring right on track for 21 weeks, and the heartbeat is strong. You’re doing great, Jackson."

"Thank you," I said, feeling a wave of relief. "It’s always such a comfort to see him and know everything is progressing well."

As Dr. Hayes finished up the ultrasound, Stiles gently placed his hand on my belly, feeling the baby’s movements. "It’s incredible," he said softly. "I can’t wait to meet him."

"I know," I replied, feeling a deep sense of connection and love. "It feels like we’re getting closer every day."

Dr. Hayes gave us a reassuring smile. "If you have any questions or concerns, just let me know. We’re on track and everything looks great."

As we left the clinic, Stiles and I felt a renewed sense of excitement and anticipation. Our journey to parenthood was filled with these precious moments of connection and discovery, and each appointment brought us closer to the day we would finally meet our son.

That evening, as we relaxed at home, Stiles and I continued discussing names, reflecting on the appointment and the joy of seeing our baby’s growth. The decisions and preparations were part of the adventure, and together, we embraced every step of the journey with love and excitement.

Chapter Text

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Jackson's Pov

As we left the clinic, Stiles and I felt a renewed sense of excitement and anticipation. Our journey to parenthood was filled with these precious moments of connection and discovery, and each appointment brought us closer to the day we would finally meet our son.

That evening, as we relaxed at home, Stiles and I continued discussing names, reflecting on the appointment and the joy of seeing our baby’s growth. The decisions and preparations were part of the adventure, and together, we embraced every step of the journey with love and excitement.

Jackson's Pov

22 weeks pregnant

The day I turned 22 weeks pregnant marked a new chapter in this journey. The early pregnancy discomforts had eased, but new sensations and symptoms had taken their place. I could hardly believe how much had changed in just a few months. Stiles and I had settled into our new routine with the baby, and each day felt like another step closer to meeting our son. Our baby was now roughly the size of a papaya, and I could feel every inch of his growth. His kicks were more pronounced, and I noticed that he had started developing a pattern—more active in the evening and around bedtime, as if he were trying to remind us that he was there, eager to make his entrance into the world.

At 22 weeks, my bump had become noticeably larger. My clothes no longer fit the same way, and I had finally accepted that maternity wear was now a staple of my wardrobe. My belly had grown firm and round, and the sensation of the baby moving inside me had become a daily occurrence. His kicks and rolls were stronger and more frequent, a constant reminder of the little life growing inside me.

Physically, I was feeling a mix of energy and fatigue. My back ached more frequently, and I had to be cautious about my posture, especially since desk duty at work required long hours of sitting. I experienced occasional heartburn, which was a new and unwelcome addition to my list of symptoms. Despite these discomforts, I felt a profound sense of excitement and anticipation.

Emotionally, the pregnancy was a rollercoaster. I was excited about the baby and looking forward to the future, but there were moments of anxiety and uncertainty. The thought of becoming a parent was both thrilling and overwhelming. Stiles was a rock for me, providing support and reassurance whenever I needed it.

As I lie in bed one morning, Stiles is already up and getting ready for work. I stretch lazily, feeling the gentle pressure of our baby as he shifts around inside me. The bump has popped more, and I’m no longer just looking plump. I’m visibly pregnant, and it’s both thrilling and surreal.

Stiles peeks his head into the bedroom with a smile. “Good morning, sleeping beauty. How’s my favorite early riser?”

I chuckle, rubbing my belly. “Good morning. I’m doing okay. Just enjoying the feeling of our little guy kicking around.”

Stiles walks over and places a hand on my belly. “I still can’t believe how much he’s growing. Sometimes it feels like I’m just dreaming.”

“I know what you mean,” I say, feeling the baby give a gentle nudge. “It’s incredible to feel him moving and know that he’s growing inside me.”

Stiles leans down and kisses my forehead. “We’re getting closer to the day we finally get to meet him. It feels like everything is falling into place.”

“Yeah,” I agree, my heart swelling with love and anticipation. “It’s exciting and a little overwhelming, but mostly it’s just amazing.”

I get up and head to the kitchen, where Stiles is making breakfast. The morning sickness has mostly subsided, but I’m still dealing with some random bouts of nausea and fatigue. My appetite has changed a bit, and I’ve been craving weird combinations of foods. This morning, I’m enjoying a plate of scrambled eggs with a side of pickles and pineapple.

Stiles looks at my breakfast with a raised eyebrow. “You’re really embracing the pregnancy cravings, huh?”

I laugh, taking a bite. “I guess so. It’s not the most conventional breakfast, but it’s what I’m in the mood for.”

“Well, as long as you’re eating something, that’s all that matters,” Stiles says with a grin. “I just hope our little guy is taking after his mom in the taste department, not his dad.”

“Why’s that?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Because if he ends up with your taste for weird food combinations, I’m going to have to start preparing for some very interesting meals,” Stiles replies, chuckling.

We continue chatting and eating, and I can’t help but feel grateful for these moments of normalcy. Despite the occasional discomfort and the unpredictability of pregnancy, having Stiles by my side makes everything better.

As I drove to the FBI headquarters this morning, the hum of the engine was comforting background noise to the thoughts swirling in my head. At 22 weeks pregnant, I was settling into a routine that, while different from my usual fieldwork, still allowed me to contribute meaningfully to the team. My doctor had given me the all-clear to travel with the team until I reached 30 weeks, and that knowledge provided a sense of normalcy I hadn’t realized I needed.

I parked in the familiar spot, feeling a mix of anticipation and gratitude. The baby was active this morning, little kicks reminded me that he was there, growing stronger daily. I rubbed my belly gently as I stepped out of the car, murmuring a quick “Good morning, buddy” to the little one.

Walking into the building, I was greeted by the usual hustle and bustle of the office. Agents moving in and out, conversations happening in hushed tones, the clatter of keyboards—it was the soundtrack of a place where important work was always underway.

As I made my way to my desk, I spotted Stiles coming down the hallway, his face lighting up when he saw me. He made a beeline for me, coffee in hand, with that characteristic grin that never failed to make my heart skip a beat.

“Morning, Jackson,” Stiles greeted, leaning in to kiss me quickly. “How’s my favorite desk jockey and our little acrobat doing today?”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “We’re good. He’s been pretty active this morning, so I’m guessing he’s ready to start the day.”

“Just like his dads,” Stiles quipped, handing me the coffee. “Decaf, with a splash of almond milk and just the right amount of sugar, as per Dr. Hayes’s orders.”

I took the cup gratefully. “You’re a lifesaver. I was already missing my morning caffeine.”

Stiles leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve been sneaking sips of your regular coffee. You know, to make up for the fact that you can’t.”

I laughed, shaking my head at his antics. “You’re terrible.”

“Terribly in love with you,” he shot back, grinning as he gave my belly a gentle pat. “And with this little guy too.”

I smiled, feeling a surge of affection for Stiles. “I love you too. Both of you.”

As we walked together toward the bullpen, I noticed Fornell approaching us. He was carrying a file and wore his usual no-nonsense expression, though there was a hint of something softer in his eyes when he saw us.

“Whittemore, Stilinski,” Fornell greeted with a nod. “Jackson, how are you feeling?”

“Doing well, sir,” I replied. “Ready to dive into whatever’s on the docket today.”

Fornell handed me the file he was carrying. “We’ve got a case that might involve some travel, but it’s nothing too intense. I wanted to check with you first—how are you feeling about fieldwork?”

I appreciated the concern in Fornell’s voice. He’d been understanding about my condition, never pushing me beyond what I could handle. “Dr. Hayes says I’m good to travel until 30 weeks, so I’m up for it. As long as we’re not talking about anything too strenuous.”

Fornell nodded, seeming satisfied with my response. “Good to hear. We’re heading to a conference in D.C. tomorrow, and I want you there. It’s mostly intel-gathering, but your analytical skills will be crucial. Plus, it’s just an hour away, so no long flights or anything that might cause discomfort.”

“That sounds perfect,” I said, relieved that I could still be part of the action without overexerting myself.

“Great,” Fornell said, his tone all business again. “Stiles, you’ll be going too. I want both of you on this.”

“Roger that,” Stiles replied, his eyes flicking to mine with a glint of excitement.

As Fornell walked away, Stiles turned to me with a grin. “Looks like we’re still a dynamic duo, even with a baby on board.”

“Yeah,” I said, feeling a sense of pride that I was still contributing meaningfully. “I’m glad I can still be involved.”

We headed to our desks, and I settled into my chair, opening the file Fornell had given me. It contained details about the conference and a gathering of law enforcement agencies to discuss recent cyber threats and how to counter them. It wasn’t the most thrilling fieldwork, but it was important, and I was glad to be part of it.

Stiles sat down across from me, his eyes scanning his own notes. “So, tomorrow’s going to be a lot of sitting and listening. You think you’ll be okay with that?”

“Should be fine,” I replied, leaning back in my chair. “I’ll just need to make sure I get up and stretch every so often. And I might need you to remind me to take it easy.”

Stiles nodded, his expression serious. “You got it. I’ll be your personal health monitor.”

I smiled, appreciating his attentiveness. “I’m really glad we’re doing this together. It’s like a little slice of normalcy in the middle of all these changes.”

Stiles reached across the desk and squeezed my hand. “We’re a team, Jackson. We’ve got this.”

The rest of the day passed in a blur of preparation for the conference. I worked on compiling background information, identifying key players, and outlining potential angles for gathering intel. It felt good to be immersed in the work and to feel like I was still making a difference.

As the day wound down, I felt a familiar ache in my lower back, a reminder that my body was carrying more weight these days. I stood up, stretching carefully, and caught Stiles’s eye from across the room. He raised an eyebrow, silently asking if I was okay.

I gave him a reassuring nod and started packing up my things. It had been a productive day, but I was ready to go home and rest.

On the drive home, Stiles and I talked about the upcoming conference and the excitement of getting back into the field, even if only for a short trip. But we also talked about the future, about how we would handle things once I hit the 30-week mark and had to scale back even more.

“I’m sure it’s going to be tough, stepping back completely,” Stiles said, his voice filled with empathy. “But we’ll figure it out. And just think—by that time, we’ll be so close to meeting him.”

“I know,” I said, smiling at the thought. “It’s all worth it. I just want to ensure I’m doing everything right for him and us.”

“You are,” Stiles said firmly. “You’re already an amazing dad, Jackson. And we’re going to be a great team when he gets here.”

When we finally arrived home, I felt the familiar exhaustion settling in, but it was tempered by a deep sense of fulfillment. The journey of pregnancy was challenging, but it was also incredibly rewarding. And knowing that I could still be involved in the work I loved, even while preparing for our son’s arrival, made everything feel just a little bit easier.

As we settled into our evening routine, Stiles brought me a cup of herbal tea, and we sat on the couch, talking about everything from baby names to the nursery's logistics.

“We’ve got to start thinking about packing a hospital bag soon,” Stiles said, his tone light but serious. “Just in case he decides to make an early appearance.”

I laughed, but I knew he was right. “I’ll add it to the to-do list. Right after we figure out where we’re putting the crib.”

“Deal,” Stiles said, leaning in to kiss me. “We’ve got this, Jackson. One step at a time.”

As I sipped my tea, feeling the baby’s gentle movements inside me, I knew that Stiles was right. We were a team, and we were ready for whatever the future held—whether it was at work, at home, or in the delivery room.

Later that night, Stiles offered to give me a back rub after dinner. As I relaxed on the couch, I couldn’t help but think about how far we’d come. We had gone from high school friends to partners in life, navigating the challenges of work, love, and parenthood. Every day brought new experiences and lessons; while the journey hadn’t always been easy, it had been worth every moment.

After dinner, Stiles kept his promise and gave me the most soothing back rub I’d had in weeks. The tension in my muscles slowly melted away under his skilled hands, and I felt myself start to relax in a way I hadn’t been able to in days.

"You’re really good at this," I murmured, my voice drowsy as I lay face down on the bed, the pillows supporting my belly.

"Glad to hear it," Stiles replied with a smile in his voice. "Just want to make sure you’re as comfortable as possible."

As he continued to work on the knots in my back, I thought about my body's changes. My skin had started to stretch and tighten around my growing belly, and sometimes it itched so intensely that I found myself absentmindedly scratching at it. Stiles had bought me some special lotion that was supposed to help with the itching and prevent stretch marks, and he reminded me to apply it every night.

"You know," I said, my voice muffled slightly by the pillow, "I was reading that the baby’s senses are really starting to develop now. He can hear us talking."

Stiles paused for a moment, then shifted his hands to gently rub my shoulders. "Really? That’s incredible. So he’s already getting used to our voices."

"Yeah," I replied, feeling a surge of emotion at the thought. "I think he knows when we’re talking to him. It’s like he responds with a little kick every time he hears us."

Stiles leaned down, placing his head close to my belly. "Hey, little man," he said softly. "It’s your dads. We can’t wait to meet you."

Almost on cue, I felt a gentle flutter in response, and Stiles’s eyes lit up. "Did you feel that?" he asked, his voice filled with wonder.

"I did," I said, smiling as I reached down to place my hand over his. "I think he’s saying ‘hello.’"

Stiles grinned and pressed a kiss to my belly. "Hello back, buddy. We’re going to have so much fun together."

After the back rub, we both settled into bed, my body feeling much more at ease. As we lay there, our hands resting on my bump, we talked about the future—about the kind of parents we wanted to be and the life we wanted to create for our son.

"I want him to feel safe and loved, no matter what," Stiles said, his voice full of determination. "I want him to know that he can be himself and doesn’t have to hide who he is or what he’s feeling."

"Me too," I agreed, thinking about my childhood and my struggles with my identity. "I want him to grow up knowing that he’s enough, just as he is."

After that, we fell into a comfortable silence, both of us lost in our thoughts about the future. The baby kicked again, a strong, insistent movement that made us both laugh.

"Okay, okay, we get it," Stiles said, grinning as he felt the kick. "You’re excited to get here. We’re excited too."

As I lay there, feeling the gentle movements of our son and Stiles's steady presence by my side, I felt a profound sense of peace. The road ahead was sure to be full of challenges and unknowns, but I knew we could handle anything together.

Chapter Text

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Jackson's Pov

"Okay, okay, we get it," Stiles said, grinning as he felt the kick. "You're excited to get here. We're excited too."

As I lay there, feeling the gentle movements of our son and Stiles's steady presence by my side, I felt a profound sense of peace. The road ahead was sure to be full of challenges and unknowns, but I knew we could handle anything together

Jackson's Pov

As we drove toward the conference center in Washington, D.C., I felt a knot of tension slowly tightening in my stomach. It wasn't just the typical nerves that came with attending a high-level meeting—it was the knowledge that I would be seeing my old team for the first time since I left the BAU.

The memories of my time with the Behavioral Analysis Unit were complicated, to say the least. I had started with the team full of ambition and a desire to make a difference, but the events in Beacon Hills—especially the revelation of my supernatural nature—had fractured those relationships. When it all came to light, things had quickly unraveled, and my departure from the team was anything but amicable.

Working under Fornell was a fresh start, and I was grateful for it. But Stiles had stayed with Hotch's team, and while I knew it was the right choice for him, moments like this were more complicated. He had been my anchor throughout the storm, and now I wondered how he managed to navigate the tension between his loyalty to me and his commitment to the team that had raised him as an agent.

Stiles glanced over at me as we neared the conference center, sensing my unease. "You okay?" he asked, his voice gentle.

I nodded, though I wasn't entirely sure. "I'm just... nervous, I guess. It's been a while since I've seen Hotch and the rest of the team."

Stiles reached over and squeezed my hand, his touch grounding me. "You don't have to do this alone. I'll be right there with you. And remember, you're with Fornell's team now. They've got your back."

"I know," I replied, taking a deep breath. "But it's still going to be awkward. We didn't exactly part on good terms."

Stiles gave me a reassuring smile. "It's a professional setting. They'll keep it civil. And if anyone tries to bring up the past, we'll handle it together."

His confidence was comforting, and I squeezed his hand in return. "Thanks, Stiles. I just hope this doesn't turn into a mess."

As we parked and made our way into the conference center, I tried to push my anxiety aside and focus on the task at hand. The building was already bustling with activity—agents from various agencies mingled in the lobby, discussing everything from cybersecurity threats to inter-agency cooperation.

Fornell spotted us almost immediately and waved us over. He was talking with a few other agents from the FBI's cyber division, and as we approached, he introduced us with his usual no-nonsense demeanor.

"Whittemore, Stilinski," Fornell greeted, nodding to the others in the group. "This is Special Agent Harris and Special Agent Delaney from our cyber team. They'll be working closely with us today."

"Pleasure to meet you," I said, shaking hands with the agents. Stiles did the same, offering them his trademark easy-going smile.

After a few minutes of introductions and small talk, Fornell leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "I saw Hotch's team come in a few minutes ago. Just a heads-up."

My stomach twisted again at the mention of Hotch, but I forced myself to remain calm. "Thanks for the warning," I said, appreciating Fornell's discretion.

As we moved toward the conference hall, my mind raced with thoughts of how this reunion would go. Would Hotch be cold and distant? Would Rossi make some snide comment? And what about the others—Reid, Morgan, JJ, Garcia? I had left the BAU with so much unresolved, and now it felt like all of that was about to resurface.

We entered the hall, and immediately I spotted them. The BAU team was clustered together near the front, deep in conversation. Hotch stood at the center, his presence as commanding as ever. Rossi was beside him, his expression unreadable, and Reid was fiddling with his tie, looking as nervous as I felt.

Stiles caught my eye and gave me a reassuring nod before we headed toward them. My heart pounded in my chest as we approached, and I had to remind myself to keep breathing.

Hotch was the first to notice us. His eyes flicked to mine, and for a brief moment, his stoic mask faltered. I could see the surprise and maybe a hint of something else—disappointment? Regret?—before he regained his composure.

"Jackson," Hotch greeted, his voice cool but civil. "It's been a while."

"It has," I replied, keeping my tone neutral. "How have you been?"

"Busy," he said simply, not offering any more details.

Rossi stepped forward, his expression a mix of curiosity and something sharper. "You're looking well, Whittemore. How's Fornell treating you?"

"Fornell's been great," I said, sensing the underlying tension in Rossi's words. "It's been a good fit."

Before Rossi could respond, Reid spoke up, his voice tinged with nervous energy. "It's... good to see you, Jackson. I've been reading up on some of the cases you've been working on with Fornell. You're still doing great work."

I appreciated Reid's effort, even though it felt like he was trying to bridge a gap that might be too wide to cross. "Thanks, Reid. I've been keeping busy."

Morgan and JJ offered polite nods, their expressions carefully neutral, while Garcia gave me a small, almost apologetic smile. The air was thick with unspoken words, the tension palpable as we stood there, the past hanging between us like a dark cloud.

Stiles, ever the diplomat, stepped in to diffuse the situation. "It's good to see everyone again," he said, his tone light but with a hint of steel beneath it. "We've got a lot of work to do today, so let's keep things professional, yeah?"

Hotch nodded, his expression unreadable. "Agreed. We're here to work, not to dredge up the past."

I appreciated Stiles's intervention, and I gave him a grateful look as we all turned our attention to the conference agenda. The meeting itself was a blur of presentations, discussions, and strategic planning. I threw myself into the work, trying to focus on the task at hand and not the unresolved tension with my former team.

At one point, Fornell approached me during a break. "You're handling this well, Jackson," he said quietly, his eyes assessing. "But if it gets to be too much, let me know. We can shift things around."

I shook my head. "Thanks, Fornell, but I'm okay. I can handle it."

He gave me a small, approving nod. "Good. But remember, you're not alone in this."

As the day wore on, the initial awkwardness began to fade, though it never fully disappeared. I caught Hotch watching me a few times, his gaze inscrutable, and I wondered what he was thinking. Did he regret the way things ended? Did he even care?

After the day's final session, I found myself alone in the hallway, taking a moment to catch my breath. The conference had been intense professionally and personally, and I needed a few minutes to process everything.

"Jackson."

I turned to see Hotch standing a few feet away, his expression serious. He stepped closer, his hands in his pockets. "Do you have a minute?"

I nodded, though my heart was racing. "Yeah. What's on your mind?"

Hotch hesitated, something I rarely saw from him. "I wanted to say... I didn't handle things well when you left. I've had some time to think about it, and I realize now that I should have been more supportive, more understanding of what you were going through."

His words caught me off guard, and for a moment, I didn't know how to respond. "It was a difficult situation," I said finally. "For everyone."

"It was," Hotch agreed, his voice quieter now. "But that doesn't excuse the way I acted. You were part of the team, and I let you down. I'm sorry."

I could see the sincerity in his eyes, and for the first time, I felt some of the weight I'd been carrying start to lift. "Thank you, Hotch. That means a lot."

He nodded, a hint of relief in his expression. "You're doing good work with Fornell. I'm glad to see that."

"Thanks," I said, feeling a small smile tug at the corners of my mouth. "And Stiles speaks highly of your work with the team."

Hotch's lips quirked in a rare, fleeting smile. "Stiles has been an invaluable asset. I'm glad he's with us."

We stood there for a moment, the silence comfortable now rather than tense. It wasn't a perfect resolution, but it was a start, a small step toward healing the rift that had formed between us.

"I should get back," Hotch said eventually. "But if you ever need anything, you know where to find me."

"I appreciate that," I replied, feeling a sense of closure that I hadn't expected. "Take care, Hotch."

"You too, Jackson."

As he walked away, I felt a strange mixture of emotions—relief, sadness, and a sense of acceptance. The past couldn't be changed, but maybe, just maybe, the future could be better.

When I found Stiles again, he was waiting for me near the entrance, his eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on me. As I approached, he gave me a questioning look, clearly wondering how my conversation with Hotch had gone.

"Everything okay?" he asked, his voice low.

"Yeah," I said, offering him a genuine smile. "We talked. It wasn't perfect, but it was something. I think we're on the path to moving past the old issues."

Stiles's face lit up with relief. "That's good to hear. I know how much this has been weighing on you."

I nodded, feeling lighter now that the conversation was behind me. "Thanks for being there for me, Stiles. I couldn't have done it without you."

He hugged me, and I buried my face in his shoulder, feeling his warmth and support. "You don't have to thank me. We're in this together."

As we headed out of the conference center, hand in hand, I felt a renewed sense of optimism. The day had been long and emotionally charged, but with Stiles by my side and the future ahead of us, I knew that we could handle whatever came our way.

The morning of day two at the conference dawned early, and I woke up feeling the familiar mixture of excitement and anxiety. The first day had gone better than expected, but there was still a lot of unresolved tension between me and the BAU team. I knew that today would bring more opportunities to interact with them, and I wasn't sure how those conversations would go.

Stiles was already up and moving around our hotel room, getting ready for the day. He paused when he saw me sitting on the edge of the bed, deep in thought.

"Hey," he said softly, walking over to sit next to me. "You okay?"

I nodded, giving him a small smile. "Yeah, just thinking about yesterday. It went better than I expected, but it's still... a lot."

Stiles wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. "I know. But you handled it really well. And if today gets tough, I'll be right there with you."

I leaned into him, grateful for his support. "Thanks, Stiles. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You won't have to find out," he replied with a smile. "We're in this together, remember?"

I nodded, feeling a bit more grounded. "Yeah, we are."

We finished getting ready and headed down to the conference center. The schedule for the day was packed with panels and discussions, and I was eager to dive back into the work. Focusing on the job helped keep my mind off the more personal aspects of the situation.

As we entered the main conference hall, I spotted the BAU team already seated near the front. Stiles and I exchanged a quick glance, and then we made our way over to join them. I could feel the team's eyes on me as we approached, but I kept my expression neutral, determined not to let my nerves show.

Hotch acknowledged us with a nod as we took our seats. "Morning," he said, his tone professional.

"Morning," I replied, matching his tone. Stiles gave a quick smile and nod to the others.

The session began, and we were all absorbed in the presentations and discussions for a while. The topics ranged from cybercrime to emerging threats, and it was easy to get lost in the complexities of the cases being presented.

During a break between sessions, I stepped out into the hallway to grab some water. As I filled my cup at the dispenser, I heard footsteps behind me and turned to see Morgan approaching.

"Hey, Jackson," he said, his voice casual but with a note of something else—maybe curiosity? "Got a minute?"

I nodded, unsure of where this was going. "Sure, what's up?"

Morgan leaned against the wall, his gaze steady. "I've been meaning to ask... how are you holding up? I mean, with everything."

I hesitated, trying to gauge what he was really asking. "You mean with the conference? Or something else?"

He gestured vaguely with his hand, indicating my growing belly. "The pregnancy. And, well, everything else."

It was the first time any of the BAU team had directly mentioned my pregnancy, and for a moment, I wasn't sure how to respond. But Morgan's expression was sincere, and I could tell he was genuinely concerned.

"I'm doing okay," I said finally, choosing my words carefully. "It's been an adjustment, but I've got a lot of support. Stiles has been amazing, and so has Fornell's team."

Morgan nodded, his expression softening. "That's good to hear. It can't be easy, especially with everything else you've got going on."

"It's not always easy," I admitted. "But I'm managing. And it helps to stay focused on the work."

He smiled, a hint of his usual confidence returning. "You've always been good at that—staying focused. Just don't forget to take care of yourself, too."

I appreciated his concern, even if it felt a little strange coming from someone I hadn't spoken to in months. "Thanks, Morgan. I won't forget."

The silence between us was comfortable as we stood there, and I could feel some of the tension easing. It wasn't a complete resolution but a step in the right direction.

Reid appeared before we could say more, looking slightly nervous as he approached us. "Jackson, can I, um, ask you something?"

"Sure, Reid. What's on your mind?" I asked, trying to put him at ease.

He hesitated, his gaze flicking to my belly before meeting my eyes. "I was just... wondering how it's been for you, you know, being pregnant. I've read a lot about pregnancy, but it's different when you actually know someone going through it."

I smiled, appreciating his curiosity. "It's definitely a unique experience. There are a lot of changes, both physically and emotionally. But it's also really rewarding, knowing that I'm bringing a new life into the world."

Reid nodded, clearly fascinated. "I can't even imagine what that must be like. Do you... feel different? I mean, in terms of how you approach things or think about the future?"

I considered his question carefully. "Yeah, I think I do. I'm more aware of the risks now and definitely more cautious. But at the same time, it's made me more determined to do my job well. I want to make the world a safer place for my kid."

Reid smiled, his nervousness fading. "That makes a lot of sense. You're going to be a great dad, Jackson."

"Thanks, Reid," I said, touched by his words. "That means a lot."

As we rejoined the others in the conference hall, I couldn't help but feel a sense of relief. Morgan and Reid's questions had been sincere, and it felt like a small step toward rebuilding the connections I had lost. It wasn't going to happen overnight, but at least the conversation was starting.

Throughout the rest of the day, I noticed the BAU team stealing glances at me, but they were more curious than judgmental. I caught JJ giving me a small smile during one of the sessions, and even Rossi seemed a bit more approachable.

During lunch, the topic of my pregnancy came up again, this time in a more casual setting. We were all seated around a large table, enjoying a break from the intense discussions.

"So, Jackson," JJ began, her tone light and friendly, "have you and Stiles thought about baby names yet?"

Stiles, who was seated beside me, grinned. "We've got a few in mind, but we haven't made any final decisions. It's harder than we thought it would be."

I nodded in agreement. "Yeah, every name has so much meaning attached to it. We want to make sure we pick the right one."

Rossi, who had been quiet for most of the meal, spoke up. "Naming a child is a big responsibility. But knowing you two, I'm sure you'll pick something strong and meaningful."

I appreciated his words, even if they were a bit unexpected. "Thanks, Rossi. We're definitely putting a lot of thought into it."

Garcia, who had been uncharacteristically quiet all morning, suddenly perked up. "Oh! You have to let me help with the nursery. I have so many ideas—colors, themes, all that fun stuff!"

Stiles chuckled. "We might take you up on that, Garcia. We've got the basics set up, but we could definitely use some help making it feel more... homey."

"Consider it done," she said with a bright smile. "Your little one is going to have the most fabulous nursery ever."

The conversation flowed easily after that, and for the first time since the conference began, I felt like I was reconnecting with the team in a way that didn't involve the weight of the past. It was a small, tentative step, but it was a step nonetheless.

As the day drew to a close and we prepared to leave the conference center, I found myself reflecting on how much had changed in the past two days. The tension with the BAU team hadn't completely disappeared, but it had lessened. There was still work to be done, both professionally and personally, but I felt more hopeful than I had in a long time.

Stiles and I walked out together, the cool evening air a welcome relief after the long day. "How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice full of concern.

"Tired, but good," I replied, smiling up at him. "Today was... better than I expected. It felt like we were starting to rebuild some of those bridges."

Stiles nodded, his arm wrapping around my shoulders as we walked. "Yeah, I could see that. You handled everything really well, Jackson. I'm proud of you."

"Thanks, Stiles. I couldn't have done it without you."

He leaned in to kiss my temple, his touch warm and reassuring. "We're a team, remember? We've got each other's backs."

As we headed back to the hotel, I felt a sense of peace settling over me. The journey wasn't over, but for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was on the right path. The future was uncertain, but I knew I could face whatever came our way with Stiles.

And as we walked into the night, I knew that we were ready for whatever the next day—and the rest of our lives—had in store.

23 weeks pregnant

At 23 weeks pregnant, everything felt more natural. My body had undergone so many changes over the past few months, but now it was undeniable—I was truly, visibly pregnant. The small bump that had started showing a few weeks ago had grown into a more pronounced curve, a physical manifestation of the life growing inside me. Every time I looked in the mirror, I saw a reminder of the little person who would soon be a part of our lives.

Our baby boy was about the size of a large grapefruit now, measuring roughly 11 inches and weighing just over a pound. According to everything I’d read, his hearing was becoming more developed, which meant he could hear our voices and even recognize certain sounds. I often found myself talking to him, telling him about my day, or sharing thoughts. And Stiles had made a habit of chatting with our son every night, his voice soft and full of love as he spoke to my belly.

But along with the excitement of our baby's development came the physical challenges. My center of gravity had shifted, making even simple tasks like getting up from a chair or bending over a bit more difficult. My lower back ached constantly, a dull, persistent pain that seemed to intensify by the end of each day. Finding a comfortable sleeping position had become a nightly struggle, and I’d started using a body pillow to support my growing belly and ease the pressure on my hips.

One evening, after a long day at work, I came home feeling more exhausted than usual. I kicked off my shoes and sank onto the couch with a heavy sigh, my hand instinctively resting on my belly. The baby had been especially active that day, and I could feel him moving around, little kicks and flutters that made me smile despite the fatigue.

Stiles, who was in the kitchen preparing dinner, noticed my tired expression and immediately approached me. “Hey, are you okay?” he asked, concern evident in his voice.

“Just tired,” I replied, rubbing my lower back. “My back’s been killing me all day, and our little guy here seems to be practicing his gymnastics routine.”

Stiles chuckled and sat down beside me, his hand joining mine on my belly. “He’s getting stronger, huh? I can’t believe how much he’s moving around now.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty incredible,” I said, feeling another kick. “I read that his bones are starting to harden, so his movements feel stronger. And his lungs are developing too, so he’s practicing breathing in there.”

Stiles’s eyes widened in amazement. “That’s so cool. It’s like he’s getting ready to meet us.”

“Exactly,” I said, smiling at the thought. “He’s getting bigger and stronger every day. And we’re getting closer to meeting him.”

Stiles leaned in and kissed my belly, his voice soft as he spoke to our son. “Hey, little man. We can’t wait to meet you. But take it easy on your dad’s back, okay?”

I laughed, the sound easing some of the tension I felt. “Thanks for looking out for me, Stiles.”

“Always,” he said, his tone serious. “I want to make sure you’re comfortable and healthy. You’re doing an amazing job, Jackson.”

I appreciated his words more than I could express. “It’s not easy, but it’s worth it. I can’t wait to hold him, see his little face, and know he’s finally here.”

Stiles wrapped his arm around me, pulling me close. “We’re going to be great parents, Jackson. I know it’s tough now, but we’ve got each other and will make it through this together.”

I rested my head on his shoulder, feeling emotion wash over me. “I know. I’m so grateful for you, Stiles. I don’t know how I’d get through this without you.”

“You’ll never have to find out,” he said, his voice full of warmth. “We’re in this together, all the way.”

After dinner, Stiles insisted on giving me another back rub, something that had become a nightly ritual for us. I lay on the bed, propped up with pillows, as he worked his magic, his hands skillfully kneading the tight muscles in my back. The relief was immediate, and I let out a contented sigh as the tension melted away.

“You should really think about a career as a massage therapist,” I teased, my voice muffled by the pillow.

Stiles laughed. “I think I’ll stick to crime-fighting, but I’m glad I can help. You’ve been carrying a lot of extra weight around, and I want to make sure you’re not in pain.”

“Thanks, Stiles,” I murmured, feeling drowsy as his hands continued their work. “You’re the best.”

He leaned down to kiss the back of my neck. “Just doing my job as your husband and baby daddy.”

The next morning, I woke up feeling more refreshed than I had in days. The back rub had done wonders, and I actually managed to get a decent night’s sleep. I stretched carefully, mindful of my growing belly, and then headed to the bathroom to start my morning routine.

As I stood in front of the mirror, brushing my teeth, I couldn’t help but take a moment to really look at myself. My belly had grown considerably, the curve now undeniable even in my loose-fitting pajamas. My skin had stretched to accommodate the growth, and I’d noticed a few faint stretch marks beginning to appear, but they didn’t bother me. They reminded me of the incredible journey my body was on, a testament to the life I was nurturing.

After I finished brushing my teeth, I applied some of the lotion Stiles had bought for me, hoping it would help with the itching that had started as my skin stretched. The lotion's coolness was soothing, and I took a few extra moments to massage it in, appreciating the way it made my skin feel.

When I joined Stiles in the kitchen for breakfast, he was already making us a healthy meal, as had become our routine. He was determined to make sure I got all the nutrients I needed, and I couldn’t help but smile at his dedication.

“Morning, Stiles,” I said, sliding into my seat at the table.

“Morning, Jackson,” he replied, turning around to kiss me quickly. “How’d you sleep?”

“Better than I have in a while, thanks to you,” I said, giving him a grateful smile. “The back rub really helped.”

“Glad to hear it,” he said, setting a plate of scrambled eggs and whole-grain toast in front of me. “We’ve got to keep you in top shape.”

As we ate, we talked about the day ahead, discussing work and the upcoming appointments we had for the baby. We had another check-up scheduled for the following week, and I was looking forward to hearing our son’s heartbeat again.

After breakfast, we both got ready for work, and I couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride as I pulled on my clothes. Dressing had become a bit more challenging, with my growing belly making it harder to find outfits that fit comfortably, but I’d managed to build a small collection of maternity clothes that I actually liked.

As we headed out the door, Stiles grabbed our bags and gave me a quick once-over. “You look great, Jackson,” he said, his eyes full of admiration.

“Thanks,” I said, feeling a bit more confident. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

He grinned and gave me a playful wink. “Well, I’ve got to keep up with you, don’t I?”

The drive to work was filled with our usual banter, but there was an undercurrent of something more serious. We both knew that the closer we got to the baby’s arrival, the more we needed to start thinking about the future—about how we would balance our demanding jobs with being parents.

“I’ve been thinking,” Stiles said, breaking the comfortable silence. “Maybe we should start planning how we’ll handle things once the baby gets here. You know, like childcare, time off, all that stuff.”

I nodded, appreciating his foresight. “Yeah, we should. I’ve been thinking about it too. We’re going to need a solid plan, especially with both of us working in law enforcement.”

“Exactly,” he said, glancing over at me. “But I know we can make it work. We just need to be organized and make sure we’re on the same page.”

“I agree,” I said, feeling a sense of determination. “We’ll figure it out, Stiles. We always do.”

As we pulled into the parking lot at work, I couldn’t help but feel a renewed sense of purpose. The journey to parenthood was full of challenges, but it was also full of incredible rewards. And with Stiles by my side, I knew that we could handle anything that came our way.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of activity. I was still on desk duty but kept busy with case files and analysis, doing my part to support the team. My back ached by the afternoon, but I took frequent breaks to stretch and move around, trying to stay comfortable.

As the day came to a close, I felt the familiar exhaustion settling in, but a deep sense of fulfillment tempered it. I was doing important work, and I was taking care of myself and our baby. It wasn’t always easy, but it was worth it.

As Stiles and I settled into bed that evening, I felt the baby kick again, stronger this time. I grabbed Stiles’s hand and placed it on my belly, letting him feel the unmistakable sensation of our baby moving inside me. His eyes widened with a mix of surprise and joy as he felt the tiny but powerful kick.

“Whoa, that’s a strong one!” Stiles said, his voice tinged with awe. “I can actually feel it.”

I smiled, watching his reaction with a sense of pride. “Yeah, he’s been pretty active today. I think he’s getting stronger every day.”

Stiles gently placed his other hand on my belly, trying to get a better sense of the movement. “It’s amazing how real it feels now. It’s like he’s really making his presence known.”

“Definitely,” I agreed. “Sometimes it feels like he’s having a little party in there. I guess that’s a good sign, right?”

Stiles nodded, his gaze fixed on my belly. “Absolutely. It means he’s growing and developing like he should be. I just can’t believe how fast this is all happening.”

“I know,” I said, running a hand over my bump. “It’s a little overwhelming, but in the best way possible. I can’t wait to see him and hold him in my arms.”

Stiles leaned in and kissed my belly softly, his voice full of warmth. “We’re going to be great parents, Jackson. I have no doubt about it.”

I felt a rush of affection for him, grateful for his support and love throughout this entire journey. “I couldn’t do this without you, Stiles. You’ve been my rock, and I’m so glad we’re going through this together.”

Stiles rested his head on my belly, his eyes closed as he spoke softly to our son. “Hey there, little guy. I know your dad and I can’t wait to meet you. We’re going to be waiting for you with open arms.”

I placed my hand on his head, feeling a sense of contentment wash over me. “He’s going to be lucky to have you as a dad.”

Stiles looked up at me with a smile, his eyes shining with love. “And he’s going to be lucky to have you as a dad too.”

We lay there for a while, simply enjoying the closeness and the feeling of our baby moving between us. The gentle kicks and shifts were a constant reminder of the new chapter that was about to begin in our lives.

As we talked about our plans for the future, Stiles’s hand remained on my belly, and I could see the excitement in his eyes. “I’ve been thinking,” he said, breaking the comfortable silence. “We should start looking into classes or groups for new parents. I want us to be as prepared as we can be.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” I agreed. “I’ve heard that there are a lot of great resources out there. It might help us feel more confident when the time comes.”

Stiles nodded, looking thoughtful. “And maybe we should also start thinking about how we’re going to manage our work schedules once the baby arrives. I want to make sure we’re both around as much as possible.”

“I’ve been thinking about that too,” I said. “We should definitely have a plan in place. It’s going to be a big adjustment, but I know we can handle it.”

Stiles gave me a reassuring smile. “We’ve been through a lot together, Jackson. This is just another step in our journey, and I have no doubt that we’ll make it work.”

As we continued to talk and plan, I felt a deep sense of gratitude for the life we were building together. The road ahead would undoubtedly have its challenges, but with Stiles by my side, I knew we were ready to face whatever came our way.

Eventually, we drifted off to sleep, our hands still resting on my belly as the gentle movements of our baby lulled us into a peaceful slumber. The future was uncertain, but for now, we were content with the knowledge that we had each other and the promise of a new life to look forward to.

Chapter Text

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Jackson's Pov

As we continued to talk and plan, I felt a deep sense of gratitude for the life we were building together. The road ahead would undoubtedly have its challenges, but with Stiles by my side, I knew we were ready to face whatever came our way.

Eventually, we drifted off to sleep, our hands still resting on my belly as the gentle movements of our baby lulled us into a peaceful slumber. The future was uncertain, but for now, we were content with the knowledge that we had each other and the promise of a new life to look forward to.

Jackson's Pov

24 weeks pregnant

At 24 weeks, I was officially in the second half of my pregnancy, and the reality of it all was starting to sink in. Each day brought new developments, both for me and for our little boy, who was now about the size of an ear of corn—approximately 12 inches long and weighing about 1.5 pounds. It was incredible to think that he was growing steadily inside me, his body developing in ways I was only beginning to understand.

My belly had expanded significantly, a visible roundness that turned heads and elicited smiles from strangers. I could see the occasional stretch mark beginning to form, faint lines across my skin that told the story of my body's transformation. I had been using lotion diligently, hoping to minimize their appearance, but in truth, I wore each mark with a sense of pride. They were a testament to my journey, a reminder of the incredible life I was nurturing.

Physically, I was experiencing a mix of discomforts and joys. My back ached more than ever, a dull throb that seemed to intensify by the end of the day. I had learned to manage it somewhat by using heat packs and taking breaks to stretch, but it was always there, a constant reminder of my weight. My hips felt loose and achy, and I often had to adjust my sitting position to find relief.

In the mornings, I found it increasingly challenging to get comfortable in bed, wrestling with pillows and blankets as I tried to settle into a position that wouldn't leave me sore by dawn. It was a nightly battle, but as soon as I felt those first gentle kicks in the early hours, I knew it was all worth it.

One morning, after a particularly restless night, I found myself slumped on the couch, cradling a mug of herbal tea. Stiles was busy in the kitchen, preparing breakfast, and I could hear the soft sounds of clattering dishes mixed with the aroma of scrambled eggs wafting through the air.

"Hey, sleepyhead," he called out, glancing over his shoulder. "How are you feeling this morning?"

I sighed, rubbing my belly absentmindedly. "Tired. I didn't sleep well at all. The baby kept kicking, and I couldn't get comfortable."

Stiles turned off the stove and came over, concern etched on his face. "I'm sorry. Want me to help you with anything? A back rub? Extra pillows?"

"That would be amazing," I admitted. "But honestly, I just need to accept that sleep will be elusive."

He sat down beside me and took my hand, squeezing it gently. "You're doing a fantastic job, Jackson. You're growing a whole human. It's okay to be tired."

"Thanks," I said, feeling grateful for his support. "I just wish I could find a position that doesn't feel like I'm wrestling a bear every night."

Stiles laughed, his eyes sparkling with warmth. "If anyone can figure it out, it's you. You've handled everything thrown your way so far. Plus, you're almost halfway there!"

"Almost," I echoed, a smile creeping onto my face despite the fatigue. "I can't believe we're 24 weeks in. It feels like just yesterday we were finding out I was pregnant."

As we shared breakfast, I felt a sense of normalcy settling over us, a comforting reminder that life was still moving forward despite the challenges of pregnancy. After eating, I helped clean up slowly to avoid straining my back. I could feel the baby shifting and moving inside me, and every kick sent a wave of warmth through my body.

"Can you believe it?" Stiles said suddenly, breaking me from my thoughts. "We're going to be parents. Like, real parents."

I chuckled, feeling a mix of excitement and trepidation. "Yeah, I can believe it. I just hope we're ready for it. There's so much to consider—names, nursery setup, schedules..."

Stiles smiled, his eyes twinkling. "Hey, we've got time. And we're in this together, remember? We'll tackle it one step at a time."

"Right. One step at a time," I agreed, feeling a little lighter. "I just want to make sure we do everything right."

"You will," he said confidently. "And if we mess up, we'll learn from it. It's not like there's a handbook on how to be perfect parents."

I smiled at that. "True. I just want to make sure our little guy knows he's loved and supported, no matter what."

Stiles reached for my hand again, giving it a squeeze. "He will. You're already doing that just by being such a great dad."

After breakfast, we headed out for the day, Stiles driving us to work. The sun was shining brightly, casting a warm glow over everything, and I felt a sense of optimism as we navigated the streets of Quantico.

Once at the office, I settled into my usual routine, diving into the case files and reports that were piling up. Still on desk duty, I focused on analysis and research, which allowed me to keep my mind sharp without putting too much strain on my body.

A few hours into the day, I noticed that the baby was more active than usual. Kicks and movements felt stronger, and I was distracted by the sensations. It was as if he was practicing for some kind of event, and I couldn't help but smile, my hand instinctively moving to rest on my belly.

"Everything alright?" Fornell asked as he passed my desk, noticing my expression.

I nodded, feeling a little self-conscious. "Yeah, just the baby kicking. He's really active today."

Fornell paused, a softening in his demeanor. "That's good. It means he's healthy. Just make sure you're taking care of yourself, too."

"Of course," I replied, appreciating his concern. "I'm trying to stay active but not overdo it."

"Smart move," he said, nodding before moving on.

As the day continued, Stiles stopped by my desk for a quick check-in. "How's it going? Need anything?"

I smiled, grateful for his presence. "It's going well. Just trying to stay focused. The baby is moving a lot today."

"Maybe he's excited about something," Stiles suggested, leaning in closer to feel the movements.

"I don't know what he'd be excited about, but it feels like he's doing a little dance in there," I said, laughing lightly.

Stiles grinned, his eyes lighting up. "He's probably just eager to meet his awesome dads. I mean, can you blame him?"

"True," I replied, feeling my heart swell at the thought. "I just hope we're ready for him when he arrives."

"You will be," Stiles said confidently. "We've got this."

As the day wore on, and as I continued to work, I couldn't shake the feeling that my body was shifting again. The aches in my back were more pronounced, and I started to feel a slight tightening in my belly, a reminder that things were changing as my pregnancy progressed.

By the time the workday was over, I was feeling fatigued. I packed up my things and met Stiles by the door, and as we walked to the car, I could feel the heaviness settling in my limbs.

"Ready to head home?" Stiles asked, concern etched on his face.

"Yeah, but I might need a little help getting comfortable tonight," I admitted, rubbing my back gently.

"Of course. I'll take care of you," he said, opening the car door for me and helping me settle into my seat. "Just relax. We'll have a quiet evening at home."

When we arrived at the house, the familiar surroundings felt comforting. I sank into the couch, grateful for its support. Stiles joined me, and I laid my head on his shoulder, letting out a contented sigh.

"Do you want to watch a movie or something?" he asked, brushing his fingers through my hair.

"That sounds nice," I said, feeling the fatigue start to melt away. "Something light, maybe? I could use a good laugh."

Stiles grinned. "I know just the thing." He hopped up to grab a movie from our collection, and as he did, I couldn't help but admire how lucky I felt. Despite the challenges of pregnancy, Stiles' love and support made everything feel manageable.

As we settled in to watch the movie, I felt the baby kick again, a reminder of the life we would soon welcome. I smiled, placing my hand on my belly. "Hey there, little guy. We're just getting started with this adventure."

Stiles turned to me, a soft smile on his face. "He's going to have the best parents, Jackson. No doubt about it."

With those words, I felt a wave of warmth wash over me, and as the movie played in the background, I knew that we were ready for whatever lay ahead. The journey of parenthood was full of unknowns, but with Stiles by my side, I felt confident that we could handle anything. The love we shared would guide us through, and I couldn't wait to see what the future held for our growing family.

At 24 weeks pregnant, I felt an overwhelming urge to start preparing for our baby boy's arrival. The time had come to transform one of the spare rooms into a nursery—a cozy space filled with love and warmth, ready to welcome our little one into the world. Stiles had been hinting at this for weeks, but I finally felt ready to dive in and make decisions.

One Saturday morning, after a leisurely breakfast, I turned to Stiles as we sat on the couch. "I think we should start working on the nursery this weekend," I said, feeling excitement. "It's time to create a special space for our little guy."

Stiles's eyes lit up with enthusiasm. "I was hoping you'd say that! What do you have in mind?"

"I've been thinking about colors and themes," I said, trying to organize my thoughts. "I want it to feel bright and welcoming. Maybe a light blue or a soft green?"

"Those sound great," Stiles replied, nodding in agreement. "Light colors will keep it feeling open and airy. What about a theme? Do you have any ideas?"

I took a moment to consider. "I've always liked the idea of a woodland theme—something with animals and nature. It feels calm and nurturing, you know?"

Stiles grinned. "I love that idea! We could get some cute animal prints for the walls, maybe even some plush toys to match. It'll give the room character."

"Exactly!" I said, feeling more energized. "And we can add in some bookshelves for storytime. I want to create a cozy nook for us to read together."

"That sounds perfect," Stiles said, his excitement infectious. "I can already picture it. A little reading corner with a comfy chair and all the books. It'll be our special time with him."

I couldn't help but smile at the thought. "I want him to grow up loving stories and adventure. And it'll be a great way for us to bond as a family."

"Alright then," Stiles said, standing up and clapping his hands together. "Let's make a list of what we need to get started. I'll grab a notebook."

As Stiles dashed off to find a pen and paper, I couldn't help but feel the rush of anticipation building inside me. We were really doing this. I was going to be a dad, and we were creating a space for our son filled with love, laughter, and endless adventures.

When Stiles returned, he plopped down next to me with a determined expression. "Okay, let's get down to business. What's the first thing we need?"

I thought for a moment before answering. "We definitely need paint. I want to choose the color first, then we can decide on the furniture and decorations."

"Sounds like a plan. Do you want to go to the store today?" Stiles asked, jotting down notes.

"Yeah, let's do it. I think I'd like to see the colors in person, anyway," I said, feeling a surge of excitement. "Plus, imagining how everything will look will be fun."

"Alright, let's make a day of it," Stiles said, his enthusiasm contagious. "We can stop for lunch after we pick the paint and then hit up some furniture stores. I've got a few ideas for cribs and changing tables."

"Perfect! I've been thinking about safety features too," I said, feeling my excitement grow. "We should look for cribs with adjustable mattress heights and non-toxic finishes."

"Good call," Stiles replied, nodding as he made notes. "We'll make sure everything is baby-safe. This is going to be the best nursery ever."

After we finalized our list, we headed out, the anticipation buzzing in the air as we made our way to the paint store. Once we arrived, we walked through the aisles filled with colorful swatches, our eyes wide with possibilities.

"What do you think of this shade?" I asked, holding up a soft sky blue paint sample. "It feels serene and bright."

Stiles took the swatch from me and held it up against the wall. "I like it! It'll definitely give the room a nice, airy feel."

"Let's see what else they have," I suggested, eager to explore.

We moved on to another aisle and stumbled upon a beautiful soft green. "What do you think of this one?" I asked, holding it against the light.

Stiles's eyes lit up. "That's beautiful! It has a natural vibe. It would work perfectly with the woodland theme."

After comparing several swatches, we settled on the soft green. It felt fresh and calming, and I could already picture the light-filled room.

"Great choice!" Stiles said, jotting down our selection. "Let's grab a couple of cans and then head to the furniture store."

With the paint selected, we made our way to the register, excitement bubbling between us. Once we finished purchasing the paint, we headed to a nearby furniture store specializing in baby furniture.

Walking through the store, I felt my heart race at the sight of cribs, changing tables, and rocking chairs. Everything looked so adorable and inviting. "Look at this one," I said, pointing to a sleek, modern crib that had a beautiful natural wood finish.

"That's gorgeous," Stiles said, inspecting it closely. "I love the clean lines. It feels safe and stylish."

"Do you think it'll fit with the woodland theme?" I asked, trying to envision it in the nursery.

"I think we can make it work," he said confidently. "We could add some cute animal-themed bedding to give it that cozy vibe."

After a few more selections, we settled on the crib and matching changing table. As we continued to browse, we found a comfortable rocking chair that was perfect for late-night feedings and snuggles.

"This will be our little spot," Stiles said, testing out the rocking motion. "Can't you just picture it? You rocking our baby to sleep while I read in the chair next to you."

I smiled, the vision warming my heart. "Yeah, I can see it. It feels like home already."

Once we finalized our purchases and arranged for delivery, we decided to grab a bite to eat at a nearby café. As we settled into our seats, I reflected on the day. "I can't believe we're actually doing this," I said, feeling excitement and disbelief. "We're really creating a nursery for our son."

"I know," Stiles said, beaming at me across the table. "It's incredible. And I couldn't imagine doing this with anyone else."

We shared a moment of connection, knowing that this was just the beginning of our journey into parenthood. The anticipation of bringing our son into the world filled me with joy, and I felt grateful for the love and support we had for each other.

After lunch, we headed home, our hearts full as we began to make plans for the nursery. The paint would dry, the furniture would be delivered, and soon, our little corner of the world would be ready to welcome our baby boy.

Over the next few days, we enthusiastically tackled the nursery. The walls were painted, a soft green enveloping the room in warmth, and the furniture arrived, perfectly placed and ready to be filled with love. Stiles and I spent hours organizing, arranging, and decorating, our laughter echoing through the space as we made it our own.

As we unpacked the small decorations—animal figurines, soft blankets, and storybooks—I felt a sense of fulfillment that I hadn't anticipated. This was not just a room; it was a testament to our love, hopes, and dreams for our family.

One evening, after a long day of decorating, we stepped back to admire our work. "What do you think?" Stiles asked, his eyes sparkling with pride.

"It's perfect," I said, feeling a wave of emotion wash over me. "I can't wait for our little guy to be here and fill this space with laughter."

Stiles nodded, a smile spreading across his face. "This is just the beginning, Jackson. Our family is about to grow, and I can't wait to see what the future holds."

As we stood in the nursery, surrounded by the warmth of our creation, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. The journey ahead would have its challenges, but we were ready. Together, we would navigate the world of parenthood, creating a home filled with love, laughter, and endless adventure for our baby boy. And as I looked around the nursery, I knew our dreams were just beginning to take shape.

25 weeks pregnant

At 25 weeks pregnant, I felt like I was entering this incredible journey's new phase. My belly had grown substantially, and the roundness was now a prominent feature that could not be hidden. Its weight was a constant reminder of the life growing inside me, and while I reveled in its beauty, it also came with its own set of challenges.

Our baby boy was now about the size of a cauliflower, weighing around a pound and a half and measuring about 13 inches from head to toe. His senses developed rapidly; he could hear our voices, respond to sounds, and even recognize music. It was fascinating and surreal to think that he was already beginning to form his personality even before he was born.

Every day, the kicks and movements had become more pronounced. I had begun to distinguish between the light flutters of earlier weeks and the more robust nudges that felt like he was dancing in there. Sometimes, I'd place my hand on my belly, feeling him push against my palm, and I would talk to him, telling him about my day or what I was looking forward to. Stiles joined in too, often leaning down to say hello, and I loved watching the wonder in his eyes as he felt those little movements.

However, this week, I also noticed my body rebelling against the changes. My backache had intensified, a persistent throb that made it difficult to find a comfortable position. By the end of the day, I often felt like a tightly wound spring, and I had to be careful not to overdo it. I was learning the hard way that I couldn't push myself as much as I used to.

One morning, after a particularly restless night, I shuffled into the kitchen, groggy and achy. Stiles was already up, busily making breakfast, and I could smell the delicious aroma of scrambled eggs mixed with the scent of toast.

"Good morning, sleepyhead!" he called out, turning to give me a bright smile.

"Morning," I replied, rubbing my eyes. "I feel like a zombie today."

He chuckled, pouring a cup of coffee. "You need to take it easy, Jackson. You've been doing a lot lately. Remember, you're carrying a whole human in there."

"I know," I sighed, leaning against the counter for support. "It's just hard not to feel guilty when there's so much to do."

Stiles came over and handed me the coffee, the warmth radiating from the mug comforting against my palms. "You're doing an amazing job. But you also need to listen to your body. If you're tired, it's okay to rest. We'll get everything done together."

"Thanks," I said, sipping the coffee and savoring the rich flavor. "You always know how to make me feel better."

"Just doing my job as your partner," he said with a wink. "Now, let's eat before your little acrobat decides to wake up."

We settled down at the table, and I felt gratitude wash over me. I loved these moments—simple, quiet breakfasts filled with laughter and connection. They reminded me of what was truly important as we prepared for the arrival of our son.

As we ate, I could feel the baby shifting and moving, and I looked down, placing my hand on my belly. "Hey there, buddy. You feeling good today?" I murmured, feeling a kick in response.

Stiles's eyes lit up. "Did he just kick? I want to feel!"

I laughed, adjusting my position to make it easier for him. "Here, put your hand here. He's been pretty active this morning."

Stiles placed his hand gently on my belly, and the baby kicked again a moment later. "Wow! I felt that!" Stiles exclaimed, his face breaking into a grin. "That's amazing. It's like he's saying hello."

"Maybe he's just practicing his karate skills," I joked, a smile spreading across my face. "He's definitely got some energy."

After breakfast, I took a moment to check in with my body. My back ached, and I decided to take it easy that day. I couldn't keep pushing myself the way I used to, especially with the added weight and changes.

"Hey, I was thinking," I said, turning to Stiles as we cleared the table. "Maybe we should consider taking a birthing class. It might help us both prepare for what's coming."

Stiles nodded thoughtfully. "That's a great idea. I want us to feel as prepared as possible. Plus, it'll be a chance for us to learn together."

"Exactly," I replied, feeling relieved at the thought. "I want to feel confident when the time comes. I've heard that some classes even cover newborn care, which might be helpful."

Stiles grinned. "Let's find a class. I'm sure there are plenty of options around here. And who knows? Maybe we'll meet some other expectant parents and make new friends."

As we finished cleaning up, I felt my energy wane. "I think I'm going to take a short nap before we start looking into classes," I admitted, feeling the weight of my eyelids.

Stiles looked at me with concern. "Are you sure? You don't have to push yourself. You can rest as long as you need."

"I will," I assured him, giving him a gentle smile. "I just want to recharge a bit before diving into planning."

After a quick shower, I crawled into bed, feeling the cool sheets against my skin. The moment my head hit the pillow, I felt my body relax. I closed my eyes, welcoming the warmth of sleep as it enveloped me.

When I woke up, the light in the room shifted, indicating that I had been asleep longer than intended. I stretched slowly, feeling a pleasant tightness in my back as I sat up. The baby kicked again, a gentle reminder of his presence, and I smiled, placing my hand on my belly.

Stiles peeked into the room, his expression brightening when he saw I was awake. "Hey, sleepyhead. How was your nap?"

"Surprisingly refreshing," I admitted, running a hand through my hair. "I think I needed that."

"Good," he said, entering the room with a notebook in hand. "I've been doing some research while you were resting. There are a few birthing classes we can look into."

"Perfect!" I said, feeling my enthusiasm return. "What did you find?"

Stiles flipped open the notebook and began reading through his notes. "There's a local hospital offering classes that cover everything from labor and delivery to breastfeeding. They even have a couple's class focusing on the partner's role."

"That sounds ideal," I said, feeling excitement build. "When can we sign up?"

Stiles smiled, clearly pleased with the progress he had made. "They have sessions starting next week. I figured we could start with the first one and see how it goes."

"Let's do it," I said, feeling eager. "I want to be prepared for everything. Plus, it'll allow us to connect with other parents."

Stiles nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly! And who knows? We might even make some friends along the way."

After a quick discussion, we finalized the details and signed up for the classes. It felt good to take that step forward, and I could feel the weight of uncertainty lifting slightly. With each decision we made together, it felt like we were laying down a strong foundation for our family.

As we settled in for dinner that evening, I felt the baby kicking more than usual. I had read that he was becoming more active and responsive to sounds and movements at this stage. I couldn't help but talk to him, sharing stories about my day as if he could understand every word.

"Your dad and I are starting a nursery for you," I said, looking down at my belly. "We're picking out colors and everything. It's going to be amazing!"

Stiles chuckled as he set the table. "I can't wait to see your plans, little guy. Your room is going to be the coolest in the house."

The evening flew by as we ate dinner and discussed our plans for the nursery and the upcoming classes. The anticipation of welcoming our son into the world filled our conversations, and with each word, I felt the excitement grow.

As we cleaned up after dinner, I felt another kick, this one stronger than the rest. I stopped and touched my belly, feeling the movement beneath my palm.

"Whoa, he's really going for it tonight!" Stiles said, turning to me with wide eyes.

"Right? It's like he's doing a little dance party in there," I replied, laughing.

"Let me feel!" Stiles said, stepping closer and placing his hand on my belly.

Moments later, the baby kicked again, and Stiles's eyes lit up with wonder. "Wow, I can feel it! It's incredible!"

"I know, right?" I said, my heart swelling with happiness. "It's the best feeling in the world."

Stiles grinned, his hand still resting on my belly. "This is just the beginning, Jackson. Soon we'll be holding him in our arms."

The thought sent a shiver of joy through me. "I can't wait for that day. It feels so close now."

We spent the rest of the evening curled up on the couch, watching a light-hearted movie. I found myself drifting in and out of focus, the rhythmic kicks from the baby lulling me into a state of comfort. As the credits rolled, I glanced at Stiles, who was completely absorbed in the film, a smile on his face.

"Hey," I said softly, nudging him. "You awake?"

"Barely," he replied, stretching. "But I'm glad we took the time to relax."

"Me too," I said, snuggling closer to him. "I needed this."

"Next week is going to be a big one," he said, looking at me seriously. "With the classes starting and everything. I want to make sure you're taking care of yourself in the meantime."

"I will, I promise," I said, knowing that his concern was genuine. "I'm learning to listen to my body, even if it's a challenge sometimes."

Stiles smiled, a look of pride in his eyes. "That's all I ask. We've got this, Jackson. We're in it together."

As I lay there, listening to his steady breathing and feeling the gentle movements of our baby, I felt a profound sense of peace. No matter the challenges, I knew we could face them together. With each passing day, I was becoming increasingly ready to embrace the incredible adventure of parenthood, and I couldn't wait to welcome our son into the world.

Chapter Text

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Jackson's Pov

Stiles smiled, a look of pride in his eyes. "That's all I ask. We've got this, Jackson. We're in it together."

As I lay there, listening to his steady breathing and feeling the gentle movements of our baby, I felt a profound sense of peace. No matter the challenges, I knew we could face them together. With each passing day, I was becoming increasingly ready to embrace the incredible adventure of parenthood, and I couldn't wait to welcome our son into the world.

Jackson's Pov

The morning of our first birthing class arrived, and I felt a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbling inside me. At 25 weeks pregnant, the reality of bringing our baby boy into the world was becoming more tangible, and attending this class was a significant step in preparing for that moment. Stiles had been enthusiastic since we signed up, and I loved seeing him so engaged in the process.

As I finished getting ready, I saw myself in the mirror. My belly was more prominent than ever, and I felt a sense of pride as I placed my hands on the curve. This was a part of me now, and I embraced every moment. I smoothed down my shirt, feeling a bit self-conscious about my appearance, but I reminded myself that I was doing this for our little one.

"Hey, are you almost ready?" Stiles called from the living room, his voice filled with excitement.

"Yeah, just putting on my shoes!" I replied, glancing at the clock. We still had time, but I wanted to ensure we weren't rushing at the last minute.

As I joined him in the living room, I found him bouncing slightly on his feet, dressed in a comfortable outfit that highlighted his enthusiasm. "I can't believe we're finally doing this!" he exclaimed, a grin on his face. "This is such a big step for us."

"It is," I said, smiling back at him. "I'm excited but also a little nervous. What if I'm not prepared for what's coming?"

Stiles reached out, taking my hands in his. "We're both going to learn together. It's okay to be nervous. I mean, we're about to become parents! But think about how much we'll gain from this class."

"Right," I said, feeling a little more reassured. "We'll be ready to face anything after this."

We headed out to the car, and as we drove to the hospital, I felt the butterflies in my stomach fluttering with anticipation. The building loomed ahead, familiar yet filled with new emotions as we parked and went inside.

Once we entered the hospital, the warm, sterile scent of antiseptic and the faint hum of conversation greeted us. I could see other couples milling about, some of them looking just as nervous as we felt.

"Where do we go?" I asked, scanning the surroundings.

Stiles pulled out his phone, checking the class details. "I think it's in the maternity wing. Let's follow the signs."

We walked through the hospital, passing by rooms filled with expectant mothers and families. Each smile we exchanged felt like a quiet acknowledgment of our journey together.

Eventually, we found the room designated for the class. A large sign read, "Expecting Parents: Preparing for Labor and Delivery." Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The room was bright and welcoming, with comfortable chairs arranged in a semi-circle. A small podium stood at the front, and a few tables were set up with pamphlets and informational materials.

"Looks like we're right on time," Stiles said, glancing at the clock.

We took seats toward the back, and soon, the room began to fill with more couples. I watched as they chatted, sharing stories and laughter. The atmosphere was surprisingly light, and I could feel the nervous energy in the air transforming into something more relaxed.

A few moments later, the instructor entered the room—a warm, friendly woman with a reassuring smile. "Welcome, everyone! My name is Laura, and I'll be your instructor for this series of classes. I'm so glad you're all here."

"Hi, Laura!" the group chimed in unison, and I couldn't help but smile at the camaraderie forming.

Laura continued, "Today, we're going to cover some basics about labor and delivery, as well as discuss what to expect in the coming weeks. It's perfectly normal to feel a bit anxious, but remember, this is a safe space to ask questions and share experiences."

As she spoke, I felt Stiles squeeze my hand gently, his presence grounding me. "We got this," he whispered, a confident grin on his face.

Once the introductions were complete, Laura launched into her presentation. She explained the stages of labor, what to look for when labor begins, and how partners could support each other throughout the process. I took notes, trying to absorb all the information while also stealing glances at Stiles, who was completely focused on the discussion.

After covering the basics, Laura encouraged the group to share any concerns or questions. I felt a twinge of apprehension at speaking up, but I knew being open about my feelings was important.

"Are there any questions?" Laura prompted, her tone inviting.

Stiles leaned closer, his eyes bright with curiosity. "How can partners best support each other during labor? I mean, what's the most helpful thing I can do?"

Laura smiled, clearly pleased with the question. "Great question! Being present and supportive is key. That means encouraging your partner, helping with breathing techniques, and being their advocate with the medical staff. You'll be their rock, so staying calm and focused is essential."

Stiles nodded, absorbing the advice. "I want to make sure I do everything right for Jackson."

"Just being there is already a huge part of it," Laura reassured him. "And remember, each labor is different. Be adaptable and listen to what your partner needs in the moment."

As the discussion continued, I felt more comfortable. The room filled with shared experiences, and I found solace in knowing that I wasn't alone in my worries. Other couples voiced their fears, and it felt good to know that we were all in this together.

Eventually, it was my turn to speak up. "I'm worried about the pain and how I'll manage it," I admitted, feeling a bit vulnerable. "I want to be strong, but I've heard that labor can be intense."

Laura nodded empathetically. "That's a common concern, and it's perfectly normal to feel anxious about the pain. But there are many techniques you can learn to manage it, including breathing exercises, visualization, and even medication options. We'll go over those in later classes."

"Okay, that helps a little," I said, feeling some of the tension ease.

After a few more questions and discussions, Laura introduced a breathing exercise we could practice together. "Let's all stand up and try this as a group," she said, guiding us through a simple rhythm of inhaling and exhaling.

As we followed along, I could feel the connection growing among the couples. Stiles stood beside me, his hand resting on my back, offering his support as we practiced together. I focused on my breath, and for the first time, I felt a sense of calm wash over me.

When the class wrapped up, Laura encouraged us to mingle and chat with one another. Stiles and I took the opportunity to introduce ourselves to a few couples, sharing stories and laughter.

"Hey, what's your name?" a woman with a friendly smile asked as she approached us.

"I'm Jackson, and this is my partner, Stiles," I said, feeling more at ease.

"I'm Sarah," she replied, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "We're having a little girl in a few months."

"That's wonderful!" Stiles said, his enthusiasm evident. "We're expecting a boy."

Another couple joined the conversation, and soon we were all exchanging tips and ideas, from nursery themes to parenting books. It felt good to share in this experience with others who were in the same boat.

As the evening wore on, Stiles and I returned to the car, chatting about everything we had learned in class. "I can't believe how much information we covered today," I said, feeling both overwhelmed and grateful.

"I know! And it's great to hear from other parents-to-be," Stiles replied, his excitement infectious. "I think we're going to learn a lot from these classes."

"Agreed," I said, feeling a newfound sense of confidence. "I'm glad we decided to do this. It's nice to know we're not alone."

As we drove home, I reflected on the day's events, my heart swelling with love for Stiles and our growing family. We were embarking on this journey together, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

When we arrived home, I felt a surge of energy as we began to unwind from the day. Stiles prepared a light dinner while I took a moment to relax on the couch, my hand resting on my belly.

The baby kicked again, a gentle reminder of his presence. I looked down, smiling. "Hey there, little one. You're going to have such amazing adventures ahead," I said softly.

Stiles joined me a moment later, setting the table and sitting down beside me. "What are you talking about?" he asked with a grin.

"I was just telling the baby about all the fun things we'll do as a family," I said, feeling warmth. "Like reading stories together and going on adventures."

Stiles laughed. "We're going to make so many memories. Just think about all the road trips and family outings we'll have."

"And all the late-night talks about how to be a good dad," I added, feeling a sense of excitement building.

"Absolutely," Stiles agreed, his gaze serious but filled with warmth. "And we're going to raise him in a home filled with love and laughter."

As we shared dinner and talked about our dreams for the future, I felt a deep sense of gratitude wash over me. The journey ahead would undoubtedly be challenging, but with Stiles by my side, I knew we could face anything together.

Later that evening, as we curled up on the couch to watch a movie, I reflected on how far we had come. The birthing class opened up many conversations and gave us tools to navigate the path ahead. I felt more prepared than ever and was ready to embrace the next chapter of our lives.

With Stiles's hand resting on my belly and the rhythmic kicks reminding me of our son's presence, I knew that we were on the right track. Whatever challenges awaited us, we would face them as a family—together.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As I lay in bed that night, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting a warm light across the room, I felt the familiar flutter of our baby boy kicking gently in my belly. Stiles had fallen asleep beside me, his breathing steady and calm, a comforting rhythm that usually eased my own anxieties. But tonight, as I rested my hand on my belly and felt the movements beneath my palm, I couldn't shake a nagging worry that had crept into my mind.

What would happen when labor began?

I had been so focused on preparing for the arrival of our son that I hadn't taken the time to think about how my dual nature as a werewolf and a Kanima might complicate things. Would my wolf instincts kick in? Would the Kanima manifest in some way? My thoughts swirled around, a mix of excitement and apprehension.

"Hey," I murmured, unsure if Stiles was still awake.

He shifted slightly, his eyes blinking open as he looked at me. "What's up?" he asked, his voice still thick with sleep.

I hesitated for a moment, considering how to voice the thoughts that were swirling in my mind. "I've been thinking about labor and... how my wolf and Kanima might react."

Stiles propped himself up on one elbow, his expression shifting to one of concern. "What do you mean?"

I took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "When the time comes, what if my wolf instincts kick in? Or what if the Kanima surfaces? I don't want to scare you or the baby."

Stiles's brow furrowed as he processed my words. "Jackson, I know this is a big change for you, but you're in control. You've been managing your dual nature for a while now. You can handle this."

"I hope so," I said, rubbing my belly gently as another kick echoed. "But labor is intense. What if the pain triggers something? What if I lose control?"

Stiles reached over, placing his hand on top of mine, his touch grounding. "You won't lose control. We've talked about this. You know your body better than anyone, and you've trained yourself to manage those instincts. You can do this."

"But what if I don't?" I pressed, feeling the anxiety bubbling up. "What if my wolf reacts unpredictably? It's a stressful situation."

"Labor is going to be intense, that's true," Stiles said, his voice calm and reassuring. "But you're going to have me there. I'll be right by your side, supporting you through everything. We'll figure it out together."

I nodded, the reassurance in his words easing some of the tension in my chest. "I just don't want to endanger you or the baby. My instincts can be overwhelming."

"I know that," Stiles replied, his expression serious. "But you also have control over your wolf. You've faced so much already. You'll be able to manage whatever happens in that moment."

"Do you think I should talk to Derek or Peter about it?" I asked, seeking their wisdom. "Maybe they can give me advice on how to keep everything in check."

"Definitely. They might have some insights that could help you feel more prepared," Stiles said, nodding. "But remember, it's not just about your wolf or the Kanima. This is about you becoming a dad. Focus on that, on what you can control."

I took a moment to let his words sink in, feeling a bit more grounded. "You're right. I want to focus on being present for our son."

"Exactly," Stiles said, his tone softening. "You're going to be a great dad, Jackson. And when the time comes, we'll be in it together, every step of the way."

As I lay there, I felt the baby kick again, stronger this time, and I smiled. "I just hope our little guy inherits your calmness. I could use some of that right now."

Stiles chuckled softly. "You're already doing a great job at being a dad, just by thinking about these things. You care so much about him. That's what matters."

"Thanks, Stiles," I said, feeling a rush of gratitude. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You'll never have to find out," he replied, his voice full of warmth. "We're a team, remember? We'll face everything together."

With that, I felt the anxiety begin to melt away, replaced by a sense of reassurance. Stiles's unwavering support reminded me that I wasn't alone in this journey.

As the night wore on, we continued to talk about our plans for the nursery, baby names, and how we envisioned life as new parents. With each conversation, the excitement grew, and I couldn't help but feel grateful for the partnership we had built.

Eventually, sleep began to creep in, and I felt my eyelids growing heavy. Stiles shifted closer, wrapping his arm around me, and I nestled against him, feeling safe and secure.

"Goodnight, Jackson," Stiles whispered softly.

"Goodnight, Stiles," I replied, a smile forming on my lips. "I love you."

"I love you too," he said, his voice fading into a gentle murmur as I drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

In the depths of the night, I dreamed of our baby boy—of the joy and laughter that would soon fill our home, the moments we would share as a family, and the love that would bind us together. And as the dream unfolded, I felt a sense of calm wash over me, reminding me that no matter what challenges lay ahead, we would face them together, hand in hand, as a family.

The next morning, I woke up feeling more refreshed than I had in days. Stiles was still asleep beside me, his breathing steady and calm. I took a moment to appreciate our home's quiet and warmth before gently slipping out of bed.

As I padded into the kitchen, I felt the familiar flutter of our baby moving inside me. It was a comforting reminder of his presence, and I smiled as I prepared a simple breakfast for us. The process of making food had become a little more challenging lately, but I was determined to keep up some semblance of normalcy.

After breakfast, I decided to contact Derek and Peter about my concerns. I picked up my phone, contemplating how best to phrase my questions.

"Hey, guys! Do you have a minute?" I texted, hoping they were available.

It didn't take long for Derek to respond. "Yeah, what's up?"

"I wanted to talk about labor and how my wolf might react. I'm feeling a little anxious about it," I typed, trying to keep my nerves in check.

Peter replied almost immediately. "It's natural to be worried. We can meet up and talk through it. Let me know when you want to get together."

Feeling encouraged by their responses, I set a time for later that week. The prospect of discussing my concerns with them felt like a weight lifted off my shoulders, and I felt more at ease knowing I had a support system.

Once I finished scheduling, I heard Stiles moving around in the bedroom. I walked back in to find him sitting up, rubbing his eyes.

"Morning, sleepyhead!" I said, a teasing lilt in my voice.

"Morning," he replied, yawning. "What time is it?"

"Still early. I made breakfast if you're hungry," I said, feeling proud of my efforts.

He smiled, stretching as he got out of bed. "You're the best. I can't wait to see what you whipped up."

As we enjoyed breakfast together, I told him about my plans to talk with Derek and Peter. Stiles listened attentively, nodding along as I shared my thoughts and concerns.

"I think it's a great idea to reach out to them," he said, taking a sip of coffee. "They'll have valuable insights, especially since they've been through this before."

"I hope so," I admitted. "I just want to be prepared and feel confident when the time comes."

"You will be," he reassured me. "And remember, you're not just Jackson the Kanima or the werewolf—you're Jackson the dad. Embrace all of it."

I nodded, feeling a swell of determination. "You're right. I need to focus on being the best dad I can be, which means taking care of myself too."

With a newfound sense of purpose, we spent the rest of the day preparing for the nursery, choosing colors, and arranging furniture. Each decision felt more meaningful as we built a space to welcome our son.

As I arranged books on the shelves, I could feel the baby kicking and moving, a constant reminder of the little person who would soon be a part of our lives.

"Hey, little buddy," I said softly, looking down at my belly. "We're getting everything ready for you. I hope you like it!"

Stiles walked by and chuckled, shaking his head affectionately. "You're already talking to him like he can hear you."

"Maybe he can!" I replied, grinning. "I want him to feel loved and connected even before he arrives."

Stiles moved closer, placing his hand on my belly again. "I think he feels that love already. You're doing such a good job, Jackson."

As the sun began to set, we stood in the nursery, looking around at the space we had created. It felt like a labor of love, and I couldn't help but feel proud of what we had accomplished together.

"This is just the beginning," Stiles said, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "We'll fill this room with laughter and memories."

"I can't wait," I said, feeling a warmth spread through me. "I'm so excited to start this journey with you."

As we settled down for the night, the worries I had felt earlier seemed to fade into the background. With Stiles by my side and our plans taking shape, I felt ready to embrace the challenges and joys of parenthood. Together, we would create a life filled with love, laughter, and adventure for our little boy. And as I drifted off to sleep, I knew that we would face it together as a family no matter what lay ahead.

The day of my meeting with Derek and Peter arrived, and I felt a mixture of anticipation and nerves coursing through me. I had spent the morning preparing myself for the conversation, mentally reviewing the questions I wanted to ask and the concerns I hoped to address. Stiles was at work, and while I knew he would be with me in spirit, I still felt a bit of trepidation as I drove to the location we had agreed upon—a small café that offered a cozy atmosphere.

As I parked and stepped out of the car, I took a moment to gather my thoughts. I had always admired Derek and Peter for their strength and experience, but the prospect of discussing my anxieties about labor and how my dual nature might complicate things was daunting. I hoped they would understand.

When I entered the café, the smell of fresh coffee and baked goods enveloped me, and I felt a wave of comfort wash over me. I spotted Derek sitting at a table in the corner, his expression relaxed as he scrolled through his phone. I approached him, trying to project confidence despite my inner turmoil.

"Hey, Derek," I said, offering a small smile as I sat across from him.

"Hey, Jackson," he replied, looking up and setting his phone down. "Thanks for meeting me. How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay, just a bit anxious about everything," I admitted, rubbing my belly absently. "I've been thinking a lot about how my wolf and Kanima might react during labor."

Derek nodded, his expression turning serious. "That's a valid concern. Labor is intense, and it can be unpredictable. But you're stronger than you think, and you've learned to manage your dual nature."

"I know, but I can't help but worry," I confessed, feeling the weight of my concerns pressing down on me. "What if I lose control? I don't want to scare Stiles or the baby."

"You won't lose control," Derek assured me, his tone firm yet reassuring. "You've faced much worse situations and come out on top. Remember, your instincts can be your ally. It's about harnessing them, not letting them take over."

I nodded, absorbing his words. "But what if something triggers my wolf instincts? I've read that the body can react unexpectedly during stress."

"Stress can certainly affect you, but it can also be managed," Derek said thoughtfully. "Have you considered practicing breathing exercises or other techniques to help ground yourself during labor?"

"I've thought about it," I admitted. "Stiles and I have been practicing some of the techniques we learned in our birthing class, but I still worry that my instincts might override everything else."

Derek leaned in slightly, his gaze steady. "You need to trust yourself. You've been through a lot to get to this point, and you're more in control than you realize. If things start to feel overwhelming, focus on Stiles. He'll be there to help keep you grounded."

Just then, Peter arrived with a casual smile as he joined us at the table. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything too serious," he said, shooting me a knowing look.

"No, we were just discussing Jackson's concerns about labor," Derek replied, gesturing for Peter to sit.

"I figured that might come up," Peter said, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "So, Jackson, what's got you all worked up?"

I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of my worries settling in again. "I'm just anxious about how my dual nature might complicate things when it comes time for labor. I don't want to put anyone at risk, especially Stiles and the baby."

Peter's expression softened, and he nodded. "That's understandable. Bringing a baby into the world is a big deal for any parent, especially when you have additional factors at play."

"I want to make sure I'm prepared," I said, glancing between them. "I've read so much about labor, but I feel like my instincts are something I need to be aware of."

"Have you practiced any breathing or relaxation techniques?" Peter asked. "Those can really help in managing anxiety."

"Yeah, Stiles and I have been working on some techniques from our class," I replied. "But I still feel like there's so much to consider."

"Of course, but you have the right support," Derek reminded me. "Stiles is going to be your rock, and you'll have your pack behind you. We're all here for you, Jackson. You don't have to face this alone."

"I appreciate that," I said, feeling grateful for their support. "It helps to know that I have you both in my corner."

"Just remember," Peter added, leaning back in his chair, "that you have the ability to tap into your instincts in a positive way. You're not just a Kanima or a wolf but also a father-to-be. That's a powerful identity."

As we continued talking, I felt the weight of my worries begin to lift. Derek and Peter's support and wisdom reminded me that I wasn't facing this journey alone. They shared stories of their own experiences, and I listened intently, soaking up their advice.

"Just focus on the moment when the time comes," Derek said, his tone serious. "Trust your body, trust your instincts, and trust Stiles. It'll be okay."

"I'll try," I replied, feeling more reassured. "I want to be present for every moment of this."

After an hour of discussion, we wrapped up our conversation, and I felt a renewed sense of confidence. "Thank you both for taking the time to talk with me. I really appreciate it."

"Anytime," Peter said with a grin. "We're here for you, Jackson. And don't hesitate to reach out if you need anything else."

As I left the café, I felt lighter, the concerns that had weighed me down beginning to fade. Derek and Peter had given me valuable insights, and I felt more equipped to handle whatever lay ahead.

When I returned home, I found Stiles in the kitchen, preparing dinner. The comforting smell of something savory wafted through the air, and I couldn't help but smile.

"Hey, how did it go?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

"It went really well," I replied, walking over to him. "Derek and Peter gave me some great advice, and I feel a lot more at ease now."

Stiles turned to face me fully, his eyes searching mine. "What did they say?"

I shared the key points of our conversation, including the importance of trusting my instincts and focusing on the moment. As I spoke, I felt the tension of earlier days begin to dissipate, replaced by a sense of reassurance that I hadn't fully expected.

"See?" Stiles said, his expression brightening. "You're going to be an amazing dad, and you're already preparing yourself for the challenges ahead. I'm so proud of you."

"Thanks, Stiles," I said, feeling warmth spread through me. "I couldn't do this without you. You make everything feel possible."

"Always," he said, leaning in to give me a quick kiss. "Now, what do you want for dinner? I'm starving."

We settled into a comfortable routine as we finished preparing dinner together, the easy banter flowing between us. I couldn't help but feel grateful for the partnership we had built and the love that surrounded us.

As we sat down to eat, I noticed the baby kicking again, and I reached for Stiles's hand, placing it on my belly. "Feel that?"

Stiles's eyes widened in amazement as he felt the movements. "Wow! He's really active tonight. It's like he knows we're talking about him."

"Maybe he does," I joked, smiling. "I can't wait to meet him and finally hold him in my arms."

"Neither can I," Stiles replied, his voice sincere. "I want to be there for you both, every step of the way."

After dinner, we cleaned up together, our shared laughter echoing through the kitchen. My earlier anxieties about labor and my dual nature seemed far away, replaced by the warmth of our love and the anticipation of our family growing.

As we settled down on the couch for a quiet evening, I couldn't help but reflect on how much had changed since I first found out I was pregnant. The journey had been filled with its share of challenges, but with Stiles by my side and the support of my pack, I felt ready to embrace whatever lay ahead.

We spent the evening watching a light-hearted movie, and as I rested my hand on my belly, I felt the baby kick again. The sensation filled me with joy and a sense of connection that became deeper every day.

"I love this little guy already," I whispered, glancing at Stiles.

"Me too," he said softly, leaning closer to me. "And I can't wait to see the amazing person he'll become."

As the movie played on, I felt a wave of excitement wash over me. The journey into parenthood was unfolding before us, and I knew that no matter the challenges we faced, we would face them together. And in that moment, I felt a profound sense of peace, knowing that our family was on the brink of something extraordinary.

Chapter Text

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Jackson's Pov

"I love this little guy already," I whispered, glancing at Stiles.

"Me too," he said softly, leaning closer to me. "And I can't wait to see the amazing person he'll become."

As the movie played on, I felt a wave of excitement wash over me. The journey into parenthood was unfolding before us, and I knew that no matter the challenges we faced, we would face them together. And in that moment, I felt a profound sense of peace, knowing that our family was on the brink of something extraordinary.

Jackson's Pov

26 weeks pregnant

At 26 weeks pregnant, the reality of my pregnancy had firmly settled in. My belly was now unmistakably round, a beautiful testament to the life growing inside me. Each day, I marveled at the changes my body was undergoing, both in preparation for labor and in nurturing our baby boy. At this stage, he was about the size of a large eggplant, measuring roughly 14 inches from crown to rump and weighing nearly 2 pounds. His development progressed steadily—his bones were hardening, his lungs were maturing, and his senses were becoming more acute. I could hear the distant sounds of traffic and voices, and sometimes, during quiet moments, I thought I could make out snippets of conversation.

Physically, I was experiencing a mix of discomforts and joys. The backache that had been a persistent companion was now more intense, a deep, throbbing ache that made sitting for long periods unbearable. I had started using a maternity support belt, which provided some relief by redistributing the weight of my growing belly. My hips felt even looser, and I swayed side to side as I walked, trying to find a balance that didn't send sharp pains through my lower back.

Sleep had become elusive. Finding a comfortable position was a nightly challenge, despite the extra pillows strategically placed around me. I often woke up feeling restless, my mind racing with thoughts about our son's future and impending arrival. Yet, there were moments of pure joy—like feeling him move for the first time, or hearing his tiny heartbeat during a routine check-up—that made all the discomfort worthwhile.

One afternoon, after a long day of desk duty at Fornell's team, I returned home feeling particularly drained. The weight of the day and the aches in my back made it hard to keep my spirits up. As I sank into the couch, Stiles joined me, carrying two mugs of herbal tea.

"Here you go," he said, handing me a mug. "You look like you could use this."

"Thanks," I replied, taking a sip and feeling the warmth spread through me. "It's been a rough day."

Stiles sat down beside me, his hand reaching out to gently rub my back. "I know it's tough, but you're doing an amazing job. Just remember to take it easy."

"I'm trying," I said, leaning into his touch. "But sometimes it feels like there's so much to juggle."

He nodded, his eyes filled with understanding. "I get it. But we're a team, right? You don't have to handle everything on your own."

I smiled, feeling a wave of gratitude for his unwavering support. "Yeah, you're right. I'm lucky to have you."

We sat in comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds the soft ticking of the clock and the occasional crackle from the fireplace. The baby continued moving beneath my hand, reminding me of the life we created together.

After a few minutes, Stiles spoke up. "Have you thought more about the birthing plan? I know we talked about it last week, but I just want to make sure we're on the same page."

"I have," I replied, feeling the baby kick again, almost as if he was urging me to continue the conversation. "I want to have a natural birth, if possible. But I'm open to any medical interventions if they become necessary. I just want to be prepared for whatever happens."

Stiles nodded thoughtfully. "That makes sense. We should probably go over the options again and maybe attend another class. It never hurts to be extra prepared."

"I agree," I said, feeling a sense of calm wash over me. "It's better to know what to expect and have a plan. Plus, it'll give us more confidence when the time comes."

He reached out and took my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "We'll get through this together, just like we always do. And remember, you're not alone in this. I'm here for you every step of the way."

"I know," I said softly, feeling the weight of his words settle in my heart. "And I appreciate it more than I can say."

As the evening turned into night, we continued to talk about our plans, discussing everything from the type of hospital we wanted to give birth in to the roles we would each play during labor. Moments like these made me realize how fortunate I was to have Stiles by my side. His unwavering support and love were the anchors that kept me grounded, even during the most challenging times.

Later that night, as I lay in bed, I felt a surge of emotion. The pregnancy journey was a whirlwind of physical changes, emotional highs and lows, and endless preparations. But amidst it all, a profound sense of love and anticipation made every discomfort worth it. I reached out and took Stiles's hand, feeling the warmth and strength in his grip.

"Hey," I whispered, feeling his presence beside me. "Do you ever think about how our wolf and Kanima might react to labor?"

Stiles turned to face me, his eyes soft with understanding. "Sometimes," he admitted. "But I know you. You've always been in control, even in the toughest situations. I believe you'll handle it with the same strength and grace you always do."

I nodded, feeling a bit more reassured. "I hope so. It's just scary to think about how everything might change in those moments."

"We'll be prepared," he said firmly. "We've got strategies in place, and I'll be right there with you. Whatever happens, we'll handle it together."

His words were a balm to my anxious thoughts, and I felt a sense of peace settle over me. "Thank you, Stiles. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You don't have to find out," he replied, gently squeezing my hand. "We're in this together, now and always."

As I drifted off to sleep, the baby's movements a comforting rhythm beneath me, I felt a deep gratitude for the life we were building together. The challenges of pregnancy were significant, but with Stiles by my side, I knew we could face anything that came our way. Our love and partnership were the foundations upon which we would raise our son, guiding him through life with strength, compassion, and unwavering support.

The next morning, I woke up feeling a bit more rested, the night's conversation lingering in my mind. Stiles was already up, preparing breakfast as usual, his movements smooth and efficient despite his tiredness.

"Morning," he greeted me with a smile, sliding a plate of pancakes in front of me.

"Morning," I replied, reaching for a fork. "These look delicious."

"I figured we could use a hearty breakfast today," he said, settling into a chair beside me. "We've got a lot to prepare for the coming weeks."

We ate in comfortable silence for a while, the peaceful morning setting the tone for the day ahead. After breakfast, we spent the morning tackling the final touches of the nursery, hanging up curtains and arranging the furniture just how we wanted it. The room was transforming before our eyes, each detail a step closer to welcoming our son into a space filled with love and warmth.

Around midday, I felt the familiar ache in my back, a reminder that my body was carrying an incredible load. I paused to stretch, feeling the tightness release slightly. Stiles noticed and offered to help, but I shook my head. "I've got it. Just need to keep moving a bit."

"Alright," he said, though his eyes held a hint of concern. "But don't push yourself too hard. Remember, rest is just as important."

I nodded, appreciating his attentiveness. "I know. Thanks for looking out for me."

We continued our preparations, and the nursery was nearly complete by the afternoon. The soft green walls provided a serene backdrop, and the woodland-themed decorations added a whimsy. As I placed the final touches—a stuffed deer on the shelf and a collection of nature-themed storybooks—I felt pride and excitement.

Stiles joined me, admiring our work. "It looks amazing, Jackson. He's going to love it here."

"I hope so," I said, feeling the baby move beneath my hand. "I want it to be a place where he feels safe and loved."

"It is," Stiles assured me, his eyes meeting mine with unwavering certainty. "We've created something beautiful for him. Now, we just need to focus on the next steps."

That evening, as we settled down for dinner, I felt the baby kick again, a strong, insistent movement that made me laugh. "Looks like he's excited about our progress," I joked, placing my hand on my belly.

Stiles grinned, reaching out to gently touch my belly in response. "I guess he can't wait to see his nursery. We're doing everything right."

"I hope so," I replied, feeling a deep sense of fulfillment. "It feels good to see everything coming together. It makes the hard days a little easier."

Stiles nodded, his expression thoughtful. "We've got a lot to look forward to, Jackson. And no matter what comes our way, we'll handle it together. Just like we always do."

As the evening wore on, we discussed our plans for the coming weeks, the next classes we needed to attend, and the preparations we still had to make. Our sense of partnership was stronger than ever, each conversation reinforcing our commitment to one another and to the life we were bringing into the world.

Later that night, as I lay in bed, the baby's movements had a soothing rhythm beneath me, and I felt a profound sense of peace. The pregnancy journey was filled with its share of challenges but also filled with moments of joy and anticipation that made everything worthwhile. With Stiles by my side, I knew we were ready to face whatever lay ahead, united in our love and dedication to our growing family.

As I drifted to sleep, I felt the baby move again, a gentle reminder of the life we were nurturing together. In that moment, I knew that no matter what the future held, we would face it together as a family—stronger, more connected, and filled with an unwavering love that would guide us through every twist and turn of the journey ahead.

The day of our OB appointment arrived, and I felt excitement and nerves as Stiles and I went to the hospital. At 26 weeks pregnant, I had been eagerly anticipating this visit, eager to hear our baby boy's heartbeat and see how he was developing. Stiles was just as excited, his energy palpable as we drove through the familiar streets of Quantico.

"Are you ready for this?" Stiles asked, glancing over at me with a smile.

"I think so," I replied, trying to quell the flutter of nerves in my stomach. "I just want to hear that everything is going well."

"It will be," he said confidently, squeezing my hand. "You're doing an amazing job, Jackson. And we'll get to see our little guy again!"

I couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm. "Yeah, I can't wait to see him on the ultrasound again. It feels like every appointment brings us closer to meeting him."

As we arrived at the hospital, I felt a mix of familiarity and anticipation. Over the past few months, the building had become a second home, each visit reinforcing the reality of my pregnancy. We parked and made our way inside, the scent of antiseptic mingling with the warmth of the staff bustling around.

When we checked in, the receptionist greeted us with a warm smile. "Welcome back! You're in for your routine check-up, right?"

"Yes," I confirmed, glancing at Stiles, who gave me an encouraging nod.

"Great! You can take a seat, and they'll call you shortly," she said, directing us to a waiting area filled with expectant parents.

I could feel the familiar anticipation building as we settled into our seats. Stiles looked around, taking in the other couples, and leaned in closer to whisper, "Look at all these soon-to-be parents. It's like we're part of a club."

I laughed softly, the nervousness easing a little. "Yeah, a club filled with sleepless nights and endless diaper changes."

"Totally worth it," Stiles replied, his eyes sparkling excitedly. "Just think about how amazing it'll be when we finally hold our little boy."

A few moments later, a nurse called my name, and I stood up, taking a deep breath as Stiles followed closely behind. "Ready?" he asked, his tone playful yet supportive.

"Always," I replied, feeling determined as we walked down the hallway.

The nurse led us to the examination room, where the bright lights and cheerful décor greeted us. I sat on the examination table while Stiles settled into a chair beside me, his presence a comforting anchor.

"Alright, Jackson," the nurse said, pulling up my chart. "Let's check your weight and blood pressure before the doctor comes in. How have you been feeling?"

"Mostly good," I replied, sounding more confident than I felt. "Just the usual aches and some fatigue."

The nurse nodded, noting my responses as she took my blood pressure. "That's normal at this stage. It sounds like you're doing everything right. Just keep staying active and listening to your body."

After she finished, she stepped out to let the doctor in, and I felt a wave of anticipation wash over me. "This is it," I said, glancing at Stiles. "We're about to see him again."

"I can't wait," Stiles said, his eyes wide with excitement. "It's always the best part of these appointments."

A few moments later, Dr. Hayes entered the room with a friendly smile. "Good to see you both! How have you been?"

"Pretty good, just feeling a bit tired and achy," I replied, trying to gauge his reaction.

Dr. Hayes nodded knowingly. "That's perfectly normal, especially as we approach the third trimester. Let's take a look at how your little one is doing today."

He began the ultrasound, and I felt my heart race as the familiar sound of the machine filled the room. The screen flickered to life, and I couldn't help but lean closer, anticipation coursing through me.

"There he is," Dr. Hayes said, pointing to the screen. "Looking good!"

Stiles's hand squeezed mine tightly as we both focused on the image. On the screen was our baby boy, a little figure moving and squirming. I could see his tiny arms and legs, and for a moment, I felt completely overwhelmed with emotion.

"He's so active!" I exclaimed, watching in awe as he kicked and moved around. "It's incredible."

Stiles's eyes sparkled with joy. "He will be a little mover just like his dad."

Dr. Hayes smiled as he continued the examination. "His heart rate is strong, and everything looks great. You're excellently taking care of yourself and your baby."

"Thank you," I said, feeling a wave of relief wash over me. "It means a lot to hear that."

As the ultrasound continued, I felt the baby kick again, a strong jab that surprised me. "Whoa, did you feel that?" I asked Stiles, a grin spreading across my face.

"I did!" he said, his expression filled with awe. "He's got some power behind those kicks."

"Looks like he's going to keep us on our toes," Dr. Hayes commented, glancing at the screen. "As he gets bigger, those movements will only become stronger. Just make sure to keep an eye on how you're feeling."

We watched as the doctor took measurements and checked on everything, and I felt grateful for the care I was receiving. This journey was filled with uncertainties, but knowing that we had a supportive team behind us made a world of difference.

After finishing the ultrasound, Dr. Hayes turned to us, a smile on his face. "Everything looks perfect, and your next appointment will be in a few weeks. Keep up the great work, and don't hesitate to reach out if you have any concerns."

"Thank you so much, Dr. Hayes," I said, feeling relief and joy. "We appreciate everything you do for us."

As we left the examination room, I felt lighter than air. "That was amazing," I said, turning to Stiles. "I can't believe how active he is! It's like he's already full of energy."

Stiles laughed, his eyes filled with affection. "Looks like we're in for some adventures when he arrives. Just wait until he's running around."

"Right? I can barely keep up as it is," I joked, feeling the excitement bubble inside me.

As we walked out of the hospital, I couldn't help but reflect on our journey so far. Each appointment, each moment spent preparing for our son, brought us closer to the incredible adventure ahead.

"Do you want to grab some lunch?" Stiles suggested, glancing over at me. "I know a great little café nearby."

"I'd love that," I replied, feeling my stomach rumble in agreement. "Let's celebrate with some good food."

As we walked to the café, I felt Stiles's hand warm in mine, a comforting reminder that we were in this together. Each step felt like a leap closer to becoming parents, and I couldn't wait to embrace the life we were building together.

At the café, we settled into a cozy corner booth, and as we waited for our food, I looked across the table at Stiles, my heart swelling with love and gratitude. "Thank you for being here with me today. I know I wouldn't be as calm without you."

He smiled, his gaze warm and reassuring. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else, Jackson. We're in this together, always."

After we enjoyed our meal, we chatted about our plans for the nursery and what life would be like with our son. The thought of the future energized me, and with each conversation, I could sense the bond between us growing stronger.

As we finished up and prepared to leave, I took a moment to savor the experience. "This feels like a turning point," I said, glancing around the café. "We're really doing this."

"Yeah, we are," Stiles replied, his expression serious but filled with warmth. "And we're going to be amazing parents. I know it."

The sun shone brightly as we headed back home, and I felt a renewed sense of purpose. The challenges of pregnancy were significant, but they were overshadowed by the love and support that surrounded us. Together, we would navigate this journey and embrace the adventure of parenthood.

Later that evening, as we settled into our routine, I couldn't help but feel grateful for everything we had accomplished so far. The nursery was coming together, the appointments were going well, and our love deepened with each passing day.

As I lay in bed that night, I felt the familiar flutter of our baby moving inside me, a comforting reminder of the life we were nurturing. Stiles was by my side, his hand resting protectively on my belly as we discussed our hopes and dreams for the future.

"Do you think he'll take after you?" Stiles asked, a teasing lilt in his voice.

"Of course! He's definitely going to be a little athlete," I replied with a laugh. "But he'll also have your calmness. We'll make sure of that."

Stiles grinned, leaning in closer. "Whatever he becomes, I just want him to know he's loved. That's what matters most."

"Absolutely," I agreed, feeling a rush of emotion. "He'll always know that he's supported and cherished."

As the night wore on and sleep began to creep in, I felt a profound sense of peace wash over me. The journey to parenthood was filled with uncertainties, but with Stiles by my side and our love, I knew we could face anything that came our way.

With each gentle kick from our baby and the warmth of Stiles's hand resting on my belly, I drifted off to sleep, ready to embrace the adventures that awaited us in the coming days. The future was bright, and together, we would navigate the beautiful chaos of parenthood.

27 weeks pregnant

At 27 weeks pregnant, I felt as though I had officially entered the home stretch of this journey. My belly had grown even rounder, the skin stretched tightly over the burgeoning life within. I was now more aware than ever of the little nuances of pregnancy—each kick, each roll, and even the occasional wave of discomfort. Our baby boy was about the size of a head of cauliflower, around 14.5 inches long and weighing nearly 2.5 pounds. His development was on track, with his lungs maturing and his senses becoming increasingly acute. I was captivated by the thought of all the changes happening inside me, but I was also beginning to feel the weight of my growing body.

The past week had brought some unexpected sensations physically. My lower back ached more persistently, and I often felt the need to shift positions or stretch to relieve the pressure. My feet were starting to swell slightly, which surprised me, but Stiles assured me it was normal. "Your body is doing a lot of work," he said, gently rubbing my feet after a long day. You're creating a whole human!"

The day began like any other, with Stiles whipping up breakfast while I attempted to shake off the sleepiness that clung to me. I shuffled into the kitchen, my usual morning routine slowly becoming more labored as my belly grew.

"Good morning, sleepyhead!" Stiles greeted me, his smile brightening my mood. He had a knack for making even the most mundane mornings feel special.

"Morning," I replied, yawning and reaching for a cup of herbal tea. "What's for breakfast?"

"Eggs and toast, your favorite," he said, plating up a colorful array of food. "I figured you could use the energy."

"Good call," I said, settling down at the table. I dug into the breakfast, savoring the flavors as Stiles joined me. "You're spoiling me, you know that?"

"Only the best for you and our little guy," he said, winking. "We have to keep both of you healthy."

After breakfast, we decided to tackle a few last-minute preparations for the nursery. Stiles had picked up some adorable woodland-themed decorations, and we were eager to put them up. As we sorted through the items, I felt a small flutter in my belly, a reminder of the life growing within me.

"Did you feel that?" I asked, my eyes lighting up.

"Feel what?" Stiles replied, glancing up from the stack of decorations.

"The baby just kicked!" I exclaimed, placing my hand on my belly. "He's getting strong!"

"Let me feel!" Stiles hurried over, excitement dancing in his eyes. I guided his hand to my belly, and we both waited in anticipation. A moment later, the baby kicked again, a firm jab that caught us both off guard.

"Wow!" Stiles said, his face lighting up. "That's amazing! He will be a little soccer player, just like you!"

I chuckled, the sheer joy of the moment washing over me. "Or a basketball player, considering how much he moves around."

As we continued decorating, I began to feel a strange tightening in my abdomen. At first, I dismissed it as just another part of pregnancy, but the sensation grew more intense, almost rhythmic. I paused, placing my hand on my belly again.

"Everything okay?" Stiles asked, noticing my sudden stillness.

"I'm not sure," I admitted, a hint of concern creeping into my voice. "I think I might be experiencing my first Braxton Hicks contraction."

Stiles's eyes widened slightly. "Is that normal?"

"Yeah, it's common in the second and third trimesters," I explained, trying to sound more assured than I felt. "It's my body practicing for labor. It can feel a bit like cramping or tightening."

"Do you need to sit down?" he asked, moving closer to me with a protective instinct.

"I think I'll be okay," I said, taking a deep breath as the tightening subsided slightly. "It's not painful, just... unusual."

"Let me know if you need anything," Stiles said, his tone serious. "I'm here for you."

I appreciated his concern, feeling a rush of love for him. "Thanks, Stiles. I'm sure it's nothing to worry about. Just my body getting ready."

After a few moments, the sensation faded, and I felt more at ease. We continued our work in the nursery, hanging up decorations and rearranging furniture. The process felt fulfilling, each small detail contributing to the space we were creating for our son.

Later that afternoon, after a successful decorating session, I decided to relax for a bit on the couch while Stiles finished some cleaning in the kitchen. As I settled in, I felt the baby kick again, stronger this time, and I couldn't help but smile.

"Hey, little buddy," I said softly, resting my hands on my belly. "You're getting stronger every day, aren't you?"

Stiles poked his head around the corner, curious. "What are you talking about?"

"The baby just kicked," I said, my heart swelling with pride. "He's really active today."

"Let me feel!" Stiles rushed over, placing his hand on my belly once again. "Wow! He's really going for it! Do you think he can hear us?"

"I like to think so," I said, feeling a sense of wonder. "I want him to know we're here, talking to him, and that he's loved."

Stiles smiled, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "He's going to be one lucky kid with you as his dad."

"Thanks, Stiles," I said, feeling a warmth spread through me. "I just want to be there for him, to support him through everything."

"Just like you've always supported me," he said, his tone serious but filled with affection. "We'll make sure he knows how loved he is."

As evening approached, I found myself feeling more fatigued than usual. The Braxton Hicks contractions had left me a little drained, and I decided to take it easy. Stiles noticed and offered to run a bath for me.

"Why don't you soak for a bit?" he suggested. "I'll grab some candles and make it nice and relaxing."

"That sounds perfect," I replied, grateful for his thoughtfulness.

Once in the tub, the warm water enveloped me, and I felt my muscles relax. The soothing heat helped ease some of the tension in my back, and I closed my eyes, allowing myself to unwind.

As I lay there, I thought about the upcoming weeks—preparing for labor, getting the nursery ready, and embracing the transition to parenthood. A mixture of excitement and nerves washed over me, but I was determined to face it all with Stiles by my side.

After my bath, I felt refreshed and ready to tackle the rest of the evening. Stiles had prepared a light dinner, and we settled at the table, chatting about our day and sharing dreams for our son's future.

"Do you ever think about what kind of person he'll be?" Stiles asked, his expression thoughtful.

"All the time," I replied, feeling a rush of love for our little boy. "I hope he's kind and brave, and that he knows he can always come to us for support."

Stiles nodded, his eyes shining. "I want him to be adventurous and curious about the world. And I hope he knows that he's free to be whoever he wants to be."

"Absolutely," I said, feeling a swell of pride. "We'll create a safe space for him to explore and grow. I want him to feel loved and supported, no matter what."

After dinner, we settled down on the couch, the lamp's soft glow illuminating the room. As I leaned against Stiles, I felt the baby kick again, a gentle reminder of his presence.

"Hey, little guy," I whispered, placing my hand on my belly. "We're ready for you whenever you are."

Stiles laughed softly. "He's probably just waiting for the right moment to make his grand entrance."

"I just hope he takes his time," I said, glancing up at Stiles. "I want to be as prepared as possible."

"You will be," he assured me, wrapping his arms around me. "And I'll be right there with you, every step of the way."

As the evening wore on and sleep began to creep in, I felt a profound sense of peace wash over me. The journey ahead would undoubtedly have its challenges, but with Stiles by my side and our love, I felt ready to embrace whatever came our way.

As I drifted off to sleep, the rhythmic kicks of our baby boy became a comforting lullaby, reminding me of the life we were nurturing together. And in that moment, I knew that no matter the challenges we faced, we would navigate them as a family—stronger, more connected, and filled with an unwavering love that would guide us through every twist and turn of the journey ahead.

The next morning brought a sense of renewal. I woke feeling a bit more rested, the morning light streaming through the curtains. Stiles was still asleep beside me, and I took a moment to savor the peacefulness of the morning before gently nudging him awake.

"Hey, sleepyhead," I said softly, fingering his hair.

"Mm, five more minutes," he mumbled, burying his face in the pillow.

I chuckled, gently shaking him. "Come on, we have to start our day. Plus, I think the baby wants to say good morning."

Stiles blinked awake, his expression shifting from groggy to alert. "What? Did he kick you again?"

"Yeah, he's been active this morning," I said, feeling a rush of affection. "I think he's excited about the day ahead."

Stiles smiled, sitting up and stretching. "Alright, I'm up! What's on the agenda for today?"

I shrugged, thinking through our plans. "I figured we could check in on the nursery, maybe grab some groceries, and I still want to look into that birthing class we talked about."

"Sounds like a solid plan," he replied, pulling on a shirt. "Let's get some breakfast first. You need your energy."

I felt a renewed sense of purpose as we moved through the morning routine. The Braxton Hicks contractions I had experienced the day before had faded, and I was eager to embrace the day ahead.

After breakfast, we headed out to the nursery. I admired the decorations we had set up—soft animal prints, a cozy reading nook, and the gentle colors that created a serene atmosphere.

"Look at this place," Stiles said, stepping back to take it all in. "It's perfect. He's going to love it here."

"I hope so," I said, my heart swelling with pride. "It's more than I could have imagined."

As we continued to arrange things, I felt a familiar tightening in my abdomen again, and I paused, placing my hand on my belly. "There it is again," I said, feeling the sensation of another Braxton Hicks contraction.

Stiles looked over, concern flashing across his face. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just a practice contraction," I assured him. "Nothing to worry about. Just my body getting ready."

"Alright, just let me know if you need to take a break," he said, moving closer to me. "I'm here for you."

We spent the next few hours preparing the nursery and tackling our to-do list. As the day wore on, I felt excitement and nerves building within me. I knew that with each passing week, we were getting closer to the moment we had been waiting for, and the thought both thrilled and terrified me.

Later in the day, we headed to the grocery store, our list in hand. The bustling atmosphere felt familiar, and I relished its normalcy. As we walked through the aisles, I spotted a section filled with baby supplies and couldn't resist the urge to browse.

"Look at all this stuff," I said, running my fingers along the neatly stacked items. "There's so much to choose from."

"Which one do you think is the cutest?" Stiles asked, picking up a soft blanket covered in tiny animal prints. "This one has to be a contender."

"It's adorable," I agreed, imagining how cozy it would look in the nursery. "Let's get it. He'll need plenty of blankets."

As we continued shopping, I felt another tightening in my abdomen, and I paused for a moment, trying to breathe through it. Stiles noticed my sudden stillness and looked at me with concern.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice laced with worry.

"I'm fine," I reassured him, though I could feel the tightening intensifying. "Just another Braxton Hicks contraction. It's nothing serious."

"Are you sure?" he pressed, his protectiveness shining through.

"Really, I promise. It's normal at this stage," I replied, placing a hand on my belly to reassure both of us. "I just need a moment."

We stepped aside, and I focused on my breathing, remembering the techniques we had learned in class. Stiles stood close, his presence a steady source of comfort. After a minute or so, the contraction subsided, and I felt more at ease.

"See? All good," I said, smiling at him. "Just a little practice for my body."

Stiles looked relieved, but I could still see the concern in his eyes. "I just want to make sure you're taking care of yourself. You're doing a lot right now."

"I know, and I appreciate it," I said, leaning in to give him a quick kiss. "We're a team, remember?"

"Always," he replied, a hint of a smile returning to his face.

As we finished our shopping, I felt a renewed sense of excitement. The anticipation of our baby boy's arrival was growing, and I was ready to embrace the challenges and joys that lay ahead.

Later that evening, we returned home, and as we unpacked the groceries, I felt the familiar flutter of our little one moving inside me. The sensation made me smile as I placed a hand on my belly, connecting with the life within.

"Hey there, buddy," I said softly. "We're getting everything ready for you. Can't wait to meet you."

Stiles joined me, placing his hand on my belly as well. "We're going to be the best parents," he said, his voice filled with warmth. "You can count on it."

As we settled down for the evening, the day's worries melted away, replaced by the love and anticipation we felt for our growing family. The journey ahead was undoubtedly filled with challenges, but with Stiles by my side, I felt ready to embrace it all.

As I lay in bed that night, I felt a sense of peace wash over me. The baby's movements were gentle and reassuring, and I closed my eyes, allowing the rhythmic kicks to lull me into a calm state. With every passing day, I knew we were growing closer to the moment we had dreamed of, and I felt grateful for the love and support surrounding us.

As I drifted to sleep, I knew that no matter what lay ahead, we would face it together, stronger than ever, united in our love for each other and our little boy. The adventure of parenthood awaited us, and I couldn't wait to embark on this incredible journey with Stiles by my side.

Chapter Text

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Jackson's  Pov

As I lay in bed that night, I felt a sense of peace wash over me. The baby's movements were gentle and reassuring, and I closed my eyes, allowing the rhythmic kicks to lull me into a calm state. With every passing day, I knew we were growing closer to the moment we had dreamed of, and I felt grateful for the love and support surrounding us.

As I drifted to sleep, I knew that no matter what lay ahead, we would face it together, stronger than ever, united in our love for each other and our little boy. The adventure of parenthood awaited us, and I couldn't wait to embark on this incredible journey with Stiles by my side.

Jackson's Pov

At 27 weeks pregnant, I felt like we were truly in the home stretch, and with each passing day, our anticipation for our baby boy's arrival grew stronger. One thing that had been on my mind lately was the decision about his name. Stiles and I had talked about names before but hadn't settled on anything concrete yet. I wanted to figure this out, and I felt like now was the perfect time to dive into the conversation.

As we settled down one evening after dinner, I turned to Stiles, who was relaxing on the couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table. "Hey, can we talk about baby names tonight?" I asked, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness.

"Absolutely! I've been thinking about it too," he replied, sitting up straighter, his interest piqued. "What names are on your mind?"

I took a deep breath, feeling a rush of enthusiasm. "I really like the name Boston. It feels strong and unique. Plus, it has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

Stiles's brow furrowed slightly as he considered it. "Boston, huh? That's definitely different. I like it. It gives off a cool vibe. What's the significance behind it for you?"

"I don't know, really," I admitted. "I just think it sounds like a name that would carry weight. And it reminds me of the city, which has a lot of history and culture. I want our son to have a name that represents something special."

"Good point," Stiles said, nodding thoughtfully. "I can see why you like it. It's definitely a name that stands out."

I continued, "Another name I've been considering is Brooks. It feels classic yet modern, and I think it flows nicely. What do you think?"

"Brooks is nice too," Stiles said, his eyes lighting up. "It has a warmth to it, like a cozy little nook you want to curl up in. Plus, it's easy to say and has a nice cadence. It would sound great with our last name."

"Right? I can totally picture it," I replied, feeling encouraged. "So, what do you think—Boston or Brooks?"

Stiles rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "They're both great options. Boston feels more adventurous and bold, while Brooks has that classic charm. I guess it depends on what vibe we want to go for."

I pondered his words, feeling the weight of the decision settle in. "I want our son to feel proud of his name, which represents who he is. Maybe we should think about it in terms of the qualities we want him to embody."

"That's a good idea," Stiles said, leaning forward, his excitement contagious. "For Boston, it could represent strength, independence, and a sense of adventure. For Brooks, maybe warmth, reliability, and classic values."

"I like that," I said, my heart swelling with emotion. "It's important to me that we choose a name that carries meaning."

As we continued discussing the names, I felt a sense of connection growing between us. This wasn't just about choosing a name; it was about envisioning our future as parents and the values we wanted to instill in our child.

"Do you think we should make a pros and cons list?" Stiles suggested playfully. "You know, like in the movies?"

I chuckled at the thought. "Why not? We can make it a fun little project. Let's write down everything we like about each name."

With that, we grabbed a notepad and pen, and I began writing down the names while Stiles jotted down our thoughts.

"Okay, for Boston," I said, starting our list. "Pros: Unique, strong, adventurous. Cons: A little unconventional, might be too much for some people."

Stiles nodded, writing it down. "And Brooks? Pros: Classic, warm, easy to say. Cons: It might be more common."

"Exactly," I said, feeling the excitement of the conversation flowing. "This is fun! It's like we're detectives trying to solve the mystery of our baby's name."

Stiles laughed, his eyes sparkling. "We're definitely on the case! And I have to say, I love how passionate you are about this."

"I just want to get it right," I admitted, feeling the moment's weight. "This is a big decision, and I want our son to feel that he's special."

"Whatever name we choose, he'll be special," Stiles said confidently. "But it's important to both of us, so I understand. Let's keep brainstorming."

After we finished our initial list, we spent the next hour tossing around more names and ideas. We laughed, shared stories about our own childhoods, and contemplated the significance of each name we considered. It felt like we were weaving together a tapestry of hopes and dreams for our son.

As the evening wore on, I felt warm in my heart, knowing we were on this journey together. "You know," I said, glancing at Stiles, "whatever name we decide on, I want it to reflect our love and our hopes for him."

"Me too," he said, his expression softening. "I want him to know that he was wanted and cherished before he even arrived. That's what matters most."

With that shared understanding, we returned to our brainstorming, writing down every name that resonated with us. As the list grew, I felt a sense of possibility fill the room.

Eventually, as we wrapped up our conversation for the night, I felt a sense of excitement settling in. "I think we're getting closer to a decision," I said, glancing over our notes.

"Agreed," Stiles replied, leaning back in his chair. "And we have time to think it over. No rush."

"Right," I said, feeling the tension in my shoulders ease. "I'm just so eager to finalize it."

As we settled down for bed that night, I felt the baby kick again, a gentle reminder of the life we were nurturing together. I placed my hand on my belly, feeling a profound connection to the little one inside me.

"Hey there, buddy," I said softly. "We're working on your name. We want it to be perfect for you."

Stiles turned to me, a warm smile on his face. "And whatever we choose, it'll be perfect because it's from us."

"Exactly," I said, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over me. "I can't wait to hold you in my arms."

As I drifted to sleep, I knew we were on the right path. The pregnancy journey was filled with challenges, but with Stiles by my side and the love we shared, I felt ready to embrace whatever came our way.

The next morning, I woke up feeling energized, my thoughts filled with the names we had discussed. After a quick breakfast, I decided to reach out to some friends for their opinions.

"Hey, Stiles," I called out as he got ready for work. "What do you think about asking some of our friends what they think of the names?"

"Good idea," he said, turning to face me. "We could use some outside opinions. Maybe they'll have suggestions we haven't thought of yet."

"Exactly!" I replied, feeling a surge of excitement. "Let's do it!"

After Stiles left for work, I took a moment to gather my thoughts and decide how to approach our friends. I drafted a group message, sharing Boston and Brooks' names and inviting their feedback.

"Hey everyone! Stiles and I are trying to decide on a name for our baby boy and would love your input. What do you think of the names Boston and Brooks? Any thoughts or suggestions?"

Once I sent the message, I felt a mix of anticipation and curiosity. I wondered how our friends would respond and if they'd have any names to add to our list.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of activities. I tackled some light chores around the house and took breaks to stretch and ease the tension in my back. I felt the baby kicking more frequently, a comforting reminder of his presence.

Later in the afternoon, my phone buzzed with notifications. I eagerly checked my messages, thrilled to see responses from our friends.

"Boston is unique and has a cool vibe! Brooks sounds classic and warm. Can't go wrong with either!" wrote one friend.

"Love both names! Boston has a bold feel, while Brooks feels cozy. I'd lean towards Brooks if you want something more traditional," another suggested.

As I read through the responses, I felt encouraged. The feedback was positive, and it helped reaffirm the choices we had made so far.

That evening, Stiles returned home, and I was excited to share the feedback I had received. "You won't believe what our friends said!" I exclaimed as he walked through the door.

"Oh, do tell!" Stiles replied, his interest piqued as he set down his bag.

"They loved both names! Most of them think Boston has a bold vibe, while Brooks feels more traditional. It seems like we can't go wrong with either," I said, feeling a sense of relief wash over me.

"Awesome! It's nice to know we're on the right track," Stiles said, grinning. "Do you think we're leaning one way more than the other?"

"I'm not sure yet," I admitted. "I love Boston for its uniqueness, but Brooks has a comforting feel that's hard to ignore. Maybe we should keep talking about it and see how we feel over the next few days."

"Sounds like a plan," Stiles agreed, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "Whatever we choose, it'll be perfect for our little guy."

As we settled down for dinner, the conversation flowed easily between us, and I felt a sense of excitement building. This was more than just a name; it was about who our son would be and the life we would build together as a family.

After dinner, we curled up on the couch, and I felt the baby kick again, this time a strong jab that made me laugh. "Looks like he's ready to make his entrance!" I joked, placing my hand on my belly.

"Maybe he's just eager to get out and meet us," Stiles replied, his eyes sparkling. "I can't wait to hold him in my arms."

"Me neither," I said, feeling a wave of warmth at the thought. "Every day brings us closer to that moment."

As we cuddled together, I felt a sense of peace settle over me. The journey ahead would have its challenges, but with Stiles by my side, I knew we could face anything that came our way. The adventure of parenthood awaited us, and I was ready to embrace it all.

The next morning brought a renewed sense of energy. I woke up feeling excited and inspired to tackle the day ahead. As I moved through my morning routine, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were getting closer to finalizing our baby's name.

After breakfast, I decided to spend some time researching more baby names. I wanted to expand our list and see if there were any other options that resonated with us. As I sat down with my laptop, I typed in "baby boy names" and began scrolling through the countless suggestions.

"Okay, let's see what else is out there," I said to myself, feeling the anticipation build. "Maybe there's something perfect that we haven't considered yet."

I found myself jotting down names that caught my attention, ranging from classic to unique. As I explored the lists, I thought about what each name could represent and how it would sound with our last name.

A little while later, I noticed Stiles peeking over my shoulder. "What are you up to?" he asked, a playful grin on his face.

"Just researching more names," I said, showing him my compiled list. "What do you think of these?"

Stiles scanned the names, nodding along. "I like some of these! What about Oliver? It's classic and has a nice ring to it."

"Oliver is nice," I agreed, jotting it down. "And what about Ethan? I've always liked that name."

"Ethan is great too! It sounds strong and dependable," Stiles said, his excitement infectious.

As we continued brainstorming, I felt the baby kick again, a gentle reminder of the life we were preparing for. "I think it's so important to choose a name that carries meaning and embodies our hopes for him," I said, feeling passionate about the topic.

"Definitely," Stiles replied, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "It's a big part of who he'll be. I want him to know that he can be anything he wants to be."

With our discussions flowing, we spent the rest of the day bouncing ideas off each other, letting our imaginations run wild. By the end of the day, we had a solid list of names that included Boston, Brooks, Oliver, and Ethan.

I felt a sense of fulfillment as I lay in bed that night. We were getting closer to finalizing our baby's name, and sharing this journey with Stiles felt good. I placed my hand on my belly, feeling a kick from our little one.

"Hey there, buddy," I whispered softly. "We're working on your name. Just know that whatever we choose will be filled with love."

Stiles turned to me, his hand resting gently on my belly. "And it will be perfect because it's from us," he said, his voice filled with warmth.

As sleep began to claim me, I felt a profound sense of peace wash over me. The journey of parenthood was beginning, and I was ready to embrace it all with open arms. Together, we would navigate the adventures of raising our son, creating a life filled with love, laughter, and endless possibilities.

As the days rolled into a new week, the excitement of choosing a name for our baby boy was palpable. Stiles and I had spent countless hours discussing our options—Boston and Brooks were our top contenders—but we still hadn't settled on a final choice. One evening, as we were winding down from dinner, Stiles looked thoughtful, a spark of inspiration lighting up his eyes.

"Hey, I've got an idea," he said, leaning forward on the couch, his expression animated. "What if we spend the next week each calling him by one of the names? You know, just to see how it feels?"

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "You mean, like for a whole week, we just pick one name and stick to it?"

"Exactly!" Stiles replied, clearly excited. "We can alternate days, starting with Boston today and then switch to Brooks tomorrow. It'll allow us to see which name resonates with us more."

I chuckled, loving the creativity of his idea. "That's actually a brilliant plan. It'll be like a little trial run for his name. I could get used to calling him Boston. It has a nice ring to it."

Stiles nodded, his enthusiasm infectious. "Right? And if we prefer one over the other, it'll help us make a more informed decision."

"Okay, I'm in," I said, feeling a rush of excitement. "Let's do it!"

"Great! I'll start calling him Boston right now," Stiles declared, a smile spreading across his face.

We spent the rest of the evening calling the baby by his temporary name, and it felt surprisingly natural. Stiles would say things like, "How's it going in there, Boston?" and I found myself smiling every time I heard it. It was a delightful way to bond with our little one.

I headed to work the following morning, still buzzing from our new naming experiment. As I settled into my desk at the FBI, I couldn't help but share the idea with my colleagues.

"Hey, everyone, guess what we're doing?" I announced, catching the attention of my teammates.

"What's up, Jackson?" one of them asked, leaning in.

"We're trying out names for the baby! For the next week, we're each calling him Boston and Brooks on alternating days to see which one we like better," I explained, excitedly.

"That's a cool idea!" another colleague chimed in. "Boston sounds strong, and Brooks feels cozy. You guys are on the right track."

"Exactly!" I said, feeling proud of our plan. "I want the name to reflect who he is and the values we want to instill in him."

As the day went on, I kept thinking about the name Boston, how it rolled off my tongue and the strong vibe it carried. Whenever I thought about our little boy, I could picture him as a confident and adventurous kid, ready to take on the world.

I caught up with a few friends in the break room during lunch, sharing the news about our naming experiment. "So, we're trying out the names Boston and Brooks," I said, enjoying the camaraderie.

"Nice! Which one do you prefer so far?" one of them asked, curiosity lighting up their eyes.

"I think I'm leaning toward Boston. It just feels powerful," I admitted, feeling the excitement of the decision wash over me.

"Good choice! It's unique and has character," another friend said, nodding in agreement.

After work, I headed home, eager to share the day's events with Stiles. When I walked through the door, I found him chopping vegetables for dinner in the kitchen.

"Hey, how was work?" he asked, glancing up with a smile.

"Busy, but I shared our baby name idea with some colleagues. Everyone thinks it's great!" I replied, setting my bag down.

"Awesome! I'm glad they like it," he said, turning back to his chopping. "I was thinking about it all day, too. I can't wait to keep calling him Boston."

"I know, right? It feels good," I said, feeling the thrill of the name. "I keep picturing him growing up strong and adventurous."

As we prepared dinner together, I was slipping into a rhythm, excitedly discussing our plans for the nursery and the upcoming classes. "Have you thought about what we need to pick up for the baby next?" I asked, stirring the pot on the stove.

"Yeah, we should probably get some diapers and a few more clothes," Stiles said, his focus shifting to me. "And maybe a few more books for storytime. I want him to love reading."

"Great idea! We can add that to our shopping list," I replied, feeling the warmth of his excitement.

As dinner came together, I reflected on how much had changed since I first found out I was pregnant. This journey was filled with unexpected joys, and now we were on the verge of a beautiful adventure into parenthood.

Later that evening, we settled down to eat, the aroma of dinner filling the air. "How's Boston doing?" Stiles asked, a playful grin on his face.

"Feeling active, as always," I said, laughing. "I think he's getting used to the name already."

"Good! He's going to be used to hearing it by the end of the week," Stiles replied, leaning in closer. "And don't forget to tell him how loved he is."

After dinner, we cuddled up on the couch, and I felt the baby kicking gently. "I can't believe how much he moves," I said, touching my belly.

"Maybe he's getting ready for all the adventures he'll have with us," Stiles said, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

"Exactly," I said, feeling a rush of warmth. "He's going to be a part of everything we do."

As the days progressed, I noticed that the name Boston was becoming more comfortable to say. I used it more frequently, and I felt a deeper connection forming with each mention. I could almost picture our little boy, running around with energy, ready to explore the world.

The next day at work, I shared my thoughts with my colleagues again. "So, it's been a day since we started calling him Boston, and I think I'm falling in love with the name."

"That's great to hear!" one colleague said, beaming at me. "It sounds like it fits your family perfectly."

"Thanks! I'm really enjoying it," I replied, feeling a rush of happiness.

After work, I returned home to find Stiles in the living room, deep in thought as he sat on the couch. "Hey, what's up?" I asked, sensing the contemplative mood.

"I've been thinking about the name too," he said, his expression serious yet soft. "And I really like Boston. It feels adventurous and bold, just like we want him to be."

I felt my heart swell at his words. "I was hoping you'd say that! I've grown attached to it already."

As the week continued, we both embraced the name Boston, using it casually in our conversations about the baby. It felt natural, and I was surprised by how quickly it had grown on me.

One evening, while we were sitting on the couch watching a movie, Stiles leaned over and whispered, "How's Boston doing?"

I chuckled, feeling the warmth of the name in my heart. "He's doing great! Just kicked me a minute ago."

"Really?" Stiles said, his eyes lighting up. "I want to feel!"

"Here," I said, guiding his hand to my belly. A moment later, the baby kicked again, and Stiles's face broke into a smile.

"Wow! He's so strong!" Stiles exclaimed, his excitement contagious. "I can't believe how real this is becoming."

"It's amazing, isn't it?" I said, my heart swelling with joy. "I can't wait to meet him and see who he becomes."

As the week wore on, the name Boston began to feel like a part of our family. It was no longer just a name we were trying out; it had transformed into something meaningful. I found myself daydreaming about what it would be like to call him by that name, the sound echoing in our home, filled with love and laughter.

One evening, while prepping for dinner, I turned to Stiles, a grin on my face. "You know, I think we should start planning a little celebration for when he arrives. Maybe a small gathering with our friends?"

Stiles paused, considering the idea. "That sounds fun! We could invite everyone over, and we can reveal the name then."

"Exactly!" I said, my excitement bubbling over. "It'll be a special moment, sharing the name with everyone."

"I love that idea," Stiles replied, his smile widening. "Let's start making a list of people to invite."

As we continued planning, I felt a sense of joy wash over me. We were creating a life filled with love, adventure, and connection, and I couldn't wait to embrace every moment of it.

By the end of the week, I felt more certain than ever about our choice. The name Boston had become a source of warmth and excitement, and I couldn't imagine calling him anything else.

On our last evening of the naming experiment, I turned to Stiles as we cuddled on the couch. "So, how do you feel about Boston now?"

"I love it," Stiles replied, his eyes sparkling with sincerity. "I think it suits him perfectly."

"Me too," I said, feeling a rush of affection. "I think we've found our name."

As we wrapped up the evening, I felt a profound sense of gratitude for our journey together. The name Boston felt like a promise—a promise of adventure, love, and the bond we were creating as a family.

With that decision made, I drifted off to sleep, my hand resting gently on my belly. The rhythmic kicks from our baby felt like a lullaby, a reminder that our little boy was growing, ready to embrace the world that awaited him. And I knew that, together, Stiles and I would navigate every challenge, celebrate every joy, and create a life filled with love for our son.

28 weeks pregnant

At 28 weeks pregnant, I have officially entered the third trimester. My belly had grown rounder, stretching the fabric of my shirts, and the reality of becoming a parent was settling in with each passing day. Boston, our little boy, was now about the size of a large eggplant, weighing around 2.5 to 3 pounds and measuring about 15 inches long. His development was fascinating; his lungs were maturing, his brain was developing more complex connections, and he was beginning to store fat, preparing for the outside world. I could hardly believe how quickly the time had flown by.

Physically, I was feeling the effects of the third trimester. My back ached more than ever, and my body constantly adjusted to my new weight. The Braxton Hicks contractions had become more frequent, occasionally catching me off guard. They weren't painful, but they felt like a tightening of my abdomen, a reminder that my body was preparing for labor.

As I shuffled into the kitchen one morning, I felt a familiar flutter in my belly followed by a firm tightening that lasted a few moments. I paused, placed a hand on my abdomen, and took a deep breath. The sensation faded quickly but was a stark reminder of the journey ahead.

"Good morning, sleepyhead!" Stiles called from the kitchen, his cheerful voice breaking through my thoughts.

"Morning," I replied, trying to shake off the lingering effects of the contraction. "Just a little Braxton Hicks to start the day."

Stiles turned to me, concern etching his features. "Are you okay? Should we be worried?"

I waved my hand dismissively, feeling more in control than I had in previous weeks. "It's fine. Just my body practicing. I've read it's common at this stage."

"Okay, just making sure," he said, pouring me a cup of herbal tea and placing it on the table. "You need to take care of yourself, Jackson."

I smiled, appreciating his concern. "I know, and I will. Just keep reminding me to breathe through it."

As we sat down for breakfast, I couldn't help but think about how far we had come. Stiles had been so supportive throughout this journey, from the first ultrasound to our naming experiment with Boston. "I was thinking," I said, taking a sip of my tea, "we should start planning a baby shower or some sort of celebration soon. We can invite our friends and family."

Stiles perked up, his eyes brightening at the idea. "That sounds like a lot of fun! We can reveal Boston's name to everyone and celebrate the upcoming arrival."

"Exactly!" I said, feeling the excitement bubble up. "We could make it a small gathering at our place, maybe some snacks and games. Just something to bring everyone together before he arrives."

"I love it," Stiles replied, his enthusiasm infectious. "Let's start making a list of who we want to invite."

As we finished breakfast, I felt the baby kicking again, a strong jab that sent a smile across my face. "He's really active this morning," I said, placing a hand on my belly.

Stiles leaned closer, placing his hand on my belly as well. "I love feeling him move. It makes this all feel so real."

"I know," I said, my heart swelling with emotion. "Every kick is a reminder of how close we are to meeting him."

After breakfast, I headed to work, still excited about the baby shower idea. My colleagues were always supportive, and I knew they would love to celebrate this milestone with us. As I settled into my desk, I started brainstorming ideas for the shower—theme, decorations, games—everything started flowing.

During my lunch break, I shared the idea with a few coworkers. "Stiles and I are planning a baby shower, and we want to keep it small and intimate. Any ideas?"

"That sounds amazing! You could do a woodland theme to match the nursery," one colleague suggested.

"I love that!" I replied, feeling inspired. "It fits perfectly with what we've been doing in the nursery."

As the day progressed, I felt another Braxton Hicks contraction, this one stronger than the last. I paused, taking a moment to breathe through it, reminding myself it was just practice. I noticed a few of my colleagues watching, concern creeping into their expressions.

"Are you alright?" one of them asked, stepping closer.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I reassured them. "Just a practice contraction. Nothing to worry about."

Later that evening, I returned home, ready to share my day with Stiles. He was in the kitchen again, whipping up dinner while the aroma of sautéed vegetables wafted through the air.

"Hey, how was work?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

"Good! I talked to some coworkers about the baby shower, and they had some great ideas," I said, walking over to him. "I think we should definitely do a woodland theme to match the nursery."

Stiles turned to face me, his expression brightening. "That sounds perfect! I can already picture the decorations."

As we continued discussing the details, I felt another Braxton Hicks contraction begin to tighten my abdomen. I paused momentarily, taking a deep breath as the sensation washed over me.

"Jackson?" Stiles asked, noticing my stillness. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just another practice contraction," I said, trying to sound more relaxed than I felt. "I'm fine."

"Want to take a break?" he offered, concern lacing his voice.

"I think I'm okay," I said, leaning against the counter. "I just need to breathe through it."

As the contraction subsided, I felt the tension leave my body. Stiles moved closer, his presence a steady anchor. "You're doing so well, you know that? I'm here for you, no matter what."

"Thank you," I said, feeling grateful for his support. "It helps to have you by my side."

After dinner, we cuddled up on the couch, and I felt warmth wash over me. "You know, it's crazy to think that in just a few short weeks, we'll be parents," I said, resting my head on Stiles's shoulder.

"Yeah, it is," Stiles replied, his voice soft. "But I can't wait. We're going to be amazing at this."

"I hope so," I said, a mix of excitement and nerves swirling inside me. "There's so much to learn, but I feel ready to tackle it."

As the evening wore on, we talked about our hopes and dreams for Boston, sharing ideas about what kind of parents we wanted to be. Each conversation made me feel more confident about the journey ahead.

The next day, I returned to work, feeling refreshed and inspired by our discussions. I shared more ideas about the baby shower, and my colleagues rallied around me, eager to help plan and organize. The excitement built, and I felt like I was part of a supportive community.

As the week continued, I noticed the Braxton Hicks contractions becoming more frequent. They were still not painful, just a tightening sensation that reminded me of the upcoming labor. I was determined not to let them overwhelm me; I would focus on the positive aspects of my pregnancy.

During lunch one day, I caught up with a friend from work who had recently become a mother. "How did you know when it was time to go to the hospital?" I asked, feeling curious.

She smiled, her eyes sparkling with nostalgia. "It's different for everyone, but I had a good mix of Braxton Hicks and the real thing. Once the contractions became more regular and painful, I knew it was time. You'll just know."

"Thanks! That's helpful to hear," I replied, feeling a sense of reassurance. "I'm just trying to stay calm and prepared."

"Just remember to listen to your body," she said, placing a hand on my shoulder. "And don't hesitate to reach out if you have any questions."

As the week progressed, Stiles and I continued to bond over our shared excitement for Boston. We spent evenings discussing more names, preparing for the baby shower, and watching parenting videos.

One evening, while lounging on the couch, I felt another Braxton Hicks contraction and paused, closing my eyes to breathe through it.

"Jackson?" Stiles asked, noticing my stillness again. "Another one?"

"Yeah, it's fine," I assured him, taking a deep breath as the sensation faded. "Just my body practicing."

Stiles looked at me, concern etched in his features. "I just want to make sure you're okay. You're doing so much, and I worry about you."

"I appreciate that," I said, feeling the warmth of his support. "But I promise I'm fine. I'll let you know if anything changes."

As the weekend approached, I felt a sense of anticipation building. We were now just a few short weeks away from welcoming Boston into our lives, and the excitement was palpable. The nursery was nearly complete, and with each passing day, I felt more prepared for the challenges ahead.

On Saturday, we decided to take a day trip to a nearby park to enjoy the outdoors. It was a beautiful day, and I felt a rush of energy as we walked hand in hand along the trails.

"Isn't it nice to get out of the house?" Stiles said, glancing over at me. "We should do this more often before the baby arrives."

"It really is," I replied, breathing in the fresh air. "I want Boston to love the outdoors as much as we do."

As we walked, I felt the familiar tightening in my abdomen again. I paused for a moment, letting Stiles know. "Just another Braxton Hicks," I said, feeling more comfortable with each one.

"Okay, just let me know if you need to take a break," he said, his voice filled with concern.

"I will," I promised, taking a deep breath as the sensation faded.

After our walk, we settled down on a picnic blanket, enjoying a light lunch. "I'm so glad we decided to come out here," I said, looking around at the beauty of nature surrounding us.

"Me too. It's nice to escape the city for a bit," Stiles replied, grinning. "Plus, it gives us some quality time before everything changes."

As the afternoon wore on, I felt a profound sense of gratitude for the life we were building together. Every day brought us closer to the moment we had dreamed of, and I was ready to embrace it all.

Later that evening, we returned home and curled up on the couch. "You know, it's been a great week," I said, feeling content. "I'm really loving the name Boston more and more."

"Me too," Stiles said, wrapping his arms around me. "It just feels right. I think we've found the perfect name for our little guy."

As we settled down for the night, I felt the baby kick gently, a comforting reminder of the life we were nurturing. I placed my hand on my belly, feeling a rush of love and excitement for the future.

"Goodnight, Boston," I whispered softly, feeling connected with the little one inside me. "We can't wait to meet you."

With Stiles beside me and the warmth of our love enveloping us, I drifted off to sleep, ready to embrace the beautiful journey of parenthood that awaited us. The excitement was building, and I knew that we would navigate every challenge together, celebrate every joy, and create a life filled with love for our son.

Chapter Text

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Jackson's Pov

Later that evening, we returned home and curled up on the couch. "You know, it's been a great week," I said, feeling content. "I'm really loving the name Boston more and more."

"Me too," Stiles said, wrapping his arms around me. "It just feels right. I think we've found the perfect name for our little guy."

As we settled down for the night, I felt the baby kick gently, a comforting reminder of the life we were nurturing. I placed my hand on my belly, feeling a rush of love and excitement for the future.

"Goodnight, Boston," I whispered softly, feeling connected with the little one inside me. "We can't wait to meet you."

With Stiles beside me and the warmth of our love enveloping us, I drifted off to sleep, ready to embrace the beautiful journey of parenthood that awaited us. The excitement was building, and I knew that we would navigate every challenge together, celebrate every joy, and create a life filled with love for our son.

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Jackson's Pov

29 weeks pregnant

At 29 weeks pregnant, I found myself feeling a mixture of excitement, anticipation, and yes, a bit of anxiety. The reality of becoming a parent was more tangible now than ever before. My belly had grown even more pronounced, and I was starting to feel the weight of it all—the physical, emotional, and mental preparation that was involved in getting ready for Boston’s arrival. At this stage, he was about the size of a butternut squash, weighing in at roughly 3 pounds and measuring about 15.5 inches from head to toe. His development was progressing beautifully, with his lungs becoming more mature and his brain developing more complex abilities.

Physically, I had started to notice a few more discomforts creeping in. The Braxton Hicks contractions, though still relatively mild, had become more frequent, and sometimes I felt my stomach tightening unexpectedly, like a reminder that my body was preparing for the real thing. They were a little unnerving at first, but after some deep breathing and reassurance from Stiles, I had come to accept them as just a part of the process.

My lower back had been giving me grief too, and by the end of the day, it felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to my spine. I couldn’t help but notice how much more fatigued I was—simple things like walking around the house or bending over to pick something up had become increasingly taxing. But no matter how uncomfortable I felt, it didn’t diminish my excitement. Every kick, every little movement from Boston was a reminder that he was growing stronger and that soon, he would be here in my arms.

One Saturday morning, after a particularly restless night, I found myself awake early, just lying in bed, listening to the sound of Stiles breathing softly beside me. I was wide awake, my mind running with thoughts about the next few weeks and how drastically things were going to change.

I couldn’t help but glance down at my belly, feeling the gentle movement of Boston inside me. It was as if he could sense that I was thinking about him, and in response, he gave me a series of kicks. A small smile tugged at my lips as I gently placed my hand on my stomach. “Good morning, little guy,” I whispered, feeling the warmth of his movements.

Stiles stirred beside me, groaning softly as he stretched. His eyes fluttered open, and he glanced over at me, his face soft with sleep but still filled with love. “Morning,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“Exhausted,” I said, sighing deeply. “But mostly okay. Just a lot of pressure today, and some Braxton Hicks. Nothing to worry about though. Just my body preparing.”

Stiles sat up, glancing at me with concern. “You sure? Do you want to go in and check on it?”

“No, no. I’m fine,” I said quickly, reaching for his hand. “I promise, it’s normal. But I think a little extra rest today wouldn’t hurt. What do you think?”

Stiles smiled warmly at me, his thumb rubbing circles on the back of my hand. “Sounds like a plan. We’ve still got a lot to do today, but we’ll take it slow, okay?”

“Definitely,” I said, closing my eyes for a moment, letting the softness of the moment settle in. It felt good to know that we were in this together. The whole experience was overwhelming at times, but I had Stiles by my side through it all.

After a few minutes, we both got out of bed and headed into the kitchen. Stiles had already set up breakfast, the delicious smell of pancakes and fresh fruit wafting through the air. We spent the next hour enjoying the meal in comfortable silence, occasionally discussing little things we’d picked up over the week.

“How’s the nursery coming along?” I asked, sipping my tea as I watched Stiles stack his pancakes high.

“It’s looking good!” Stiles said, grinning. “I put together the little bookshelf you liked, and I was thinking we could add a few more shelves for all the books we plan to read to him.”

“I love that idea,” I said, nodding. “We need to start building his little library soon. I want him to grow up loving books like we do.”

“We can’t go wrong with that,” Stiles replied, leaning over to give me a quick kiss on the cheek. “We’ve got everything he’ll need—now we just need him to get here so we can start spoiling him.”

I chuckled at that. “We’ve been spoiling him from the moment we found out.”

As we finished breakfast, I felt Boston move again, his kicks more distinct now. It was becoming easier to tell the difference between his movements, and I could feel the shape of him shift as he turned inside me. “He’s getting so strong,” I said softly, glancing down at my belly.

“You’re amazing,” Stiles said, his voice soft with awe. “Seriously, you’re carrying our son, and you’re doing all this.”

I felt a swell of warmth in my chest, my heart filled with love for him and our son. “We’re doing this together, Stiles. I couldn’t do this without you.”

We spent the rest of the morning relaxing and making plans for the nursery, picking out some last-minute pieces and discussing the next steps in preparing for Boston’s arrival. But I could feel the familiar tightness in my stomach again, this time more pronounced, and I knew it was another Braxton Hicks contraction.

“Ugh, not again,” I muttered, placing my hand on my belly.

Stiles noticed immediately. “Jackson?” His voice was filled with concern as he knelt down beside me. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” I assured him, focusing on my breathing. “Just a practice one. I think my body’s getting ready for the real thing.”

Stiles didn’t look entirely convinced, but he didn’t press further. “If you say so,” he said, giving me a gentle kiss on the forehead. “Let’s take it easy today. We don’t have to rush into anything.”

I nodded, letting the wave of discomfort pass. “Thanks, Stiles. I’m just trying to remind myself that this is normal. I know it’s all part of the process.”

“I know,” he said, his hand resting on mine. “But it’s okay to take it easy. No need to push yourself.”

I smiled at him, appreciating his constant reassurance. “I’ll try.”

As the afternoon passed, I continued to feel the occasional tightening of my abdomen. While they weren’t painful, I was becoming more aware of how much effort my body was putting in as it prepared for the upcoming labor. I couldn’t deny that the thought of childbirth was beginning to feel very real, and though I was excited, I was also starting to feel the weight of it all.

That evening, after a day spent lounging around and preparing for the final stages of the pregnancy, we decided to take a walk around the neighborhood. The weather was mild, and I felt a surge of energy that I wanted to use to stretch my legs. As we walked hand in hand, I could feel the pressure in my lower back easing with each step.

“How are you feeling now?” Stiles asked, glancing over at me.

“A lot better,” I said with a sigh of relief. “I think I needed this walk. My back feels a little less stiff, and the tightness is gone for now.”

“That’s good to hear,” Stiles said, his voice filled with warmth. “I just want you to be comfortable. We’re almost there, Jackson.”

“I know,” I said, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. “I’m getting more and more ready, but at the same time, I’m kind of terrified. What if I don’t know what to do when the time comes?”

Stiles stopped walking for a moment, turning to face me. “Hey, listen to me. You are going to be an amazing dad. You’ve been practicing, you’ve been reading up on everything, and you’ve been taking care of yourself. When the time comes, we’ll figure it out together. You’re not alone in this.”

I felt a lump form in my throat as I looked at him, the sincerity in his eyes bringing a wave of emotion over me. “Thank you,” I whispered. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You don’t have to find out,” Stiles said, a soft smile playing on his lips as he squeezed my hand. “We’re in this together, Jackson. Always.”

We continued our walk, the silence between us comfortable and filled with the anticipation of what was to come. I felt the familiar tightness again, but this time, it was less intrusive, and I took a deep breath, reminding myself to stay calm. I had to trust my body—and my instincts.

That evening, as we lay in bed, Stiles pulled me close, and I felt the reassuring rhythm of his breathing. It was moments like this that I wanted to remember when the chaos of parenthood began—the quiet moments before everything changed. I placed my hand on my belly, feeling Boston’s gentle movements once again.

“You ready for this, little guy?” I whispered, a smile on my face as I talked to him. “We’re ready for you.”

Stiles kissed my forehead. “He’s going to be perfect, Jackson. I can’t wait for him to get here.”

As I drifted off to sleep, the rhythmic movements of Boston reminded me that no matter how overwhelming it felt, we were on the right path. We were a team, and no matter what came our way, I knew we would face it together.

The next morning, I woke feeling a little more rested, though the familiar aches of pregnancy were still with me. The Braxton Hicks contractions were still happening, but I was starting to feel more in control. Stiles and I had plans to do some light cleaning around the house and get a few last-minute items for the nursery, and I was eager to get things ready for Boston’s arrival.

As I bent down to grab a box of baby clothes from the shelf, I felt that familiar tightening again, but it was more intense this time. I stopped what I was doing, placed a hand on my belly, and breathed through the sensation.

“Stiles,” I called out, my voice a little shaky.

Stiles appeared instantly, concern crossing his features. “Are you okay? What’s happening?”

“I think this might be the real deal,” I said quietly, my heart racing. “I’ve been feeling these tight contractions, and this one’s different. It’s more intense.”

Stiles immediately sprang into action, his calmness grounding me. “Let’s take a seat. Breathe with me, okay?”

I nodded, following his lead as we sat down together. As the contraction eased, I realized I was truly starting to feel the weight of what was to come. We were so close now, and soon, we would be holding our son in our arms.

“We’re almost there,” Stiles said softly, holding my hand tightly. “And we’re going to do this together.”

I felt a wave of relief wash over me as I leaned into him. No matter how this journey unfolded, I knew I had everything I needed: my strength, Stiles’s unwavering support, and the love we shared for our son.

The morning after the Braxton Hicks contraction caught me off guard, I woke up to the soft morning light filtering through the blinds. The air was crisp, and for the first time in what felt like weeks, I felt like I had slept through most of the night without being woken by discomfort or restlessness. I stretched in bed, letting out a quiet yawn, and shifted my gaze to Stiles, who was still asleep beside me, his breathing even and calm.

I felt a soft movement inside my belly, a reminder that Boston was still very much with me, growing stronger every day. I couldn’t help but smile, a sense of peace washing over me as I placed my hand on my belly. “Hey, little guy,” I whispered, feeling a connection to the life inside me. “We’re getting closer.”

As I shifted carefully out of bed, being mindful of my growing belly, I noticed a faint ache in my lower back, a constant reminder that I was nearing the final stretch of my pregnancy. I gently rubbed the spot where the pain lingered, trying to ease the tension, and then padded softly into the kitchen. Stiles was already up, humming as he made breakfast.

“Morning,” I said, leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Stiles replied, his voice full of warmth as he turned to flash me a smile. “How are you feeling this morning?”

I rolled my shoulders and took a deep breath, letting the familiar ache settle before responding. “Better, actually. I'm a little sore, but I feel like I got some rest last night.” I made my way over to the counter, where a steaming cup of tea waited for me. “How about you?”

“I’m good,” Stiles said, pouring me a cup of herbal tea. “I was thinking we could spend the morning finishing up some of the baby prep. We’re really in the home stretch now, huh?”

“Yeah,” I said, my voice filled with a mix of excitement and nervousness. “I’m still wrapping my head around the fact that we’re less than 10 weeks away from meeting him.”

“You’re doing great, Jackson,” Stiles said, his voice full of affection. “We’ve got this.”

I couldn’t help but smile at how confident he was. “We do, don’t we?”

We spent the next hour sipping our tea and talking through our to-do list. The nursery was nearly done—just a few final touches left—but we had a few more things to do before Boston arrived. Stiles mentioned we could start setting up the hospital bag, and that’s when the nerves crept back in. The reality of labor was beginning to feel more and more real, and though I felt physically prepared, emotionally I was still grappling with the enormity of what was coming.

“I know we’ve talked about it,” I said, taking another sip of tea, “but do you think we’re really ready?”

Stiles stopped mid-sentence, turning to face me. His expression softened with understanding. “Jackson, we’re going to be ready because we’re doing it together. We’re a team, and we’ve been preparing for this moment for months. I have no doubt in my mind that we’re ready.”

I felt my heart swell with gratitude at his reassurance. He always knew just what to say to calm my nerves, and right now, that was exactly what I needed.

After breakfast, we set to work on our plans. Stiles had already compiled a list of items we needed for the hospital bag, so we began sorting through the baby clothes, picking out some of the essentials. As I sorted through the tiny onesies, I marveled at how small everything seemed, and how soon it would all fit Boston. I could picture his little arms and legs in the soft fabrics, a wave of joy washing over me at the thought of finally meeting him.

A few hours later, we finished organizing the baby’s things. I stood in the middle of the nursery, admiring how it had all come together. The walls were painted a soft green, with woodland creatures adorning the shelves and soft plush animals on the changing table. The crib and cozy rocking chair were in place, where we’d no doubt spend countless hours in the coming months. It felt surreal, but it was starting to feel like a home for our little boy.

“Do you think we’re missing anything?” Stiles asked, standing in the doorway, his arms crossed.

“Not really,” I said, nodding to myself. “I think we’re just about ready. Now it’s all about waiting for him to arrive.”

Stiles smiled, walking over to me and wrapping his arms around my waist. “I can’t wait to meet him.”

“I know,” I said softly, placing my hands on my belly. “It’s crazy to think that in just a couple of months, we’ll be holding him. Everything’s changing.”

“We’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time,” Stiles said, his voice tender. “And we’re going to be great parents, Jackson. I know it.”

I turned to face him, my heart swelling with love. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You don’t have to find out,” he said with a smile, his hand gently rubbing my back. “I’m here, always.”

Later that afternoon, I felt a familiar tightening in my abdomen again. The sensation wasn’t as intense as the previous Braxton Hicks contractions, but it was persistent, and I couldn’t ignore it. It lasted for a few minutes before easing off, and I found myself checking in with my body, making sure everything was okay.

“You feeling alright?” Stiles asked, noticing my slight hesitation.

“Yeah,” I said, giving him a small smile. “Just another practice contraction. I think it’s happening more frequently now.”

“Want to sit down and rest?” Stiles offered, his concern clear in his voice.

“I’m fine, really,” I said, reassuring him. “I think it’s just my body adjusting.”

Stiles didn’t seem convinced, but he let it go for now. “Okay, but don’t push yourself too hard.”

“I won’t,” I promised, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “But I think it’s good that these contractions are happening. It means everything is moving in the right direction.”

Stiles nodded. “Yeah. It’s just a reminder that we’re getting close.”

The evening came quickly, and as I sat down on the couch, I felt another tightening of my abdomen. This one was a little more pronounced, but not painful. I took a deep breath, letting the sensation wash over me before it eased away.

“Stiles?” I called softly, feeling a bit more unsettled this time.

He came into the room quickly, concern flashing in his eyes. “Jackson? What’s happening?”

“I’m okay,” I said, taking another deep breath. “Just another one of those contractions. They’re happening more often now. But they’re not painful.”

Stiles knelt beside me, his hand on my knee. “Do you think we should go to the hospital?”

“No, not yet,” I said, my voice calm despite the slight worry creeping in. “I’ve read that it’s normal for Braxton Hicks to become more frequent as you get closer. I think it’s just my body getting ready for the real thing.”

He nodded, but his brow remained furrowed. “Just don’t hesitate to tell me if you need anything, Jackson. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know,” I said, feeling comforted by his constant presence. “I promise, I’m fine. We’ll know when the real thing starts.”

Later that night, as we prepared for bed, I felt the tightness return one more time, stronger than before. This time, however, I wasn’t sure if it was just a Braxton Hicks contraction or if my body was gearing up for something more. I lay down beside Stiles, my mind racing with thoughts of labor, of Boston’s impending arrival, of what the future would hold for us.

Stiles, sensing my unease, reached for my hand in the dark. “You okay?”

“I’m just thinking about everything,” I admitted, my voice quiet in the darkness. “About labor and how much is still ahead of us. I guess I’m just… nervous.”

“Jackson, it’s okay to be nervous,” Stiles said, his thumb brushing gently against my hand. “This is a big moment. But we’re in it together. We’ll figure it out, step by step.”

I turned to face him, the darkness in the room making his face look softer, more intimate. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Stiles. You’re my rock. I can’t imagine going through this without you by my side.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Jackson,” he said softly, his voice full of love and reassurance. “We’ve got this, and we’ve got each other. I’ll be there for you, no matter what.”

As I lay there beside him, I felt a sense of peace settle over me. Despite the nerves and the unknowns, I knew that Stiles and I would face everything together, and that made all the difference.

The next morning, the contractions were still there, but they were spaced out and not nearly as intense. I took it slow, knowing that my body was simply preparing for what was to come. Stiles and I spent the day going through our baby checklist, making sure we had everything we needed.

As the day wound down, I could feel the excitement building again. It wasn’t just about the contractions or the impending labor—it was about Boston, about becoming parents, about the life we were about to begin with him.

“We’re so close,” I said, glancing over at Stiles, who was moving a few last items into the nursery. “I can’t believe it.”

“I know,” he replied, his voice filled with excitement and wonder. “But we’re ready. And we’re going to be amazing parents. I have no doubt about that.”

“I feel that too,” I said, watching him with a smile. “We’re a team, and we’ve got this.”

As the evening approached, I touched my belly, feeling the familiar flutter of Boston’s movements. It was a reminder that we were ready no matter what lay ahead. Together, we would face the challenges, embrace the joys, and make a home for our son filled with love and laughter.

I leaned into Stiles, feeling his arm around me, and knew that this was just the beginning of the greatest adventure of our lives.

Chapter Text

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Jackson's Pov

"I feel that too," I said, watching him with a smile. "We're a team, and we've got this."

As the evening approached, I touched my belly, feeling the familiar flutter of Boston's movements. It was a reminder that we were ready no matter what lay ahead. Together, we would face the challenges, embrace the joys, and make a home for our son filled with love and laughter.

I leaned into Stiles, feeling his arm around me, and knew that this was just the beginning of the greatest adventure of our lives.

Jackson's Pov

30 weeks pregnant

At 30 weeks pregnant, I could feel the weight of the world pressing down on me, but it was also a weight I was learning to carry with each passing day. Boston was now about the size of a cabbage, weighing around 3 pounds and growing steadily. His bones continued to harden, his skin becoming less translucent, and his little organs were maturing, especially his lungs, which would soon allow him to breathe independently. He was also moving more, a constant reminder of the life inside me. It was becoming more real, and every day felt like a countdown until he finally arrived.

Physically, I was starting to feel every inch of the pregnancy. My belly was enormous, stretched taut with life, and I couldn’t go more than an hour or two without feeling the strain on my back. My hips ached with every step I took, and the pressure on my bladder made getting comfortable a near-impossible task. But despite the discomfort, I felt connected to Boston in a way that was impossible to put into words. Every stretch, every shift of his body inside me, made me more aware of how close we were getting to the end of this journey and the beginning of a new chapter.

I woke up on the morning of my 30th week, the first light of dawn filtering through the curtains. The house was still, and I felt the familiar tightness in my lower back as I stretched my limbs. I had been having more Braxton Hicks contractions lately, though they were still not painful—just a reminder that my body was preparing. The strange part was how real and frequent they felt. They were getting closer together, and I was reminded that this process was happening each time.

I turned over and saw Stiles still asleep beside me. His face was soft and peaceful, his breathing steady and rhythmic. It was moments like these that I felt the weight of how much had changed for us. The life we had before felt distant now—sleeping in late, the spontaneity of our days, the time we spent just the two of us. It was about to change, and while I was terrified at times, I was also ready.

I gently touched Stiles’s arm, waking him with a soft nudge.

“Morning,” I whispered, a small smile on my face.

Stiles groaned, rubbing his eyes before turning to face me. “What time is it?” he mumbled.

“Too early,” I said with a grin. “But I’ve been up for a while and feel the usual aches. How about you?”

He stretched, his body rigid for a moment before taking a deep breath. “I’m alright. I'm a little sore, but nothing major. How are you feeling?”

“More of the same,” I said, feeling my back twinge. “The Braxton Hicks have been happening a little more often, but nothing serious.”

Stiles propped himself up on one elbow, his eyes filled with concern. “Are you sure? Do you need to go to the doctor or—”

“No,” I interrupted, smiling softly at his protective nature. “I’m fine. I'm just trying to manage the aches and cramps. It’s normal at this stage, right?”

He nodded, but the concern in his eyes didn’t fully fade. “It’s normal, but if you ever feel like something’s off, we’re going to the hospital. No hesitation.”

“I promise I’ll tell you if anything feels wrong,” I said, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “But for now, I think we need just to take it easy today.”

Stiles smiled and leaned over to kiss my forehead. “Alright. We’ll take it slow. How about some breakfast?”

“Sounds perfect,” I replied, sighing relief at the thought of a slow morning.

We got out of bed and headed to the kitchen. The house was quiet, save for the soft clink of utensils and the hum of the kettle boiling. Stiles was in his element, preparing a hearty breakfast, while I leaned against the counter, watching him. It was comforting to know that he was there to help me with everything, from making meals to taking care of the more physical tasks that were getting harder for me to manage independently.

“Pancakes, eggs, and toast—your usual,” Stiles said, placing a plate of food before me.

“Perfect,” I said, grinning. “You spoil me, you know that?”

“Only the best for the mother of my child,” he replied, winking.

As we sat to eat, I felt Boston move again, a firm kick that made me look down at my belly. It wasn’t painful, just a reminder of the little person growing inside me. I placed my hand on my stomach, feeling the movement and smiling.

“I think he’s excited for breakfast, too,” I said, chuckling.

Stiles leaned over and placed his hand on my belly as well. “I think he’s going to be just like you. Hungry all the time.”

“Well, you know what they say about boys—they eat like little machines,” I said, taking a bite of food.

Stiles laughed. “I think he’s going to take after me in other ways, too.”

“Oh?” I said, raising an eyebrow. “And what ways would that be?”

“The adventurous side,” he said, a glint in his eyes. “The ‘always getting into trouble’ side.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Well, if he’s anything like you, we’ll have our hands full. But I’m ready for it.”

After breakfast, we organized a few things around the house. I’d wanted to go through some of the baby clothes again, ensuring everything was washed and folded. The nursery was nearly complete, and we had picked up the last few pieces we needed for Boston’s arrival. But there was a feeling of anticipation in the air as we moved through our morning routine.

At one point, I had to stop and catch my breath as another Braxton Hicks contraction swept over me. It wasn’t painful, but it was noticeable, and I had to pause to breathe through it. Stiles immediately noticed.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice full of concern.

“Yeah,” I said, still catching my breath. “Just one of those tightening ones. I think they’re getting stronger, though.”

“Do you want to rest?” he asked, his voice gentle. “I can take care of the rest of the cleaning.”

“I think I’m alright,” I said, straightening up and giving him a reassuring smile. “It’s not that bad. Just my body adjusting.”

Stiles nodded but still kept a close eye on me. “You know I’m here if you need me. Always.”

“I know,” I said, feeling a surge of gratitude. “And I appreciate it. I’ll let you know if anything feels off.”

The rest of the morning went by without incident, and by early afternoon, I decided it was time to take a walk to clear my head. The weather was warm, with the sun shining through the trees as Stiles and I walked around the neighborhood. We talked about everything and nothing—plans for the baby shower, what we still needed to do before Boston arrived, and just the little things that came to mind.

As we walked, I felt another tightening in my abdomen. This time, it was stronger, and it lasted a bit longer than the previous ones. I paused, leaning against Stiles for support as I breathed through it.

“Jackson?” Stiles asked, noticing my stillness. “Are you okay?”

“I think this one’s a little more intense,” I said, holding onto his arm. “But it’s still not painful. Just… a lot of pressure.”

“You want to head back home?” he asked, his concern deepening.

I nodded, feeling the tightness subside. “Yeah, let’s head back. I think I need to sit down for a bit.”

We made our way back to the house slowly, and once inside, I sank into the couch, letting out a deep breath as I relaxed. Stiles sat beside me, his hand resting on my back.

“You need anything?” he asked, his voice soft.

“Just some water,” I said, feeling my throat dry. “I think I’m just overdoing it today.”

Stiles quickly went to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, and as I sat there, I reflected on how much my body had changed. These last few weeks had felt like a whirlwind. With each passing day, I was more aware of the small movements that meant Boston was getting closer to being here. But with that awareness came the reality of the work ahead. Labor, delivery, and the massive change in our lives would come with becoming parents.

As Stiles handed me the water, I took a sip and set the glass down. “I’ve been thinking,” I said, glancing over at him.

“About what?” he asked, sitting beside me.

“About how we’re going to handle the first few weeks when Boston arrives,” I said. “How everything will change.”

Stiles gave me a soft smile, his hand resting on my knee. “It’s going to be a huge change, that’s for sure. But we’ll figure it out together. We’ve been preparing for this moment for so long.”

“I know,” I said, my heart swelling with emotion. “I just want to ensure we’re as ready as possible.”

“We will be,” Stiles said confidently. “We already are.”

I smiled at him, feeling a sense of reassurance wash over me. “Thanks, Stiles. I couldn’t do this without you.”

“You don’t have to,” he said, his voice full of love. “I’m here. Always.”

Later that afternoon, we took a break from our preparations and watched a movie together. It was a simple afternoon, but it was filled with comfort and quiet excitement. I felt the baby move again, stronger this time, and I placed my hand on my belly, letting Boston’s presence remind me that everything would be different soon.

But at that moment, with Stiles by my side and our plans for the future falling into place, I knew that whatever the future held, we would face it together. No matter how challenging, overwhelming, or beautiful it would be, we were ready.

The countdown was officially on.

 I felt like everything was shifting. It was as if time was speeding up, and I was just trying to keep pace. The reality of becoming a parent was so much closer now that I could almost taste it. Every kick from Boston inside me was a reminder that we were getting closer to the moment when he would no longer be in my belly but in my arms, and I could feel the weight of that anticipation every day.

The Braxton Hicks contractions had been more frequent in the past few days, and while I wasn’t too concerned, I was starting to feel the strain in my back and hips more than ever. The reality of the third trimester was settling in, and with each passing day, I felt my body becoming increasingly fatigued. I was getting better at managing the discomfort, though, and whenever I felt overwhelmed, I would remind myself that it would all be worth it when we finally got to meet our son.

Stiles and I were headed to my OB appointment with Dr. Hayes today. It wasn’t a special appointment, just a routine check-up, but we both knew that these visits were becoming increasingly important as Boston’s arrival drew closer. I was starting to feel a little nervous, though, about everything—about the labor, about the pain, about whether or not I was ready for all of it. My mind was full of questions, and I hoped today would provide some of the answers I sought.

As we pulled into the hospital's parking lot, I could feel my heart rate picking up. Stiles must have noticed because he reached over and placed a comforting hand on my leg.

“You good?” he asked, his voice soft and full of concern.

I smiled at him, appreciating the comfort he always offered. “Yeah, just a little nervous. You know how it is—getting closer to the finish line.”

Stiles gave me an understanding nod. “I get it. But we’re in this together. You’re doing amazing, Jackson. I know you’re nervous, but we control everything.”

His words calmed me, as they always did. I took a deep breath and nodded. “You’re right. We’ve got this.”

We made our way inside the hospital, and as we walked down the familiar hallways, I felt the familiar nerves creeping back into my chest. It wasn’t even that I didn’t trust Dr. Hayes—I did. The closer we got to delivery, the more real everything felt. My stomach tightened again, and I couldn’t tell if it was another Braxton Hicks contraction or just nerves. Either way, I was going to push through it.

As we entered the waiting area, the receptionist smiled. “Hi, Jackson! Stiles! How are you both doing today?”

“Good, just ready for another check-up,” I said, trying to sound casual, but I could feel the tension in my voice.

“You’re doing great,” she said reassuringly. “Dr. Hayes will be with you shortly.”

We sat down in the waiting area, and I couldn’t help but feel the moment's weight. The clock on the wall ticked steadily, and every second that passed seemed to draw me closer to the reality of becoming a parent. Stiles must have sensed my anxiety because he squeezed my hand, offering me a warm smile.

“You’re going to be great, Jackson,” he said softly. “And remember, no matter what, we’ve got this.”

I squeezed his hand back. “I’m just worried, you know? About labor. About everything that’s coming.”

“You don’t have to worry about anything,” Stiles said, his voice steady and reassuring. “We’ve been preparing for this for months. We know what to expect.”

I nodded, trying to let his words settle in. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s just… a lot.”

Stiles rubbed my back comfortingly, and we both fell into a comfortable silence as we waited for Dr. Hayes.

A few minutes later, the door opened, and Dr. Hayes stepped into the waiting area with a warm smile. “Jackson, Stiles—come on back. How are we doing today?”

“Doing alright,” I said, standing up. “Just a little nervous, but nothing unusual.”

Dr. Hayes led us into one of the exam rooms, gesturing for me to sit on the table. Stiles sat in the chair beside me, his hand resting on my knee as I settled in.

“So, how’s everything been?” Dr. Hayes asked, sitting across from us and pulling out my chart. “Any new symptoms or concerns?”

“Well,” I began, “I’ve been feeling a lot of Braxton Hicks contractions, and they’ve been getting more frequent over the past few days. Some of them are a little stronger than they used to be.”

Dr. Hayes nodded, making a note on my chart. “That’s normal, especially at this stage. Braxton Hicks contractions are your body’s way of preparing for labor. But we’ll keep an eye on it, just in case. Any other concerns?”

I hesitated momentarily before responding, “I’ve been feeling a lot of pressure in my lower back, especially at the end of the day. I don’t know if it’s just from carrying Boston or if it’s something I should be worried about.”

Dr. Hayes nodded understandingly. “Lower back pain is common, especially as your body adjusts to the weight of the pregnancy. I’d suggest trying light stretches and maybe using a heating pad to alleviate the tension. If the pain becomes severe or persistent, let me know.”

I sighed in relief, feeling reassured by his calm demeanor. “Okay, that sounds manageable.”

He smiled. “Good. Now, let’s take a look at how Boston is doing.”

As Dr. Hayes set up the ultrasound equipment, I laid back on the exam table. Stiles stood beside me, his hand resting on my arm as we waited anxiously. The cool gel spread across my belly, and I watched as Dr. Hayes moved the wand over my skin, the familiar image of our baby appearing on the screen.

“There he is,” Dr. Hayes said with a smile, pointing to the screen. “Looking good, as usual.”

I couldn’t help but smile as I gazed at the image of Boston, his little arms and legs moving around. He was growing stronger, and I was so incredibly proud.

“Everything looks great,” Dr. Hayes continued. “Boston is growing right on schedule, and his heart rate is strong. He’s very active, which is a good sign. Your amniotic fluid levels are also healthy, and his position is perfect for now.”

Stiles leaned in closer, his hand resting gently on my belly. “He’s so active. I love seeing him move.”

“I know,” I said, my voice soft. “It’s amazing.”

Dr. Hayes finished the ultrasound and wiped the gel from my belly. “Okay, Jackson. Everything looks good. Your vitals are strong, and Boston is right where he should be regarding development. The Braxton Hicks contractions are a normal part of the process, but keep an eye on them. If they become painful or are accompanied by other symptoms like bleeding, we’ll need to act quickly. But for now, you’re doing great.”

I breathed a sigh of relief, feeling my nerves at ease. “Thank you, Dr. Hayes. That’s exactly what I needed to hear.”

“No problem,” Dr. Hayes said with a reassuring smile. “You’re in good shape. Just keep doing what you’ve been doing—taking care of yourself and staying active. We’re getting closer now, so it’s important to stay focused and prepared.”

“Sounds good,” I said, nodding. “I feel better knowing that everything’s going well.”

Stiles smiled at me, his hand resting on mine. “You’re doing amazing, Jackson. We’re almost there.”

As we wrapped up the appointment and Dr. Hayes gave us some final advice, we left the room feeling lighter and more at ease. The reassurance from the ultrasound and Dr. Hayes’s calm, confident demeanor made everything feel more manageable.

When we returned to the car, I sat down, feeling exhausted and relieved. Stiles slid into the driver’s seat and glanced at me, a smile tugging at his lips.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, starting the engine.

“Much better,” I said, taking a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “Dr. Hayes says everything is going well, and Boston’s looking good. Just more Braxton Hicks to deal with, but nothing to worry about.”

“Good,” Stiles said, his smile widening. “I knew you were doing great, but hearing it from the doctor is nice.”

I leaned back in my seat, feeling the weight of the appointment lift off my shoulders. “Yeah. I’ve been so worried about every little thing lately. It’s good to know we’re on the right track.”

“We’re totally on the right track,” Stiles said, gently squeezing my hand. “And hey, we’ve got a few more weeks until we get to meet him. I think we’re as ready as we can be.”

I smiled at him, my heart swelling with love. “You’ve been amazing, Stiles. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’ll never have to find out,” he said with a soft grin. “We’re in this together, Jackson. Always.”

As we drove home, I felt a sense of calm settle over me. The unknowns still existed, but I was beginning to trust my body and the process more. Stiles’s presence, his unwavering support, made all the difference. Together, we were preparing for this huge change in our lives, and I knew that, no matter what happened, we would face it together.

When we got home, I couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude. Our son was healthy, and we were as ready as possible. The nerves were still there but mingled with excitement and hope. Boston was almost here, and the world we’d built for him—full of love, care, and support—was ready and waiting.

That evening, as we settled into our usual routine, I felt Boston move again, a soft reminder that he was with me, and I could feel his presence in the most comforting way.

“I can’t wait to meet you, buddy,” I whispered to my belly, smiling as I rubbed it gently.

Stiles leaned in, his hand resting on my stomach. “Neither can we.”

As the days passed, I felt more ready for the journey ahead. The road to parenthood was filled with unknowns, but I was confident we would face everything as a team. With Stiles by my side and Boston growing stronger daily, I felt an overwhelming sense of peace.

32 weeks pregnant

At 32 weeks pregnant, the changes were becoming more noticeable daily. Boston’s kicks had become far more forceful, and with each one, I could feel his tiny feet pressing against my ribs, his elbows jabbing into my sides as he moved around. The pressure on my lower back had also intensified, especially as I moved around or stood for too long. It was as if my body was starting to brace for the final leg of this journey. I had gained more weight; my belly was much larger now, and the weight was taking a toll on my posture. I had become more sluggish, and though I could still get around, I couldn’t ignore that my energy levels were nowhere near what they used to be.

Boston was about the size of a large squash now, weighing over 3.5 pounds and growing steadily. His organs continued to mature, especially his lungs, which were nearing full maturity. His fat layers were building up, preparing him for life outside the womb. He was already practicing breathing, which I found both amazing and surreal. His little lungs were preparing for the world, just like his rest.

Physically, I was feeling the third trimester in full force. My hips ached, my legs swelled by the end of the day, and I had to take more breaks to rest my back. But as uncomfortable as it sometimes felt, I was trying to stay positive. The discomforts were temporary; soon, Boston would be in my arms, and the months of waiting would all be worth it.

Stiles had been more attentive than ever, always checking in with me and offering help whenever needed. He’d set up a routine where he would help me with whatever I needed—whether it was carrying too heavy things, cooking dinner, or even helping me stretch when I started to feel stiff. His support was constant, and I appreciated it more than he could know.

It was early one Saturday morning when I woke up, feeling the first gentle movements of Boston shifting inside me. I could feel his little feet press against my skin as he stretched out, and I placed my hand on my belly, a soft smile tugging at my lips. The past few months had been filled with so much anticipation, and the fact that we were now in the final stretch was both thrilling and terrifying.

I turned to see Stiles still sleeping beside me, his peaceful expression starkly contrasting the whirlwind of thoughts running through my head. I ran a hand through my hair, gently rubbing my belly as I listened to the quiet of the morning. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe as I realized that soon—very soon—everything would change.

I slid out of bed carefully, trying not to disturb Stiles. The house was still quiet as I made my way to the kitchen. I set the kettle to boil, knowing I would need a warm cup of tea to start my day. As I waited for the water to heat up, I felt another small, rhythmic tightening in my abdomen. Another Braxton Hicks contraction. It wasn’t painful, just uncomfortable, and it served as a reminder that my body was preparing for labor.

Stiles must have heard the soft sound of me moving around the kitchen because I felt his presence behind me a moment later. He wrapped his arms around me from behind, pressing a soft kiss to my neck.

“Good morning,” he murmured sleepily, his voice warm and comforting.

“Good morning,” I replied softly, leaning back into his embrace. “How’d you sleep?”

“Better than I expected,” he said, gently rubbing my belly. “How about you?”

I took a deep breath, feeling a little more comfortable as the tightness in my belly faded. “Better, but I’m still feeling the pressure in my back. And these contractions have been happening more often lately.”

Stiles’s hands froze for a moment, and I could feel his concern in how he adjusted his hold around me. “How often?”

“It’s hard to say,” I said, sighing quietly. “They come and go. Not painful, but… frequent.”

Stiles didn’t say anything for a moment, just holding me tighter. “I think we should keep an eye on it today,” he said quietly, his voice steady. “We don’t want to take any chances.”

“I know,” I said, trying to sound reassuring. “But I think it’s just my body doing what it’s supposed to do. We’re getting close now.”

He kissed the top of my head. “I’m still going to keep an eye on you. Don’t hesitate to tell me if you feel anything different, okay?”

“I will,” I promised, resting my head against his chest.

After a few moments, I broke the comfortable silence. “We should probably head to the doctor’s this week to ensure everything’s still good. We’re nearing the final stretch, after all.”

“I agree,” Stiles said, nodding in agreement. “Let’s schedule something soon. You’re doing great, Jackson, but I want to ensure we’re on top of everything.”

I smiled, feeling grateful for his attentiveness. “Thanks. I’ll call Dr. Hayes later today.”

We spent the next few hours in a peaceful routine, sipping tea and slowly waking up as the day began. The contractions came and went, each reminder that Boston was getting closer to being here. As I moved around the house, I noticed that my hips and back discomfort had become more persistent. I wasn’t sure if it was the weight of my growing belly or just a natural part of the pregnancy, but it felt like my body was preparing for something big. I could feel my muscles tightening, especially in my lower back, and I made a mental note to do some stretches later.

As the afternoon approached, I was still feeling the occasional tightening in my abdomen. It was hard to tell if it was the Braxton Hicks or just general discomfort from the growing weight of my belly. Stiles suggested we take a walk to get some fresh air and stretch my legs, and though I was hesitant at first, I agreed.

We headed to the nearby park, enjoying the fresh breeze and the peace that came with being outside. As we walked along the path, I could feel the weight of my body shifting with each step. My hips ached, my back was sore, and I took more frequent breaks, leaning on Stiles for support.

“Maybe I’ve overdone it,” I said, pausing momentarily to rest on a bench. “I’m starting to feel more pressure down there.”

Stiles knelt beside me, his hand gently resting on my knee. “It’s okay. You’re doing great. Just take it easy, alright?”

“I know,” I said, nodding, feeling the intensity of the pressure in my lower abdomen. “It’s just that this baby is getting heavy.”

Stiles gave me a soft smile. “I think it’s safe to say you’re about to pop. But you’ve got this, Jackson. We’re almost there.”

I smiled, appreciating his words more than I could say. “I know. It’s just… the anticipation, I guess. The closer we get, the more nervous I become.”

He squeezed my knee reassuringly. “That’s normal, Jackson. But remember, no matter what happens, we’ve got this together. And I’ll be right there with you. Every step of the way.”

I nodded, taking a deep breath. The anxiety that had been swirling inside me since the beginning of the pregnancy felt a little lighter. Stiles was right—whatever happened, we would face it together. We were ready, and we would figure it out as a team.

We sat on the bench for a while, and I relaxed, enjoying the park's quiet. The cool breeze felt good on my face, and I could hear the rustle of the leaves in the trees above us. For the first time in a while, I allowed myself to be in the moment, to enjoy the time we had left before our world changed completely.

By the time we headed back home, I felt a little better. The pressure in my back had subsided, and the contractions had faded into the background. When we got home, I took a hot shower to ease the tension in my muscles, letting the warm water relax my sore spots. Stiles kept an eye on me, always asking if I needed help or if I wanted him to grab anything for me.

“Anything I can do?” he asked, standing outside the bathroom door as I finished up.

“No, I’m good,” I said, stepping out and wrapping myself in a towel. “Just trying to stretch out my back.”

Stiles smiled and kissed my forehead. “You’re doing great, Jackson. I’m proud of you.”

I smiled back, feeling a wave of gratitude. “Thanks, Stiles. You’ve been amazing through all of this.”

He grinned and helped me get dressed in my most comfortable clothes. “We still have a long way to go, but we’ll get through it. You know I’ve got your back.”

Later that evening, I called Dr. Hayes’s office to schedule an appointment for the following week. I felt better knowing I would see him soon and everything was still on track. The anticipation was starting to feel so real that I couldn’t ignore the excitement in my chest every time I thought about Boston’s arrival.

Stiles turned to me with a soft smile as we settled into bed that night. “I know you’re slightly nervous, but we’re almost there. Boston’s going to be here soon, and we’re going to be amazing parents.”

“I hope so,” I said, feeling the soft flutter of movement in my belly. “It’s just a lot to think about.”

“I know,” Stiles replied, his hand resting on my belly. “But whatever happens, we’ve got this. And Boston’s lucky to have us.”

I placed my hand over him, feeling the warmth of his touch and the love between us. “I couldn’t agree more.”

As we drifted off to sleep, I felt the baby kick one more time—a gentle reminder that everything was falling into place, no matter how nervous or unsure I felt. With Stiles by my side, we were ready for whatever came next. And in just a few weeks, we would finally meet our son.

Chapter Text

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Jackson's Pov

“I know,” Stiles replied, his hand resting on my belly. “But whatever happens, we’ve got this. And Boston’s lucky to have us.”

I placed my hand over him, feeling the warmth of his touch and the love between us. “I couldn’t agree more.”

As we drifted off to sleep, I felt the baby kick one more time—a gentle reminder that everything was falling into place, no matter how nervous or unsure I felt. With Stiles by my side, we were ready for whatever came next. And in just a few weeks, we would finally meet our son.

Jackson's Pov

Later that night, the house was still and quiet, the darkness of early morning wrapping around everything like a heavy blanket. Stiles was curled up beside me, his arm draped protectively across my waist as he snored softly, his rhythmic breathing a calming presence in the room. I’d managed to drift off to sleep earlier despite the usual discomforts that came with being 32 weeks pregnant—pressure on my back, aching hips, and the tight, stretching sensation of my belly that seemed to be a permanent fixture these days. I thought I’d finally found a position that let me rest, but the peace didn’t last long.

At first, it was subtle, like a faint tightening deep in my abdomen that felt stronger than any Braxton Hicks contraction I’d had before. It was enough to wake me, though, and I shifted uncomfortably in bed, thinking it might fade if I adjusted. I placed my hand on my belly, feeling Boston shift slightly, as if he were trying to stretch out, too. My breathing slowed, and I stared at the ceiling for a few moments, willing the sensation away.

But then it happened again. The tightening grew stronger, starting in my lower abdomen and radiating around to my lower back, and this time, it wasn’t just uncomfortable—it hurt. My breath caught in my throat, and I winced, biting my lip to keep from making any noise. I stayed frozen in place, counting the seconds as the pain rolled through me before easing away. It wasn’t excruciating, but it was so much sharper than the Braxton Hicks I’d grown used to.

“This isn’t right,” I whispered to myself, feeling my pulse quicken.

I looked over at Stiles, who was still sound asleep, unaware that something was changing. Before I could decide what to do, another wave of pain hit—this one more intense, lasting longer than the first. I squeezed my eyes shut and gripped the edge of the blanket, my breath coming in shaky gasps.

“Jackson?” Stiles’s groggy voice broke through the darkness as he shifted beside me. “Are you okay?”

I couldn’t answer immediately. The contraction ebbed slowly, leaving me trembling and disoriented. I turned my head to look at Stiles, whose concern had quickly replaced his sleepy confusion. He sat up, rubbing his eyes as he focused on me.

“Jackson?” His voice was sharper now, alert. “What’s wrong?”

“I… I think I’m having real contractions,” I managed, my voice tight. “It doesn’t feel like the Braxton Hicks anymore. It hurts.”

Stiles immediately scrambled out of bed, switching on the bedside lamp, the sudden light flooding the room. “Okay, okay,” he said, his voice steadier than I felt. “Let’s not panic yet. How long have they been happening?”

I glanced at the clock. “I woke up maybe ten minutes ago,” I said, still trying to catch my breath. “It started as a small pain, but now it’s getting stronger.”

Stiles ran a hand through his hair, his face full of concern but determination, too. “Alright. I’m going to start timing them. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe they’ll go away.”

I nodded weakly, though deep down, I already knew this wasn’t nothing. Something felt different. As Stiles grabbed his phone and sat beside me, ready to time the next one, I tried to calm my racing thoughts. I couldn’t be in labor. Not yet. I was only 32 weeks.

A few minutes passed, and then it happened again. The pain rolled through me like a wave, sharper and more insistent this time. I squeezed Stiles’s hand as he watched me, his eyes wide and worried.

“That was about six minutes apart,” he said softly, glancing at his phone.

“Stiles,” I said, my voice shaking. “Something’s wrong. It’s too early. This can’t be happening now.”

Before he could respond, I felt a sudden, unmistakable sensation—a rush of warmth spreading beneath me, soaking the sheets. For a moment, I froze, my mind trying to process what had just happened. Then the realization hit me like a freight train.

“Stiles,” I said, my voice strained, panic creeping into my tone. “My water just broke.”

Stiles’s face paled as he looked down and saw what had happened. “Oh my god. Okay. Okay. It’s fine. It’s okay. We’ve got this.”

“This isn’t supposed to be happening yet,” I said, my voice trembling as tears stung my eyes. “It’s too soon.”

Stiles grabbed my hands, forcing me to look at him. “Hey. Look at me, Jackson. We’re going to the hospital right now. Dr. Hayes will know what to do. Boston’s coming early, but he’s going to be okay. We’re going to get through this. Together.”

His words steadied me just enough to nod. I wiped at my eyes, taking a shaky breath as Stiles jumped into action. He grabbed my hospital bag—the one I’d packed “just in case” a week earlier—and helped me sit up. The motion triggered another contraction, and I gritted my teeth as I held onto his arm, riding out the wave of pain.

“I’m right here,” Stiles said, his voice soft but firm. “Lean on me.”

With his help, I made it to the car, moving carefully as my legs shook with every step. The drive to the hospital felt like the longest fifteen minutes of my life. The contractions were coming regularly now, closer together, and I gripped the edge of the car seat, trying to breathe through each one. Stiles kept talking to me the whole time, his voice a steady anchor as he reassured me that everything would be okay.

When we arrived at the hospital, Stiles practically flew out of the car to grab a wheelchair, and within moments, we were rushing through the doors of the ER. The nurses didn’t waste any time when they saw my condition. Stiles explained everything quickly—32 weeks, contractions, water breaking—and they whisked me away to a labor and delivery room.

Dr. Hayes arrived within minutes, his calm presence immediately grounding me. “Jackson, I’m here,” he said, coming to my side as the nurses prepped me. “Tell me what’s been happening.”

“My water broke maybe 45 minutes ago,” I managed between breaths. “The contractions are getting stronger and closer together. It’s not stopping.”

Dr. Hayes nodded, his expression serious but not panicked. “Alright, Jackson. It sounds like you’re in preterm labor. We’re going to do everything we can to slow things down, but if Boston decides he’s ready to come, we’ll be ready for him. You’re in good hands.”

Tears burned in my eyes again, but I nodded. “Is he going to be okay? He’s too early.”

Dr. Hayes placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Thirty-two weeks is early, but babies born at this stage do very well. Boston is strong, and we have the resources here to take care of him. I promise you, we’ll do everything we can.”

Stiles squeezed my hand tightly, his voice low and steady. “Did you hear that, Jackson? Boston’s strong. And so are you.”

Over the next hour, the nurses worked to monitor Boston’s heart rate, check my vitals, and administer medication to try to slow down the contractions. But despite their efforts, the labor continued to progress. The contractions grew stronger, each one taking my breath away as I gripped Stiles’s hand like a lifeline.

“You’re doing great,” Stiles whispered every time I gasped through a contraction. “Breathe, Jackson. You’ve got this.”

The pain was unlike anything I’d experienced before, and knowing how early it was made it all feel that much harder. But as the hours passed, I realized there was no stopping it—Boston was coming whether we were ready or not.

By the early morning light, the contractions were relentless. Dr. Hayes checked my progress, his voice calm but firm. “Jackson, you’re fully dilated. It’s time to push.”

Tears streamed down my face as I looked at Stiles. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You can,” Stiles said, his voice full of determination. “Jackson, you are the strongest person I know. I’m right here. We’re doing this together.”

With his words pushing me forward, I nodded. Dr. Hayes guided me through everything, his calm instructions cutting through the haze of pain. I clung to Stiles as I pushed, my entire body trembling with exhaustion, but I kept going. I had to.

It felt like hours, though I knew it couldn’t have been that long. Then, finally, I heard it—the sound I’d been waiting for. A sharp, loud cry split through the room, and all at once, the pain and exhaustion faded into the background.

“Jackson,” Stiles whispered, tears streaming down his face as he looked at me. “You did it. He’s here.”

Dr. Hayes held up our tiny, wriggling son, his cries strong despite his small size. “He’s doing great,” Dr. Hayes said with a smile. “Meet your little boy.”

The nurse placed him on my chest, and the moment I felt his warmth, my heart swelled. He was so small, so perfect, his tiny fists curling and uncurling as his cries softened.

“Hi, Boston,” I whispered, tears streaming down my face as I cradled him close. “You’re here. We’ve been waiting for you.”

Stiles leaned down, pressing a kiss to my forehead before gazing at our son. “He’s beautiful,” Stiles said softly, his voice breaking with emotion. “You’re amazing, Jackson.”

I looked at Stiles, my chest tight with overwhelming love. “We did it.”

“Yeah,” he whispered, brushing his thumb gently over Boston’s tiny hand. “We did.”

As I lay there, holding our son, I realized that everything we’d gone through—all the fear, the worry, the pain—had led us to this moment. Boston had come earlier than expected, but he was here, and he was strong. I looked at Stiles, and then at our son, feeling a sense of peace wash over me.

We were a family now. And no matter what came next, I knew we could handle it—together.

The room felt like a soft blur as I lay in the hospital bed, cradling Boston against my chest. The adrenaline of labor was beginning to fade, replaced by an overwhelming exhaustion that settled into every muscle in my body. But none of that mattered as I looked down at our son. His tiny form was curled against me, his fists balled up tightly near his face as he made soft, sleepy noises. He was so small, so fragile, yet his cries had been strong and loud when he first came into the world. That strength gave me hope, even as worry continued to tug at the edges of my thoughts.

Stiles was sitting close, his hand gently brushing over Boston's head. His face was still damp with tears, but now his expression was a mix of awe and quiet concern. I could see it—his worry mirrored mine, though he was doing his best to keep calm for both of us.

“You’re perfect, little guy,” Stiles whispered, his voice full of love and wonder. “We’re so glad you’re here.”

I smiled softly, brushing a finger along Boston’s tiny hand. His fingers instinctively curled around mine, and I felt my throat tighten with emotion. He was here, but it was too soon. At just 32 weeks, every second felt like a countdown to what might come next. I didn’t want to let go of him, not for a moment, but I knew what had to happen next.

A gentle knock on the door broke the quiet. Dr. Hayes entered, flanked by a pediatric nurse who was pushing a small, wheeled bassinet equipped with medical supplies. Their calm expressions reassured me slightly, though my chest still ached with worry.

“Hey, Jackson, Stiles,” Dr. Hayes said, his voice soft and soothing. “How are we holding up?”

“Tired,” I admitted, my voice hoarse from the labor and lingering nerves. “But… he’s here. That’s what matters.”

Dr. Hayes smiled warmly, stepping closer. “Boston’s a fighter. I know you’re worried because he’s early, but we’re going to check him over now, just to make sure everything’s okay. Premature babies sometimes need a little extra support, especially when they’re born at 32 weeks.”

The mention of it—extra support—made my stomach drop. I didn’t want to hear it, even though I knew it was a possibility. My hands tightened slightly as I held Boston a little closer.

“Does he have to… go to the NICU?” Stiles asked, his voice quiet but steady, the question we were both too afraid to ask hanging heavy in the air.

Dr. Hayes nodded gently. “We’ll know more after we evaluate him. Our neonatology team is ready if he needs any additional care. It’s common for babies born this early to need monitoring in the NICU, even if it’s just for a little while.”

I felt Stiles’s hand on my arm, grounding me, and I swallowed hard. Slowly, I nodded, forcing myself to do what was best for Boston. “Okay,” I whispered. “Just… take care of him.”

Dr. Hayes smiled reassuringly. “We’ll take great care of him, Jackson. I promise.”

The nurse moved closer, holding out her hands gently. My heart clenched as I reluctantly let Boston go, watching as they carefully placed him into the bassinet. The moment his small form was out of my arms, I felt an ache deep in my chest—like I’d lost a part of myself.

Stiles leaned in close, pressing a kiss to my temple. “He’s going to be okay,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Boston’s strong, just like you.”

I nodded, but my eyes stayed fixed on the little bassinet as Dr. Hayes and the nurse began their work. They checked his heart rate first, placing a small stethoscope against his tiny chest. I strained to listen, and though I couldn’t hear it clearly, Dr. Hayes’s calm expression gave me a little comfort.

“His heart sounds good,” Dr. Hayes said, looking up with a small smile. “That’s a great sign.”

I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, my fingers curling into the blankets on my lap. I watched as they carefully checked his breathing next, placing a small monitor near his nose to measure his oxygen levels.

Dr. Hayes glanced at the screen, his brow furrowing just slightly before smoothing out again. “His oxygen levels are a little low—not unusual for 32 weeks, but we may need to provide a little extra support for his breathing.”

“What does that mean?” Stiles asked quickly, his voice tight.

“It means he might need a little oxygen for a while,” Dr. Hayes explained, his tone steady and calm. “It’s nothing to panic about. Boston’s lungs are still developing, and sometimes preemies need that boost to help them adjust to breathing on their own.”

I exhaled shakily, my eyes flicking to Stiles, who was staring at Boston with an intensity I recognized as his way of keeping it together. I knew he was just as scared as I was, but we had to hold on to the fact that this was normal for premature babies. Boston was fighting, and he wasn’t alone.

“Everything else looks good so far,” Dr. Hayes continued, moving on to examine Boston’s reflexes and movement. He pressed gently against Boston’s tiny hands and feet, testing his grasp and how he responded to touch. “He’s strong, responsive, and his color is good. All encouraging signs.”

The nurse carefully swaddled Boston again, wrapping him in a soft hospital blanket, before looking to Dr. Hayes. “Are we taking him up to the NICU for monitoring?” she asked quietly.

Dr. Hayes nodded and turned to us. “I want to take Boston to the NICU for a little while, just to monitor his breathing and make sure he’s adjusting well. We’ll keep an eye on his oxygen levels, his feeding, and his temperature regulation. It’s just precautionary.”

The tears I’d been holding back finally slipped free as I nodded. “How long will he have to stay there?” I asked, my voice breaking.

“It’s hard to say right now,” Dr. Hayes said softly. “Some preemies only need a few days, while others need longer. But Boston’s doing well so far. We’ll take this one step at a time.”

Stiles squeezed my hand tightly, his voice steady even though I could see the worry in his eyes. “Can we see him while he’s in there?”

“Of course,” Dr. Hayes said, smiling gently. “We’ll get you set up so you can visit him whenever you want. And we’ll keep you updated on everything.”

I nodded, though it felt like my heart was being ripped from my chest as I watched the nurse begin to wheel Boston toward the door. I wanted to shout that they couldn’t take him, that he needed to stay here with me, but I knew this was for his own good. He needed care, and the NICU team was ready to provide it.

Stiles stayed by my side, his hand never leaving mine as we watched them take Boston out of the room. The door clicked softly shut, and suddenly the room felt far too quiet. My chest ached, and I buried my face in my hands as the tears came harder.

“Hey, hey,” Stiles whispered, pulling me into his arms. “He’s okay, Jackson. He’s strong. He’s going to be fine.”

“I know,” I choked out, my voice muffled against his chest. “But it’s too soon, Stiles. He’s so small. I wasn’t ready for this.”

“I know,” Stiles said, his voice thick with emotion as he pressed a kiss to my temple. “I wasn’t ready either. But we’re going to get through this. Boston’s strong, and so are we.”

We sat there for what felt like hours, wrapped in each other’s arms, the silence broken only by the occasional sniffle as I tried to pull myself together. Stiles stayed close, whispering reassurances and rubbing soothing circles on my back. He knew there was nothing he could say to fix this, but his presence alone was enough to ground me.

After what felt like forever, a soft knock on the door broke the quiet, and the nurse peeked in with a kind smile. “Jackson, Stiles? Boston’s settled in the NICU now, and you’re welcome to come see him if you’re ready.”

I wiped at my face quickly, sitting up straighter as hope flared in my chest. “Can we… can we hold him?”

“You won’t be able to hold him just yet,” she said gently, “but you can sit with him, talk to him, and touch him. He’ll know you’re there.”

I nodded, grabbing Stiles’s hand as I swung my legs carefully over the side of the bed. My body still ached from labor, but I didn’t care. I needed to see Boston.

Stiles helped me into the wheelchair the nurse brought in, and we made our way down the hallway to the NICU. The air there was quieter, calmer, but it was also filled with the steady hum of machines and monitors. It was a reminder of just how fragile this moment was.

When we reached Boston’s incubator, my heart swelled and broke all at once. He was lying there, swaddled in a tiny blanket, a small oxygen tube taped gently under his nose. His chest rose and fell with each breath, and I couldn’t stop the tears that spilled down my cheeks as I reached a hand through the small opening to touch him.

“Hey, buddy,” I whispered, my voice trembling as my fingertips brushed over his tiny hand. “We’re right here.”

Stiles stood beside me, his hand on my shoulder as he looked down at our son. “You’re doing great, Boston,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “We’re so proud of you.”

The nurse smiled gently from where she stood nearby. “He’s strong, and he’s responding well to the oxygen. He’s in good hands, I promise.”

I nodded, barely able to tear my eyes away from him. Boston was so small, so fragile, but he was fighting. I could see it in the steady rise and fall of his chest, in the tiny movements of his fingers.

“We’ve got you,” I whispered again, my voice soft but firm. “You’re going to be okay, Boston. We’re not going anywhere.”

As I sat there, watching our son fight and grow stronger, I realized that no matter how terrifying this moment felt, we would get through it. Boston was a fighter, and so were we. Together, we would face whatever came next—one moment, one breath, and one heartbeat at a time.

The NICU was quieter than I expected, filled only with the hum of machines and the occasional quiet murmurs of nurses moving between the incubators. The room was dim, but the faint glow of monitors illuminated everything with a sterile kind of light. Boston lay inside his incubator, swaddled in a blanket, his tiny chest rising and falling with each assisted breath. A thin oxygen tube ran under his nose, secured carefully with medical tape that seemed far too big for his delicate skin. He looked impossibly small—fragile in a way that sent a sharp ache straight to my chest.

Stiles was standing beside me, his hand resting gently on my shoulder as we both stared at our son. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. His fingers were so tiny, his body still curled as if he didn’t realize yet that he’d left the safety of the womb. The steady beep of his heart monitor reassured me that he was still fighting, but the sight of him hooked up to machines, under the careful watch of the medical staff, was more than I could handle.

I swallowed hard, feeling the knot in my throat grow tighter with every passing second. My hand was resting against the side of the incubator, my fingertips brushing the clear plastic barrier that separated me from Boston. I wanted to pick him up, to hold him in my arms and tell him it was going to be okay, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t fix this, and that realization hit me like a punch to the gut.

“Jackson,” Stiles whispered softly, his voice low and steady as he crouched beside me. “Talk to me.”

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. My eyes were locked on Boston, the tears I’d been holding back now blurring my vision. My body felt heavy, my chest tight, and suddenly it was hard to breathe. I had held it together for as long as I could—through the labor, through the worry, through the reassurance from Dr. Hayes and the nurses—but seeing my son like this, so small and vulnerable, was more than I could take.

Stiles must have noticed the shift because his hand tightened on my shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay,” he murmured. “It’s okay, Jackson.”

I shook my head, my voice cracking as I whispered, “It’s not okay.”

The words felt raw, like I was ripping something out of myself. I didn’t care if I sounded weak or broken. I felt like I was falling apart, and I couldn’t hold it back anymore. My tears spilled freely as a sob broke out of me, loud and ragged in the otherwise quiet room. Stiles was immediately there, his arms wrapping around me tightly, holding me as I broke.

“I—I can’t do this,” I choked out, my voice shaking as I leaned into him. “Stiles, I can’t… I don’t know how to do this. He’s so small, and I can’t fix it. I can’t—”

“Shh,” Stiles whispered softly, his voice calm despite the emotion I could hear underneath. “Jackson, you can do this. You are doing this.”

I shook my head again, gripping the front of his shirt as I cried harder. “It’s not supposed to be like this. He’s supposed to be safe. He’s supposed to be inside me, Stiles. I couldn’t even keep him safe long enough—what kind of father am I?”

Stiles pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes, his expression firm but gentle. “You listen to me, Jackson Whittemore. You did everything you could. This is not your fault. Boston came early, but he’s here, and he’s fighting. That’s because of you. Because you carried him. Because you’re strong, and he’s strong.”

I looked at him through my tears, my whole body trembling as I tried to take a shaky breath. “But what if he doesn’t—what if—”

“He will,” Stiles interrupted firmly, his hands cupping my face. “He’s a fighter, Jackson. I know you’re scared. I am too. But Boston is strong, and you’re not alone in this. We’re a team, remember?”

His words broke through the haze of panic swirling inside me, grounding me even as the tears continued to fall. I leaned back into his chest, gripping his arms as I let the sobs come. Stiles didn’t say anything else—he just held me. I could feel his own steady breathing, his hand rubbing slow circles on my back, and though it didn’t erase the fear, it made me feel just a little less alone.

After what felt like forever, my tears finally slowed, leaving me exhausted and shaky. I leaned back against the wheelchair, wiping at my face with the sleeve of my hospital gown. Stiles stayed beside me, his hand never leaving mine as he waited for me to calm down.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered hoarsely, my voice thick with tears.

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Stiles said softly, shaking his head. “You don’t have to be strong all the time, Jackson. It’s okay to break down. This is hard. I’m scared too, but we’re going to get through this. Boston’s going to get through this.”

I looked over at our son again, my chest still aching but my breathing a little steadier now. Boston was still curled up inside his incubator, his small form looking even smaller surrounded by the wires and tubes. But he was breathing. His little chest was rising and falling, and the monitor next to him beeped steadily. He was fighting. He hadn’t given up, and I couldn’t give up either.

“Do you think he knows we’re here?” I whispered, my voice breaking slightly.

Stiles smiled faintly, squeezing my hand. “Of course he does. He’s already so loved, Jackson. He knows we’re here. He knows we’re fighting for him.”

I let those words sink in, and for the first time in hours, I felt like I could breathe a little easier. Boston was here. He was fighting, and as terrifying as this all was, I realized that Stiles was right—I couldn’t give up. I wouldn’t give up.

The nurse who had been standing quietly nearby approached, her voice soft and kind. “Would you like to touch him, Jackson? He can’t come out yet, but skin-to-skin contact—even just a gentle touch—can help him feel safe.”

I swallowed hard, looking over at the tiny opening in the side of the incubator. The thought of touching him both terrified and thrilled me. I nodded slowly, and Stiles helped me lean forward. My hand shook slightly as I reached through the opening and gently placed my fingertip against his tiny hand. His skin was warm, softer than I’d imagined, and I felt my breath catch as his fingers twitched and curled instinctively around mine.

“Hey, buddy,” I whispered, tears slipping down my face again, though this time they were softer, quieter. “It’s me. Your papa. I’m right here.”

Boston didn’t move much, but the warmth of his hand against my finger was enough to make my heart swell. He was here. He was real. And despite everything, he was fighting.

Stiles crouched down beside me, his own hand brushing against Boston’s incubator. “We’re here, Boston,” he said softly. “We’re not going anywhere.”

The nurse smiled at us gently. “He’s doing well, all things considered. His oxygen levels are improving, and he’s already a strong little guy. Preemies are fighters—they surprise us every day.”

Her words offered me a small flicker of hope. I looked down at Boston, my voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve already made us so proud, little guy.”

We stayed there for what felt like hours, just sitting beside him, talking softly and letting him know we were there. The fear hadn’t disappeared—it probably wouldn’t for a long time—but as I sat there with Stiles, watching over our son, I realized that maybe I was stronger than I thought.

Boston was small, fragile, and far too early, but he was also strong. And if he could fight, then so could we. Later that night, Stiles wheeled me back to my hospital room. I was too exhausted to walk after everything, but I insisted on staying as close to the NICU as I could. As we settled into the quiet of the room, Stiles sat beside me on the edge of the bed, his arm draped around my shoulders.

“How are you feeling?” he asked softly, his voice full of care.

“Tired,” I admitted, leaning my head against him. “And scared. But… a little better.”

He kissed the top of my head, his voice gentle. “We’ll take it one step at a time. That’s all we can do.”

I nodded, closing my eyes as I let myself lean into him fully. The exhaustion from the past 24 hours was catching up to me, but the image of Boston—his tiny fingers curled around mine—played in my mind like a quiet promise.

“We’re going to get through this,” Stiles whispered again, as if he could read my thoughts. “Boston’s strong. And you are, too, Jackson.”

For the first time since this whole ordeal began, I allowed myself to believe it.

We were strong. And no matter how hard this journey was, we would face it together.

Chapter Text

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Jackson's Pov

I nodded, closing my eyes as I let myself lean into him fully. The exhaustion from the past 24 hours was catching up to me, but the image of Boston—his tiny fingers curled around mine—played in my mind like a quiet promise.

“We’re going to get through this,” Stiles whispered again, as if he could read my thoughts. “Boston’s strong. And you are, too, Jackson.”

For the first time since this whole ordeal began, I allowed myself to believe it.

We were strong. And no matter how hard this journey was, we would face it together.

Jackson's Pov

The hospital room was dim and quiet when I woke up the next morning, the pale light of dawn just beginning to filter through the blinds. My body ached in ways I hadn’t expected—my muscles were stiff, my back throbbed, and my head felt like it was floating somewhere outside of my body. Labor had left me drained in every possible way, and the emotional weight of Boston being in the NICU hadn’t let up for even a second. I hadn’t realized how much I’d been holding on to all night until I woke up with that familiar knot in my chest, heavy and ever-present.

Stiles was still asleep in the chair beside my bed, his head tipped back against the wall and his arms crossed over his chest. He looked exhausted, the dark circles under his eyes even more pronounced in the morning light. I could tell he hadn’t slept much, even though he’d insisted on staying with me the entire night. He refused to leave my side, not even to go home and rest.

I sat up carefully, wincing at the soreness in my body. The hospital gown hung loose around me, a reminder of how empty my stomach felt without Boston inside. I reached down, placing a hand on my abdomen instinctively, but the stillness there only made my chest ache more. I wasn’t ready to let go of the connection I’d had with him, and now that he was out in the world—tiny, fragile, and fighting—I felt more helpless than ever.

The sound of footsteps in the hallway caught my attention, and a moment later, the door creaked open. A nurse entered, her smile soft and understanding as she carried a tray of breakfast.

“Good morning, Jackson,” she said quietly, setting the tray on the bedside table. “How are you feeling?”

I managed a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach my eyes. “Tired,” I admitted. “And sore.”

“That’s to be expected,” she said kindly, pulling a chair closer to the bed. “You’ve been through a lot. But you’re doing amazing.”

I nodded, though the compliment didn’t quite sink in. I didn’t feel amazing. I felt like I was barely holding it together. My thoughts were already drifting to Boston, wondering how his night had gone, if his breathing had improved, if the monitors were still beeping steadily like they had been the last time I saw him.

The nurse must have noticed my distracted expression because she reached out, resting a gentle hand on my arm. “Boston’s doing well,” she said softly, as if reading my mind. “The NICU team has been keeping a close eye on him, and his oxygen levels have improved overnight. He’s a strong little guy.”

Her words brought a wave of relief that was almost enough to make me cry again. “Thank you,” I whispered, my voice catching.

She smiled and gave my arm a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll check back in on you later, but if you need anything, just press the call button, okay?”

“Okay,” I said, watching as she slipped out of the room, leaving me alone with Stiles and my thoughts.

I stared at the untouched breakfast on the tray, my appetite nonexistent despite the fact that I hadn’t eaten anything substantial in nearly 24 hours. My mind was too preoccupied with Boston to think about food. Every instinct in my body was screaming to be with him, to see him, to reassure myself that he was really okay.

“Hey,” Stiles’s groggy voice pulled me from my thoughts, and I turned to see him rubbing his eyes as he sat up in the chair. “You’re awake.”

“Yeah,” I said softly, managing a faint smile. “How’d you sleep?”

“Not great,” he admitted, stretching his arms over his head. “But I wasn’t really expecting to. How about you?”

“Same,” I said, looking down at my hands. “I just… I keep thinking about him. I need to see him, Stiles.”

“I know,” Stiles said, his voice gentle as he moved to sit on the edge of my bed. “We’ll go see him as soon as you’re ready. But you need to eat something first. You’re running on fumes.”

“I’m not hungry,” I said automatically, but Stiles gave me a look that told me he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

“Jackson, you just went through labor,” he said firmly. “You need to take care of yourself if you’re going to take care of Boston. I know you don’t feel like eating, but you have to. Just a little.”

I sighed, knowing he was right, even if I didn’t want to admit it. I picked up the piece of toast from the tray, nibbling on the corner while Stiles watched me like a hawk. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to satisfy him for the moment.

“Good,” he said, leaning over to kiss my forehead. “Now, let’s get you ready, and we’ll head to the NICU.”

The thought of seeing Boston again was enough to push me into action, and with Stiles’s help, I got out of bed and into the wheelchair the nurse had left behind. My legs were shaky, and my whole body felt like it had been hit by a truck, but none of that mattered. All that mattered was getting to my son.

The ride to the NICU felt longer than it was, the quiet hum of the hospital hallways only amplifying the anticipation building in my chest. When we reached Boston’s incubator, my heart ached at the sight of him. He was still so tiny, his small body swaddled in the soft blanket, the oxygen tube under his nose still in place. But the steady beeping of the monitors and the rise and fall of his chest reassured me that he was holding on.

Stiles parked the wheelchair beside the incubator, and I leaned forward, reaching my hand through the small opening to touch him. His skin was warm and soft under my fingers, and the moment I felt him, the knot in my chest loosened just a little.

“Hey, buddy,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “It’s me. I’m here.”

Stiles crouched beside me, his hand resting on my knee as he watched Boston with a mixture of awe and worry. “He looks good,” he said softly, his voice filled with relief. “Better than last night.”

I nodded, tears filling my eyes again as I stroked Boston’s tiny hand. “I just want him to know we’re here,” I said quietly. “That he’s not alone.”

“He knows,” Stiles said firmly. “He can feel it, Jackson. He knows we’re here for him.”

The nurse from last night appeared beside us, her smile warm and reassuring. “Boston’s had a good night,” she said softly. “His oxygen levels are stable, and he’s responding well to the care. He’s a fighter, just like his parents.”

Her words brought a small, shaky smile to my lips. “Can I… can I hold him?” I asked hesitantly, afraid of the answer.

The nurse’s smile widened. “Not just yet, but soon. Right now, skin-to-skin contact is the best thing for him. If you’d like, we can arrange for you to do some kangaroo care later today.”

I nodded quickly, the thought of holding him against me filling me with a mix of hope and nervousness. “Yes, please. I’d love that.”

For the next hour, I sat beside Boston’s incubator, my hand resting on his tiny chest as I whispered softly to him. Stiles stayed close, his hand on my shoulder, his presence grounding me as we watched over our son together.

Every minute felt like a small victory. Boston was here, he was fighting, and he wasn’t alone. No matter how hard this journey would be, we would face it together—as a family. And in that moment, I realized that even though I was terrified, I wasn’t broken. I wasn’t weak. I was a parent, and I would do anything for my son.

The soft, rhythmic hum of machines filled the NICU, the steady beeping of monitors a constant presence as I sat by Boston’s incubator. My hand rested gently on the clear plastic, my fingers barely touching his warm skin, feeling his little chest rise and fall with each breath. The oxygen tube under his nose had remained in place, a constant reminder that he still needed support, that he wasn’t quite ready to breathe entirely on his own. But despite that, there was something about seeing him breathing, about watching him fight, that gave me hope. He was a fighter, and so was I.

Stiles was standing beside me, his hand resting on my shoulder as we both watched Boston. His gaze was soft, filled with a mixture of love and worry, and I knew he was just as anxious as I was. We were both terrified, but we were in this together, and that thought kept me grounded.

“I can’t believe how small he is,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. “But look at him. He’s strong, Stiles. He’s stronger than I thought he’d be.”

Stiles leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to my temple. “He’s definitely a fighter. He’s got you in him, after all.”

I chuckled weakly, the sound hoarse from the emotional weight of the past few days. “I don’t know about that,” I said, glancing at Stiles with a small smile. “But I do know he’s got all of our love. That’s the most important thing.”

Stiles smiled back, his thumb gently brushing my arm. “That’s the thing, Jackson. He knows we love him. He’s going to keep fighting. And so are we.”

I nodded, my chest tightening as I looked down at our son again. I wanted to hold him so badly, to feel his tiny body against mine, but I couldn’t. Not yet. The nurse had mentioned kangaroo care earlier, and I’d been waiting for the right moment to ask for it.

“Can I hold him?” I asked softly, my voice almost a whisper. “I mean… like, really hold him.”

Stiles’s eyes softened with understanding, and he nodded. “If you’re ready, Jackson. You’ve been through a lot, and so has he. But yeah, I think it’s time.”

Before I could respond, the nurse appeared at our side again, her presence warm and reassuring as always. She smiled at me gently, seeing the mixture of longing and hesitation in my eyes.

“Are you ready for kangaroo care, Jackson?” she asked, her voice soothing.

“Yes,” I said quickly, the need to hold Boston outweighing the fear and uncertainty. “I want to. I need to.”

The nurse nodded, her hands gentle as she moved to adjust Boston in his incubator. “Alright, let’s get you settled first. I’ll help you with the process. You’ll hold him against your chest, skin-to-skin, and we’ll monitor him as we do so. It’s one of the best things for preemies like him—it helps with temperature regulation, heart rate, and bonding.”

I swallowed thickly, the gravity of the moment sinking in. It felt like everything had been leading up to this—this first real connection with my son, a moment where I could truly feel him against me, his tiny body nestled against mine.

Stiles helped me slide carefully out of the wheelchair and onto the chair beside Boston’s incubator. I moved slowly, the ache in my body from labor still persistent, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the tiny life that I was about to hold. My heart raced with anticipation as the nurse adjusted the blankets on the chair and placed a soft cloth on my chest to catch any warmth.

“Alright, Jackson,” the nurse said gently. “Take a deep breath. I’ll help you with him.”

I nodded, my hands trembling slightly as I reached forward. She gently removed the oxygen tube from Boston’s nose, giving him a moment to adjust before she carefully lifted him from the incubator. I held my breath as she brought him closer to me, feeling my heart skip in my chest.

The nurse positioned Boston against my chest, his tiny body warm and soft. I looked down at him, his eyes still closed, his breathing steady but shallow. He was so small, barely even fitting against me, but the connection I felt as he was placed against my skin was overwhelming. I gently placed my hand on his back, feeling the faint flutter of his heart under my fingertips, matching the rhythm of my own.

“He’s so tiny,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “But he’s here. He’s with me.”

Stiles leaned over, his hand on my shoulder, his face filled with awe and love. “You’re doing great, Jackson,” he said softly. “You’ve got him, and he’s got you.”

I looked up at Stiles, feeling the warmth of his words. This was real. This moment—holding my son, feeling his tiny body against mine—was more real than anything I had ever experienced before. Every other fear, every ounce of uncertainty melted away in that moment.

The nurse stood back, observing as Boston settled against me. “His heart rate is stable, and his temperature is looking good,” she said, smiling as she made a few notes on her clipboard. “This is exactly what he needs right now. The skin-to-skin contact helps regulate his body temperature, and the closeness helps his breathing as well.”

I closed my eyes, letting out a shaky breath. I could feel Boston’s tiny breaths against my chest, each one a reminder of how fragile and precious this moment was. I hadn’t realized how much I needed this until I had him in my arms. It was like everything else in the world had fallen away, leaving just the two of us—me and my son.

“I’m here,” I whispered to him, my voice filled with emotion. “I’m not going anywhere. We’re going to be okay.”

Stiles stood beside me, his hand still on my shoulder, watching us with a look of pride and love. “He’s perfect, Jackson,” he said softly. “He’s perfect.”

The weight of his words sank in, and I couldn’t help the tears that welled up in my eyes again. I had spent so many hours, so many days, worrying about Boston—about whether he was going to be okay, whether he’d be strong enough to make it through this. But now, with him against me, I could feel the power of that connection. This little boy, who had come into the world too soon, was a fighter, just like his parents.

The nurse continued to monitor Boston as he lay against me, his tiny body still nestled against my chest. She took a few more notes, checking his vitals and making sure everything was stable.

“You’re doing great,” she said, smiling at us both. “This is exactly the kind of contact that will help him grow stronger. Just keep talking to him, touching him, and letting him know you’re here.”

Stiles leaned in, brushing his fingers lightly over Boston’s head. “We’re here, buddy. We’re not going anywhere.”

I looked down at Boston, my heart swelling with love. “I love you,” I whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. “I’m so proud of you. You’re so strong.”

We stayed like that for a while—just the three of us—connected in a way that felt like everything was as it should be. I held Boston close, gently stroking his tiny back, feeling the flutter of his little heart under my fingertips. His skin was soft and warm, and the little sounds he made, even in his sleep, brought a sense of peace to my racing mind.

Stiles was beside me, his hand resting on my back, offering quiet words of support and love as we watched our son. I had never felt more overwhelmed by love in my life. This tiny, fragile person had come into the world too soon, but he was already changing everything.

The nurse checked in again after a while, her expression satisfied as she observed the monitor’s readings. “Everything is looking good. I think it’s about time to let you rest. We’ll be here if anything changes, but right now, it’s important for you to take care of yourself, too.”

I nodded reluctantly, but I didn’t want to let go of Boston. I wanted to hold him forever, to never have him out of my arms. But I knew the nurses had to do their work, and I couldn’t stay in the NICU all day.

“Can I… can I just hold him a little longer?” I asked, my voice quiet, the plea in my words unmistakable.

The nurse smiled warmly, her eyes full of understanding. “Of course. Just a little longer.”

And so, I held him. We stayed there together, connected in a way that words couldn’t describe. It felt like the world had narrowed to this moment—just me, Stiles, and Boston. Despite all the uncertainty, despite all the fear and worry, this was the moment I knew I would carry with me forever. The moment when I could finally hold my son, the moment when I could feel his tiny heart beat against mine.

Stiles sat quietly beside me, watching over us, his hand resting on my shoulder. I felt his love, his steady presence, as he whispered, “We’re doing it, Jackson. We’re going to make it through this.”

And somehow, in that moment, I believed him.

The room was still warm with the quiet hum of the NICU monitors, and though I had been holding Boston for what felt like hours, time had somehow stretched and warped into something I couldn’t grasp. His tiny body, wrapped in a soft swaddle, felt heavier with every passing second, though I knew he was far too small to be a true burden. Every movement of his little chest against mine, every faint flutter of his hands as he shifted in his sleep, was a reminder that we were both clinging to something far bigger than ourselves: hope.

Stiles hadn’t left my side, not once, not since we got to the hospital. He’d been holding my hand the whole time, whispering soft words of encouragement, and offering his unwavering support. I didn’t think I could make it through this without him. The world had narrowed to this small room, to the sound of Boston’s tiny breaths, and the love that seemed to pulse in the air around us.

But despite the overwhelming love I felt for my son, there was an edge of tension still hanging in the air. I could feel it in the way Stiles’s fingers tightened over mine every time Boston shifted, and in the way he kept glancing at the clock as if he was waiting for something to happen. He was always looking out for us, but there was a sense of urgency behind his eyes. And I couldn’t blame him. We were both holding our breath, waiting for the moment when Boston would be ready to come home. I could feel it—this deep, primal fear that things could still go wrong.

I let out a shaky breath, running a hand through my hair as I shifted my position in the chair, trying to get more comfortable. My body was still sore from labor, and I knew we couldn’t stay here forever, but it was hard to let go.

Stiles leaned over, kissing the top of my head before he stood up. “I’m going to make a call. I’ll be right back.”

I nodded absently, not really hearing what he was saying. My eyes were fixed on Boston, the little sounds he made as he settled into the warmth of my chest. Stiles didn’t have to tell me that we’d need paternity leave. I knew the situation had changed, and there was no way either of us would be going back to work anytime soon.

When Stiles came back, his face was serious, though there was a small glimmer of relief in his eyes. “I called our supervisors,” he said softly, settling down beside me. “Let them know about Boston. They’re giving us both paternity leave, effective immediately.”

I blinked, processing his words slowly. “We get time off?”

Stiles nodded. “Yeah, they understand. You and I both need time to focus on Boston. I told them about what happened, about how early he was born, and how we need to be here for him.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I had been holding. I was relieved, but a little part of me still felt guilty for needing the time off. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be with Boston—he was everything to me, and I couldn’t stand the thought of being away from him. But there was something about needing time away from the job that still felt... strange.

“You don’t need to feel guilty,” Stiles said gently, noticing the shift in my expression. “This is important. Our son needs us.”

I nodded again, grateful for Stiles’s calm. “I know. I just… it’s a big shift. I didn’t think about how much things would change.”

“That’s the thing, Jackson,” Stiles said, squeezing my hand. “Things will change, but we’ll do this together. We’ve got each other, and now we’ve got Boston.”

I smiled softly, feeling the weight of his words sink in. “Yeah. We’ve got each other.”

Stiles then pulled out his phone and quickly began texting, his eyes flicking up to me occasionally. I raised an eyebrow as he typed rapidly, sending messages to everyone who needed to know about Boston’s arrival. “I’m letting the pack know,” he said quietly, his voice still calm but with a slight edge of urgency. “And I’m texting my dad too. He needs to know.”

I watched as Stiles sent a message to his dad, his fingers quick and steady as he typed out the words. After a moment, he nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “He says he’s coming as soon as possible. He’ll be here this afternoon.”

I let out a sigh of relief, leaning back into the chair with a slight groan of discomfort. “I’m glad he’ll be here. I know Boston will want to meet him soon.”

Stiles smiled, his eyes softening as he glanced at our son. “I think he’ll be pretty thrilled to meet his grandson, don’t you?”

“I’m sure he’ll be over the moon,” I said, my voice low as I thought about how our families would react to Boston. My parents were still in New York, but they’d be on the next flight out. I knew they would come as soon as they could, just like Stiles’s dad.

Stiles sent a few more messages, his face lighting up slightly as he read the responses from our friends. “Derek says he’s coming with Peter, and they’ll bring the whole pack. They’re all asking if they can visit Boston later today.”

“Let them know they’re welcome to come by,” I said, my voice growing a little stronger now. “But keep it quiet, at least for now. I don’t want to overwhelm him.”

Stiles nodded, typing the message and sending it off. “Of course. I just want them to know.”

I ran a hand through my hair, my mind buzzing as the reality of the situation settled deeper into my bones. It felt like the whole world was waiting for us to navigate this new chapter, but I was afraid we weren’t prepared enough.

“What if something goes wrong, Stiles?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “What if he’s not okay? What if—”

“Jackson,” Stiles interrupted, his voice soft but firm. He leaned in, pressing a hand to my cheek. “Don’t go there. I know you’re scared. I am, too. But Boston is strong. He’s already proving it. He’s fighting. And we’re right here with him.”

I nodded, feeling the truth of his words sink in. “Yeah. We’re here.”

Stiles smiled at me, a flicker of pride in his eyes. “Exactly. Now, we focus on one thing at a time. Boston needs us, and we’ll be there for him. Every step of the way.”

I reached down, my fingers brushing softly over Boston’s tiny hand again. I felt the warmth of his skin under my fingertips, and for the first time in hours, I could breathe a little easier. Things weren’t perfect. Nothing was guaranteed. But we were here together, and that made all the difference.

The nurse came in soon after, checking on Boston’s oxygen levels and making a few adjustments to his monitors. She smiled warmly at us both, her tone calm and reassuring as she updated us on how things were going. “His oxygen levels are looking much better this morning,” she said. “He’s stable, and we’re continuing to monitor him. He’s doing well.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, feeling a wave of relief wash over me. “That’s good, right?”

The nurse nodded. “Very good. He’s a strong little guy, Jackson.”

Stiles smiled, his fingers still intertwined with mine. “We know.”

The nurse continued her work, adjusting the small ventilator beside Boston’s incubator and making sure the settings were correct. She checked his vitals, the monitor beeping steadily as she made sure everything was stable. “He’s responding well to the care. You’re both doing an amazing job.”

“Thank you,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “We just want to make sure he’s okay.”

“He’s in great hands,” the nurse reassured us, smiling as she finished her rounds. “I’ll check in on you again soon. Just let us know if you need anything.”

When she left, the room fell quiet again. I could feel the heaviness of the moment settle in once more, but it didn’t feel as suffocating as it had before. Stiles was here, and he was right by my side. I wasn’t alone. We weren’t alone.

I looked over at Stiles, my eyes locking with his. “We’ve got this, right?”

Stiles smiled, squeezing my hand. “We’ve got this. Every step of the way.”

With that, I let myself lean into him, feeling a sense of peace settle into my chest. We were on this journey together, and no matter how tough it got, we would face it with everything we had.

Boston was strong. And so were we. Together, we would get through this—one step at a time.

The next few days passed in a blur of visitors, updates from the NICU team, and the steady progress Boston made. Every small improvement—his oxygen levels, his ability to regulate his temperature, the strength of his heart—was a victory, a glimmer of hope in the storm of uncertainty we were navigating.

Stiles continued to text our friends and family, keeping them updated, but I noticed a shift in him. He was no longer just comforting me. He was comforting himself, too, finding peace in the idea that we were doing everything we could, that we were a team, and that Boston would be okay.

And with each passing day, as I held Boston’s tiny hand or brushed my fingers against his soft skin, I began to believe it too. Together, we would get through this.

Chapter Text

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Jackson's Pov

Boston was strong. And so were we. Together, we would get through this—one step at a time.

The next few days passed in a blur of visitors, updates from the NICU team, and the steady progress Boston made. Every small improvement—his oxygen levels, his ability to regulate his temperature, the strength of his heart—was a victory, a glimmer of hope in the storm of uncertainty we were navigating.

Stiles continued to text our friends and family, keeping them updated, but I noticed a shift in him. He was no longer just comforting me. He was comforting himself, too, finding peace in the idea that we were doing everything we could, that we were a team, and that Boston would be okay.

And with each passing day, as I held Boston’s tiny hand or brushed my fingers against his soft skin, I began to believe it too. Together, we would get through this.

Jackson's Pov

Five days had passed since Boston was born. In those five days, everything had changed, and yet, so much still felt the same. The NICU had become our second home, a place where we spent hours watching over him, waiting for signs of improvement, and anxiously checking the monitors that surrounded him. It felt like every second was filled with anticipation, with both fear and hope holding equal weight in the air. I could still feel the tightness in my chest whenever I looked at him in the incubator, the tight, gnawing fear that clung to me. Was he going to be okay? Was he strong enough? Was he going to make it?

But each day that passed, I saw a little more strength in him. Boston was, without a doubt, a fighter. He had proved that from the moment he entered this world far too early. With every passing hour, every adjustment in his oxygen levels, every steady beep of the heart monitor, he was proving it even more. And with each day that passed, I allowed myself to breathe a little easier.

I sat beside him now, my hand resting gently on the side of the incubator, my fingers lightly brushing against the cool plastic. The nurse had just finished checking his vitals, confirming that everything was stable. He had been doing well—his oxygen levels had improved even more, and they had started reducing the amount of assistance he needed. I still couldn’t believe how tiny he was, barely the size of my forearm, but he was strong, and he was alive. That was all that mattered.

Stiles was sitting next to me, his hand firmly wrapped around mine. He hadn’t left my side in these five days, and I knew he wouldn’t. We were in this together, every step of the way. I glanced over at him, catching his tired eyes. He hadn’t slept much, and neither had I. The stress of the past five days had worn us both down, but there was something about Boston, about him being here, about his tiny breaths and small movements that kept us going. We couldn’t stop now, not when we were so close to seeing him get stronger, closer to being the healthy little boy we knew he could be.

“How are you holding up?” Stiles asked, his voice soft but full of concern. He squeezed my hand lightly, his thumb running over my knuckles.

I didn’t answer right away. I could feel the weight of the question sitting on my chest. How was I holding up? There were moments when it felt like I was doing fine, when I could sit beside Boston and watch him, and everything would feel manageable. But then there were moments like this—moments when I was alone with my thoughts, moments when I had to confront the fear I had been shoving down.

“I’m doing okay,” I said, the words coming out more quietly than I intended. “It’s just… hard. Seeing him like this, knowing how small he is, how fragile. I’m scared, Stiles.”

Stiles turned to me, his expression softening. He gently wiped a stray tear from my cheek. “I know you’re scared, Jackson. Hell, I am too. But he’s here. And he’s getting stronger every day. I can see it. You can see it too.”

I nodded, looking back at Boston. It was true. I could see the improvements in him—how his breathing was becoming steadier, how his tiny fists were growing stronger as he slowly gained a little weight. His little face, still so perfect despite the fragility of his body, looked more peaceful now. He wasn’t the same as the first day we held him—tiny and fragile, barely hanging on. He was a little stronger now, and that made all the difference.

“I know,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. “It’s just hard to let go of the fear. I can’t shake it. What if something happens? What if he’s not strong enough?”

“Jackson, look at him.” Stiles gestured gently toward the incubator. “Look at how far he’s come in just five days. He’s proving us wrong every step of the way. He’s fighting, Jackson. And we’re here. We’re here with him.”

I let out a shaky breath, my gaze never leaving Boston’s tiny form. “I know. I just… I just want him to be okay. I want to be able to bring him home, to have him in my arms, to feel like he’s safe.”

“We’re going to get there,” Stiles said, his voice filled with certainty. “We’ll get him through this, and when we take him home, we’ll be the best damn parents we can be.”

“I’ll do anything for him,” I said softly, my heart swelling as I looked at Boston. “I’ll do whatever it takes. He’s our son.”

“I know you will, Jackson,” Stiles said, squeezing my hand. “And so will I.”

We sat there for a while in silence, just watching Boston, our thoughts merging in quiet understanding. There wasn’t much to say. We were both exhausted, physically and emotionally. But every time I looked at our son, every time I saw his tiny chest rise and fall, I knew he was worth all the fear, all the pain, all the sleepless nights. He was worth every moment of uncertainty, because he was ours.

Finally, the silence was broken by the nurse returning to check on Boston. She smiled at us as she walked over to the incubator, her hands expertly adjusting his oxygen tube and checking the monitor readings.

“He’s doing great today,” she said with a gentle smile. “His oxygen levels are looking much better, and he’s holding steady. It’s a big improvement from even just yesterday.”

I felt a wave of relief wash over me at her words. “So, is he ready to start reducing the oxygen support soon?” I asked, my voice filled with a mixture of hope and cautious optimism.

“Not quite yet,” she said, her tone gentle but honest. “But he’s definitely progressing. We’ll be lowering the support gradually as long as he continues to do well. But for now, we’ll keep monitoring him closely.”

I nodded, taking in her words. Progress was progress, and I couldn’t ask for more. As long as he was fighting, as long as he was improving, that was all that mattered.

“We’ll take it one day at a time,” Stiles said, his voice steady as he leaned in closer to me. “That’s all we can do.”

I nodded in agreement, taking a deep breath. As much as I wanted to rush ahead, as much as I wanted to bring him home right now, I knew we couldn’t. Boston needed time. We needed time. And we would take that time—together.

The nurse finished her checks and smiled at us once more. “I’ll be back in a little while to check on him again. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to let me know.”

“Thanks,” I said, managing a small smile.

After she left, I sat quietly beside Boston’s incubator, my hand gently resting on the edge of the plastic. Stiles stayed by my side, his presence a constant comfort. We didn’t need to speak. There was nothing else that needed to be said.

I looked down at Boston, his tiny body swaddled in soft blankets. He was so small, so delicate, and yet he had made it this far. I had no idea what the future held, but I knew one thing for sure: we were going to fight for him. We were going to do whatever it took to get him through this. He was our son, and we would love him, support him, and fight for him every single day.

“I’ll be here for you, Boston,” I whispered, my voice barely above a breath. “You’re my son. And I will always be here.”

Stiles leaned down and kissed my forehead, his voice low but filled with the same love that echoed in my heart. “We’re here, Jackson. All the way.”

And at that moment, with Stiles by my side and Boston slowly getting stronger each day, I knew that we would face whatever came next. No matter how hard, no matter how scary. We would do it together.

We were a family.

Seven days. It had been seven days since Boston was born, and the feeling of time was beginning to shift in ways I hadn’t expected. The hours had felt like they were stretching on forever, each minute dragging its feet as we sat in the sterile quiet of the NICU, watching the monitors and waiting for progress. But now, as I sat beside his incubator this morning, the world around me felt different. There was still fear, still worry—but there was something else too, something deeper, something stronger.

Hope.

I could feel it building in my chest as I looked at Boston, his tiny body swaddled in soft blankets, his tiny face relaxed as he slept. His little hands were curled up near his face, his fingers twitching now and then as if he were dreaming. And while I knew he was still far too small to be fully out of the woods, there was something in the steady beep of his heart monitor, in the rise and fall of his chest, that told me we were getting closer.

Closer to the day we’d be able to take him home.

“Hey,” Stiles’s voice interrupted my thoughts, and I looked up to see him standing beside me. He had his usual soft, gentle smile, but his eyes were still filled with the same quiet anxiety that had been there since the moment we’d gotten the call to rush to the hospital. “How’s he doing?”

I nodded, unable to stop the smile that tugged at my lips. “He’s doing great,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “His oxygen levels are stable, and they’re starting to wean him off the oxygen.”

Stiles’s eyes widened in disbelief, and I saw a wave of relief pass over his face. “Wait, really?” he asked, his voice full of hope. “Is he—”

“They’re reducing the amount of support he needs,” I clarified, nodding. “Dr. Hayes said he’s been responding well. His breathing is improving, and they think he’s strong enough to start adjusting to less oxygen.”

A wave of joy washed over Stiles, and I could see his shoulders relax for the first time in what felt like days. He stepped forward, his hand gently resting on my shoulder as he peered down at Boston.

“That’s amazing,” Stiles whispered, his voice full of awe. “It’s really happening.”

“It is,” I said softly, my voice trembling a little with the weight of everything we had gone through. “He’s getting stronger every day.”

I reached down, gently brushing my fingers against Boston’s tiny hand, the warmth of his skin against mine a reminder that he was still here, still fighting. It hadn’t been easy, and there had been moments when I thought we might lose him, when the fear felt too overwhelming to manage. But now, with every small victory—every steady breath, every tiny movement—I felt that familiar sense of hope, the belief that we were going to make it.

The nurse came in a few moments later, her soft smile reassuring as she checked on the monitor readings and adjusted the oxygen flow just a little more. “He’s looking great today,” she said, her voice calm and steady. “His oxygen levels are staying consistent, and he’s still showing great signs of improvement. We’ll continue to monitor him closely, but he’s handling this really well.”

Stiles glanced over at me, his voice barely above a whisper. “This is really happening, huh? He’s really going to be okay.”

I nodded, my chest swelling with emotion. “Yeah, I think he is. He’s strong, Stiles. Just like you said, he’s fighting.”

The nurse smiled at us both and began making notes on Boston’s chart. “I’ll be back in a little while to check on him again,” she said. “But for now, he’s doing wonderfully. If you want to hold him, I think it’s a good time for some more kangaroo care.”

My heart skipped in my chest. I hadn’t expected that, but the idea of holding Boston again filled me with a sense of peace I hadn’t realized I was craving.

“You sure?” I asked, glancing over at Stiles. “I’m—”

Stiles cut me off, his expression full of quiet determination. “Go. Hold him. He needs you, and you need him. I’ll be right here. Just let me know if you need anything.”

I smiled at him, grateful for how much he supported me through this. “Okay,” I said, standing up slowly and carefully. “I’ll be right back.”

The nurse was ready, preparing a warm blanket for me to hold Boston against my chest. She assisted me as I carefully climbed into the chair, adjusting the fabric around me. My hands were trembling slightly as I waited for her to carefully bring Boston to me, his tiny body still swaddled tightly in the soft fabric.

And then, as the nurse gently lifted him from his incubator and placed him in my arms, it felt like time itself had stopped.

Boston was warm against my chest, his little body feeling so small in comparison to the love I already felt for him. His skin was soft and smooth, still so delicate, but as he settled against me, I could feel his tiny heart beating steadily against mine. His breathing was still shallow, still aided by the small amount of oxygen he was receiving, but it was steady. His tiny fingers flexed, and I felt my heart skip at the sensation of them brushing against my chest.

“Hey, buddy,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. “You’re doing so well. I’m so proud of you.”

Stiles moved closer, watching us with a soft smile on his face, though I could see the same mix of relief and awe in his eyes. He stood beside me, his hand on my shoulder as I held our son. “You’re doing great, Jackson,” he whispered. “You’re both doing amazing.”

I looked up at him, my voice quiet as I said, “I can’t believe how far we’ve come.”

Stiles smiled, his eyes filled with warmth. “You’ve been incredible. So has Boston. You two are a team.”

I nodded, gently rocking back and forth in the chair as Boston settled in, his little body growing heavier in my arms with each passing moment. The feeling of him there was overwhelming in the best way. The love that filled my chest felt endless, all-consuming. I never imagined I could love something this much—this fiercely. But here I was, holding my son, watching him grow stronger every day.

The nurse checked Boston’s vitals again as we sat there, making sure everything was still stable. “He’s doing beautifully,” she said with a smile. “You can hold him for as long as you want, Jackson.”

I smiled at her, but I couldn’t tear my gaze away from Boston. “Thank you,” I whispered.

Stiles was beside me, his hand on my back, his voice soft and steady. “We’re almost there, huh? We’re going to get through this, Jackson. He’s almost ready to come home.”

I nodded, my chest tight with emotion. It wasn’t just the exhaustion from the past week that made my eyes sting. It was the sheer love I felt for this tiny person in my arms, the gratitude that we had made it this far, and the hope that we would continue to move forward.

I could see it now, the future beginning to take shape—slowly, but surely. There would be more hard days ahead. More struggles. More worries. But there would also be laughter. There would be love. There would be moments like this, holding my son close, feeling him breathe against me, knowing that no matter what came next, we were a family. We had already come so far together, and there was no doubt in my mind that we would face whatever came next.

Boston would come home. He would grow stronger, and one day, we would look back on this moment—the tiny little baby in my arms, so fragile and so loved—and remember how far we had come.

After a while, the nurse checked in again, and I reluctantly handed Boston back to her. My arms ached, but my heart was full. I wasn’t ready to let him go, but I knew it was time for him to go back to his incubator.

As she placed him back in, I placed my hand gently on the side of the incubator, watching as the nurse made a few adjustments to the oxygen flow. “He’s doing well,” she said. “We’re just going to keep him under observation for a little while longer. But he’s making incredible progress.”

“I know,” I whispered, my voice full of gratitude. “Thank you for everything.”

The nurse smiled, her eyes filled with compassion. “It’s our pleasure, Jackson. He’s in great hands.”

I leaned back in my chair, Stiles sitting beside me again, our fingers intertwining as we watched Boston. The monitors beeped steadily, and the warm glow of the room, the peaceful rhythm of Boston’s breathing, felt like a small victory.

“We’re doing it,” Stiles whispered softly, squeezing my hand.

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “We are.”

As the hours passed, the feeling of hope continued to build. Boston was getting stronger every day, and I knew that soon—maybe sooner than we realized—he would be ready to come home. Until then, we would be here, watching over him, loving him, and giving him everything he needed.

The quiet hum of the NICU monitors had become an oddly comforting background noise. It had been seven days since Boston came into the world, and those seven days had felt like a lifetime. Each passing moment brought something new—a glimmer of hope, a wave of exhaustion, and the constant tension that seemed to live in my chest. But today, as I sat in the rocking chair beside Boston’s incubator, I was struck by a different kind of emotion: reflection.

I was a week postpartum. That thought alone made me pause. My body had gone through something I hadn’t fully prepared for, and the aftermath was hitting me in ways I hadn’t expected. Physically, I was healing, but slowly. The soreness in my abdomen and hips was a constant reminder of what I’d been through. Every movement felt heavier, like my body was carrying the weight of those seven days, even though Boston wasn’t inside me anymore.

Emotionally, though, was where I felt the real struggle. There was so much joy—so much love—when I looked at Boston, but it was tangled up with guilt and fear that I couldn’t quite shake. I wanted to be stronger, for him, for Stiles, for myself. But some days, it felt impossible to hold everything together.

Stiles was sitting beside me, his hand resting on my knee as he scrolled through his phone. He’d been my rock through all of this, his unwavering support keeping me grounded even when I felt like I was falling apart. He glanced up at me, noticing the faraway look in my eyes.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice full of concern.

I nodded, though I knew it wasn’t entirely true. “Yeah, just… thinking.”

“About what?” he pressed gently, setting his phone down and giving me his full attention.

I hesitated, my fingers brushing against the soft blanket draped over my lap. “About everything. About Boston, about the past week, about… me.”

Stiles tilted his head, his expression softening. “What about you?”

I took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. “I don’t know. I just… I don’t feel like myself, Stiles. My body feels different, my emotions are all over the place, and I feel like I should be doing more. I should be stronger.”

Stiles frowned, leaning closer to me. “Jackson, you are strong. You’ve been through so much in the past week, and you’re still here, fighting for Boston. That’s strength.”

I shook my head, my voice trembling. “It doesn’t feel like it. I look at him, and I feel so much love, but I also feel guilty. Like I should’ve been able to keep him safe longer, like I should’ve been able to prevent this.”

Stiles reached for my hand, his grip firm but comforting. “Hey, stop that. This isn’t your fault, Jackson. You did everything you could. You carried him for 32 weeks, and you fought like hell to bring him into this world. None of this is on you.”

Tears stung my eyes, and I blinked them away quickly, not wanting to fall apart again. “It’s just… hard, Stiles. I feel like I’m failing him, even though I know he’s doing okay.”

“You’re not failing him,” Stiles said firmly, his voice steady. “You’re his dad, and you’re doing everything you can for him. You’re here, every single day, holding him, loving him, fighting for him. That’s not failure, Jackson. That’s being a parent.”

His words hit me hard, and for a moment, I couldn’t speak. I looked down at Boston, his tiny body still nestled in the incubator, his chest rising and falling steadily. He was so small, so fragile, but he was fighting. And if he could fight, so could I.

“I just feel so… raw,” I admitted finally, my voice barely above a whisper. “Like everything is too much, and I can’t keep up.”

Stiles’s expression softened even more, and he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to my temple. “You don’t have to do this alone, Jackson. I’m here. We’re a team, remember? You don’t have to keep it together all the time. It’s okay to feel raw, to feel everything. That’s what makes you human.”

I nodded, letting out a shaky breath. “Thanks, Stiles. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’ll never have to find out,” he said, his voice full of quiet determination. “We’re in this together.”

For the next few minutes, we sat in silence, just watching Boston. The steady beep of the monitors was a comforting rhythm, a reminder that he was still here, still fighting. I rested my hand on the side of the incubator, feeling the warmth of the plastic against my skin. It wasn’t the same as holding him, but it was enough for now.

A nurse came in a little while later, her kind smile lighting up the room. “Good morning, Jackson. How are you feeling today?”

I hesitated, not sure how to answer. “I’m… okay,” I said finally. “Just trying to take it one day at a time.”

She nodded, her smile never fading. “That’s all you can do. Boston’s doing really well this morning. His oxygen levels are stable, and we’re seeing great progress with his feeding.”

“Feeding?” I asked, my heart skipping a beat. “What does that mean?”

“We’ve started introducing a small amount of milk through his feeding tube,” she explained. “His stomach is handling it well so far, and it’s a big step forward. He’s starting to show us that he’s ready to grow and gain weight.”

I felt a wave of relief wash over me, and I glanced at Stiles, who was grinning from ear to ear. “That’s amazing,” I said, my voice full of emotion. “He’s really doing it.”

“He is,” the nurse said, her tone full of encouragement. “He’s a strong little guy, and he’s making great progress. You should be very proud.”

“I am,” I said softly, my eyes fixed on Boston. “I’m so proud of him.”

The nurse stayed for a few more minutes, updating us on Boston’s progress and answering our questions. She reassured us that everything was on track, and that Boston was showing all the signs of a healthy preemie who was growing stronger every day.

After she left, I leaned back in the rocking chair, my body feeling a little lighter than it had earlier. The guilt and fear were still there, but they weren’t as overwhelming as they had been. Stiles was right—I didn’t have to do this alone. I had him, and I had Boston, and together, we were going to get through this.

“You know,” Stiles said after a moment, his voice thoughtful, “I think we need to do something to celebrate all the progress Boston’s made.”

“Like what?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I don’t know. Maybe we could start writing down all his milestones, like a journal or something. That way, when he’s older, we can show him just how strong he was from the very beginning.”

I smiled at the idea, warmth spreading through my chest. “I like that,” I said softly. “I think he’d love to see that someday.”

“Then it’s settled,” Stiles said, his grin widening. “We’ll start tonight.”

As the day went on, I felt a little more like myself. I was still tired, still sore, and still carrying the weight of everything we’d been through. But for the first time in days, I felt like I could breathe a little easier. Boston was growing stronger, and so was I.

And as I sat there, holding Stiles’s hand and watching our son sleep peacefully, I realized that being a parent wasn’t about being perfect. It wasn’t about never feeling scared or overwhelmed. It was about showing up, every single day, and doing everything you could for the little life that depended on you.

I could do that. I could be Boston’s dad. And no matter how hard it got, I knew I wouldn’t be doing it alone. Stiles and I were a team, and together, we would face whatever came next.

This was just the beginning, and we were ready for it.

Chapter Text

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Jackson's Pov

As the day went on, I felt a little more like myself. I was still tired, still sore, and still carrying the weight of everything we'd been through. But for the first time in days, I felt like I could breathe a little easier. Boston was growing stronger, and so was I.

And as I sat there, holding Stiles's hand and watching our son sleep peacefully, I realized that being a parent wasn't about being perfect. It wasn't about never feeling scared or overwhelmed. It was about showing up, every single day, and doing everything you could for the little life that depended on you.

I could do that. I could be Boston's dad. And no matter how hard it got, I knew I wouldn't be doing it alone. Stiles and I were a team, and together, we would face whatever came next.

This was just the beginning, and we were ready for it.

Jackson's Pov

August 7th

Nine days. Nine days since Boston came into our lives, and every one of those days felt like a whirlwind. Each day was a new victory, a new challenge, and a new step toward bringing our son home. The fear that had been an ever-present companion was still there, but with each passing day, it felt just a little easier to breathe. There were still moments of uncertainty—moments when I could feel my heart race, my chest tighten with worry—but those moments were getting fewer. I was beginning to believe that maybe, just maybe, we could do this.

Today felt different, though. Today was a milestone.

Boston had started nursing.

It was one of those moments I had been waiting for—hoping for. In the NICU, where everything felt so sterile and clinical, I had been counting down the days until I could hold my son in my arms in a way that felt natural. Until I could feed him, nurture him the way I had always imagined. I had known this moment would come, but now that it was here, I found myself feeling both excited and incredibly nervous.

I sat beside Boston's incubator, my hand resting gently on the edge of it as I watched him sleep peacefully. The soft rise and fall of his chest, the faint sound of the oxygen monitor beeping steadily—everything felt just a little bit more peaceful today. The nurse had been in earlier to update us, and she had mentioned that Boston's ability to latch had improved, that he was beginning to show signs of wanting to nurse rather than rely on the feeding tube and bottle feeding. It was a small thing, but to me, it was everything.

"Hey," Stiles's voice broke through my thoughts, and I turned to see him standing beside me, a warm smile on his face. His eyes were tired—exhausted, really—but there was something about the way he looked at me, at Boston, that always made my heart swell.

"Hey," I replied, smiling back at him. "How are you?"

"Tired," Stiles said with a quiet chuckle, running a hand through his hair. "But good. I think we're finally starting to make some headway with him."

I nodded, glancing down at Boston. "Yeah. Today feels like a big day. He started nursing."

Stiles's face lit up, a proud grin spreading across his face. "Really? That's incredible."

I couldn't help the smile that tugged at my lips. "Yeah. The nurse said it's a good sign. It's one more step toward getting him strong enough to come home."

Stiles leaned in, gently brushing his fingers over Boston's tiny hand as he looked at him. "He's a fighter, just like his dads."

I laughed softly, my heart filling with warmth. "Yeah, he is."

We stood there for a moment, just watching him, basking in the quiet joy of the moment. Boston's small, fragile form was still a constant reminder of how far we'd come in such a short time, and how much farther we still had to go. But today felt different. Today felt like we were getting closer to bringing our son home. It wasn't going to happen overnight, but we were on the right path.

"I think it's time to give it a try," I said quietly, my voice thick with emotion.

Stiles glanced over at me, his eyebrows raising slightly. "What do you mean?"

"I want to try nursing him. I know he's still in the NICU, but if he's ready to latch, I want to be the one to do it."

Stiles hesitated for a moment, as though he were processing what I was saying. I could see the worry flicker across his face, the same worry that I had felt ever since Boston was born. But then, he nodded.

"You've got this, Jackson," he said softly. "You've been doing an amazing job with him."

"Thanks," I whispered, taking a deep breath. "I need to do this. For him. For us."

The nurse returned shortly after, her presence calming and reassuring. She was kind, patient—someone who had taken the time to get to know us and our needs over the past week. She'd been there for every small victory and every challenge, and today, she was here to guide us through this moment.

"Are you ready to give it a try?" she asked gently, her smile warm.

I nodded, my heart pounding in my chest. "Yeah. I think so."

The nurse carefully adjusted the bed next to me, preparing a comfortable space for me to sit and hold Boston. I shifted in my chair, my body still sore from the aftermath of childbirth, but determined. This was important. For both of us.

Stiles stood beside me, his hand resting on my shoulder as he watched with a mixture of pride and awe. "You're doing great, Jackson," he murmured. "I'm so proud of you."

I smiled up at him, my heart swelling with gratitude. "Thanks, Stiles. I couldn't do it without you."

The nurse gently handed me Boston, guiding him into my arms. I could feel the weight of him, the warmth of his tiny body against my chest. His eyes fluttered open for a brief moment, his gaze meeting mine. I held my breath as he instinctively searched for the source of comfort, for something familiar. And then, as though it were the most natural thing in the world, he latched onto me. It was a moment of pure magic—something I hadn't realized I needed until it was happening. The feeling of him suckling, of him drawing nourishment from me, was unlike anything I had ever experienced. It was more than just a physical connection. It was an emotional one, too. The bond between parent and child. The connection that had begun when he was inside me, and that had continued to grow stronger every day since.

Stiles watched us with soft eyes, his hand resting on my shoulder as he whispered, "You're doing amazing, Jackson. He's doing amazing."

I could barely find my voice, my heart too full for words, but I nodded, my hand gently cradling the back of Boston's head. "We're really doing this, aren't we?"

Stiles smiled, his voice thick with emotion. "Yeah, we are."

For a while, I didn't speak. I didn't need to. There was a quiet peace in the moment, in the soft sound of Boston nursing, in the feeling of him pressed close to me. It was everything I had imagined.

The nurse stood back, watching us with a quiet smile, but she didn't intrude. She let us have this moment together. "He's doing great," she said, glancing at the monitor next to the bed. "His heart rate is steady, and his oxygen levels are still looking good. You're doing everything right."

I exhaled a shaky breath, feeling like I could finally let go of the constant anxiety that had been eating at me. Boston was making progress. We were making progress. Every milestone, every little thing that seemed like a small victory, was a step closer to bringing him home. And it wasn't just him getting stronger. It was us, too. We were finding our footing as parents, learning how to care for him in the way that only a parent can. As the minutes passed, Boston slowly stopped nursing and drifted back into a peaceful sleep, his little body still nestled against mine. I carefully adjusted him, making sure he was comfortable, and I gently placed him back into his incubator. The connection between us was undeniable. I had no words to describe it—just the overwhelming love I felt, the warmth that filled my chest every time I looked at him.

"Look at him," Stiles whispered, his voice soft with awe. "He's so strong. We're doing it, Jackson."

I looked at Boston, my eyes filling with tears. "Yeah. We are."

The nurse checked in again, making a few small adjustments to Boston's oxygen levels, and I could see that everything was progressing smoothly. She smiled at us both, her voice filled with encouragement. "You're both doing so well. I'll leave you to rest for now, but I'll be back shortly to check in again."

As she left, I leaned back in my chair, my body feeling a little more at ease than it had in days. The quiet beep of the monitors, the soft sound of Boston breathing, were the only things filling the room, and for the first time in a while, I allowed myself to just breathe.

"You okay?" Stiles asked, his voice full of concern.

I nodded, my hand still resting on the incubator. "Yeah. I think we're going to be okay, Stiles. We're really doing it."

Stiles leaned over and pressed a kiss to my forehead. "We've got this, Jackson. I know it's been hard, but we've made it this far, and we're not stopping now."

"I know," I whispered, a tear slipping down my cheek. "I know."

We stayed like that for a while, just watching Boston. Time felt slower in moments like this, as if the weight of everything we had been through hung heavy in the air. But it was also lighter now. There was hope. And hope, for the first time in days, felt like something we could hold onto.

Boston was getting stronger, and so were we.

The house felt quiet. Not in the usual, comfortable way, but in the way that only a new home—one with more empty spaces than filled—can feel. I leaned against the kitchen counter, the mug of coffee in my hand cooling faster than I had expected. I could hear Stiles moving around upstairs, probably in the nursery, but for now, it was just me and the overwhelming thoughts that I hadn't been able to push away since the moment we left the hospital.

Boston was still in the NICU. He had made incredible progress, but I couldn't help but feel the constant weight of worry in my chest. Every second, it seemed, my mind was bouncing from one thought to the next. How long would it take before he was strong enough to come home? Was he going to be okay? Would he grow up healthy, happy, and strong? And then there was another thought, one that hadn't left me since the day I held him in my arms for the first time.

Would he be a werewolf?

The question kept circling in my mind like a never-ending loop.

I had never fully understood how the supernatural world worked when it came to bloodlines. Sure, I knew that the bite could turn someone into a werewolf, but as a hybrid of werewolf and Kanima, I didn't know if the same rules applied. I could never have expected what happened to me when Derek Hale bit me all those years ago. I thought I was getting the bite for power, for strength, to level the playing field with Scott. But instead, I became something... else. A Kanima. A creature that wasn't quite a werewolf, not quite human.

I exhaled sharply, staring at my reflection in the window above the kitchen sink. The marks of the past week were all over me—exhaustion, bags under my eyes, and a sense of unease that I couldn't shake. The weight of being a father, of holding Boston and loving him so fiercely, was still new. But the question of whether or not he would inherit the supernatural traits I had was something I couldn't ignore.

Was it possible? Was there a chance Boston could be a werewolf—or worse, something even more complicated like me? Could my hybrid nature pass onto him?

I set the mug down on the counter, my hands shaking slightly as my mind whirled through my past. My transformation had been nothing like I had imagined. I had expected to become like Scott—a werewolf, enhanced, powerful. Instead, I became a Kanima, a snake-like creature that could morph between human and reptilian forms. The venomous abilities, the shape-shifting... none of it was what I had asked for, but in a strange way, it had defined me for years.

The Kanima came with its own set of challenges. It was a curse, one that forced me to deal with who I was and how I saw myself. It made me confront my fears, my deep-rooted abandonment issues, and my intense need for control. The transformation had always felt like a way of escaping—escapism from everything I couldn't face. And it was only in the chaos of that shift that I had started to piece together who I really was.

But what would happen if Boston didn't have to go through that? What if he could grow up, be a normal kid, without any supernatural abilities hanging over him?

I rubbed my face, frustrated with myself. Stiles had always been so certain that we'd handle whatever came our way. He never wavered. He'd held me together, helped me stay strong for Boston, but I couldn't shake the idea that maybe I was being selfish, thinking about my own fears in the face of something as innocent and pure as my son.

Could I protect him from the same fate? Was it possible for him to be normal?

The sound of footsteps overhead snapped me from my thoughts, and I straightened up just as Stiles appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, looking slightly disheveled but no less determined. He had his usual messy hair and the tired but warm smile I'd come to know so well.

"You doing okay down here?" he asked, concern lacing his voice as he walked into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes.

"Yeah," I muttered, my gaze sliding over to the fridge. "Just thinking."

Stiles raised an eyebrow, clearly sensing that there was more to it. "About what?"

I hesitated, unsure how to even begin putting my swirling thoughts into words. "About Boston. About whether or not he'll be... like me. Or like you."

He stopped, his eyes narrowing in confusion as he leaned against the doorframe. "Like you? What do you mean?"

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to meet his gaze. "I mean, will he be a werewolf? Or... will he be something else? I mean, I was turned into a Kanima, Stiles. What if he inherits something from me? What if the supernatural passes down, just like it did with me?"

Stiles's expression softened, and he took a few steps closer. "Jackson, I don't know how any of this works. I don't know if Boston will be a werewolf. But I do know that no matter what, we'll handle it. You're not going through this alone. Whatever he is, we'll be there. We'll figure it out."

I looked at Stiles, my heart both heavy and light in the same breath. His words should have comforted me, but I couldn't shake the feeling that there was so much more to the situation. So many questions, so many unknowns. I couldn't even imagine how I would handle it if Boston was like me—if he inherited anything close to the pain I had felt when I transformed.

"I just..." I trailed off, my voice thick with emotion. "I just don't want him to have to go through what I did. I don't want him to feel like I did. Lost and confused, not knowing who or what he is."

Stiles placed his hand on my shoulder, a grounding force I could always rely on. "You're not alone in this, Jackson. You're not your past, and neither is Boston. Whatever happens, we'll be the parents he needs. We'll do it together."

I nodded, though I didn't quite believe it in my heart. It was hard to think that way when my past had so much influence on the present. When I looked at Boston, all I could think was please don't let him be like me.

After a long moment, Stiles stepped back, rubbing his hands together. "You know, I've been reading up on this whole werewolf thing. We might not have answers right now, but if Boston ends up being like you or Scott, we'll figure out what that means. You know that, right?"

I couldn't help but let out a half-laugh, half-sigh. "You really think reading a few books will solve everything?"

Stiles smirked, always quick with a comeback. "Hey, it's a start. Besides, if anyone can handle a supernatural kid, it's you and me. I don't exactly have the normal gene in me either, you know."

I smiled despite myself, grateful for his lightheartedness in the midst of all my doubts. Stiles always knew how to get me to stop overthinking, to take a breath, to remember that we didn't have to have everything figured out right now.

"Yeah, maybe you're right," I said quietly, my gaze drifting back to the window. "I just keep wondering if I'll be able to protect him from it."

"Jackson," Stiles said, his voice serious now, "you've got more strength in you than you know. And Boston? He's got that strength too. He's already showing it."

I turned to look at him, my heart heavy but filled with love. "Thanks, Stiles. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You don't have to know," he said, his voice soft and steady. "You'll never have to do this alone."

For the rest of the night, we settled into a quiet routine, just the two of us, sharing small moments of peace. The questions and fears about what the future held for Boston would always be there, but for now, all we could do was trust that whatever came, we would face it as a team.

Boston was still in the NICU, but with every passing day, I felt a little more hopeful that we would bring him home soon. Whatever the future held—whether he was a werewolf or something else—he was our son. And we would love him, fight for him, and protect him with everything we had.

That was something I knew for sure.

August 8th

The morning sunlight filtered through the blinds of the small room we had claimed in the NICU, soft and pale, casting faint shadows on the floor. The hospital, though quiet, always felt alive with the sense of hope and urgency that seemed to buzz in the air—especially now, in these final moments before Boston was ready to come home. Every day, I'd walk into the NICU and feel my heart race with anticipation. Every beep of the monitors, every nurse's check-in, each tiny milestone Boston passed—it all meant that we were closer, inching toward the day when he would no longer be surrounded by sterile walls, machines, and doctors, but by the warmth of our home.

Stiles and I had fallen into a rhythm in the last few days—our lives now revolving around the NICU, visits, checking in, being there for Boston as he made progress. We weren't quite sure what the future held—whether Boston would inherit supernatural abilities, what the next few years of parenthood would look like—but we knew one thing for sure: We were a team. And I felt, for the first time in what seemed like forever, that I could breathe a little easier.

I stood beside Boston's incubator now, my hand resting on the side of the plastic, fingers lightly grazing the edge. Boston was sleeping, his tiny form swaddled in a soft blanket, his chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm. His breathing had been improving every day, and the oxygen support was gradually being reduced. The nurse had told us earlier that his feeding was going well too, which was another big step toward getting him home.

But still, there was that nagging feeling in the back of my mind—that what if it wasn't enough? That what if something would go wrong in the next few days?

"Everything okay?" Stiles's voice interrupted my thoughts, and I turned to see him standing in the doorway. His tired eyes softened as he caught sight of me. He had barely slept in the past week, too focused on making sure everything was taken care of, both for Boston and for me. But despite his exhaustion, he was always there, always by my side.

"Yeah, just..." I trailed off, not knowing how to explain the weight of my thoughts. "I can't believe how close we are."

Stiles smiled softly, walking over to stand beside me. "We're getting there," he said, his voice low, full of reassurance. "Everything's been going great."

I nodded, glancing at Boston. "Yeah, he's doing so well. But I can't help but think... what if something happens? What if he's not ready?"

Stiles placed a hand on my shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. "Jackson, you're overthinking this. Boston's made incredible progress. We've seen it. The doctors have seen it. If everything keeps going the way it's been, we're going to be taking him home soon."

I nodded, letting his words settle in, though my mind still buzzed with uncertainty. "I know, I just... I want everything to be perfect."

Stiles smiled, his eyes glinting with affection. "Perfection doesn't exist. But we'll make it perfect for him. We already are."

Before I could reply, the door to the NICU opened, and the nurse we had grown familiar with stepped in, a clipboard in hand. She was smiling—bright and warm—and I immediately felt a sense of relief wash over me. There was something about her presence that always made the tension in my chest ease.

"Good morning, Jackson, Stiles," she greeted us cheerfully, walking over to where we stood. "How's everything this morning?"

"Good," I replied, my voice still a little hesitant. "Boston's been doing well, hasn't he?"

She glanced at the monitors and made a few quick notes. "He's doing wonderfully," she said, her smile widening. "His oxygen levels are stable, his feeding is going well, and he's putting on a little weight. He's meeting all of his requirements."

I felt a small spark of relief, though I still couldn't shake the tightness in my chest. "That's good to hear," I said, my voice catching a little. "So... what does that mean for going home? Is he close?"

The nurse's smile grew even more, and I could see the pride in her eyes. "Actually, if everything continues to go as well as it has, we're looking at the possibility of discharging him in just a few days."

I froze for a moment, the words registering only after a beat. "Wait... you mean, we could bring him home this week?"

"Yes!" she confirmed, nodding. "Boston was born at 32 weeks, and typically, babies in the NICU stay until they're 35 weeks. But he's made such great progress that if he continues meeting all the milestones, we're looking at discharge on the 11th—just four days from now."

Stiles's eyes widened in disbelief, and I could see the same wave of emotion sweeping over him. "The 11th?" he repeated, as if making sure he'd heard her correctly. "That's... that's amazing. He's only ten days old!"

I felt the lump in my throat form, but I swallowed hard, my hand tightening around the edge of the incubator. "So... he's really ready to come home?"

The nurse nodded confidently. "He's getting stronger every day. At this point, he's met all the requirements. His temperature regulation, breathing, feeding, weight—all of it's been progressing beautifully."

My heart pounded in my chest, and for a moment, I didn't know what to feel. There was excitement, yes, but also an overwhelming sense of responsibility. The idea of taking Boston home was beautiful, but I felt the weight of it. He was still so small, and there was so much I didn't know about being a parent—let alone a parent to a preemie who had just spent the first ten days of his life in the NICU.

Stiles seemed to sense my hesitation. "Hey, it's okay," he said gently, his voice full of warmth. "We've got this. We've been here every step of the way, and we'll keep being here. We'll make sure everything's perfect for him when we bring him home."

I nodded, trying to calm the storm of emotions brewing inside me. "You're right," I said, my voice steadier now. "We're doing this together."

The nurse smiled at us both. "You've both been doing an incredible job. Boston is lucky to have parents like you. If everything continues the way it's been, we'll begin the discharge process on the 11th."

I felt a rush of emotions hit me all at once. It was like all the fear, all the worry, and all the uncertainty had been building up to this moment. And now, just four days away from bringing him home, it felt like the weight of it all was finally sinking in.

"Thank you," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for everything."

"You're welcome," the nurse said warmly. "He's come so far, and you both have been amazing. We'll make sure the transition to home is as smooth as possible."

As she finished making her notes and prepared to leave, I couldn't help but look over at Stiles. His eyes were filled with tears, but they were tears of joy, of pride, of relief. He reached out, taking my hand, and for a moment, we just stood there in silence, letting the weight of the news settle in.

"We're really doing this," I whispered, more to myself than to Stiles.

"Yeah," Stiles said softly, his voice thick with emotion. "We're really doing this."

The next few days were a blur of preparation. The excitement of knowing that Boston would finally be coming home was tempered by the overwhelming list of things we still needed to do. We had to make sure the house was baby-proofed, that everything was ready for him to arrive. The nursery was nearly set up, but we had little details left to take care of—setting up the crib, washing the baby clothes, making sure the car seat was properly installed. The days felt like they were slipping through my fingers, but the excitement of it all kept me moving forward.

At night, Stiles and I would sit in the living room, exhausted but hopeful, talking about the future. The uncertainty was still there—Boston's progress was a constant source of relief, but we knew there was so much we still didn't understand. But each time I looked at Stiles, I knew we could do it. We were a team. And no matter what came next, we would face it together.

On the morning of the 11th, I woke up with a sense of nervous excitement in my chest. Today was the day. Today, we would bring Boston home.

I could feel my heart race as I got ready, making sure everything was in order, making sure we had everything packed and ready to go. Stiles was already busy in the car, checking the car seat and making sure everything was perfect. I grabbed the hospital bag and turned to look at the empty nursery one last time before heading to the NICU.

When I saw Boston again, wrapped in a little blue blanket, his eyes closed as he rested peacefully, I felt a flood of emotion. I reached down and touched his tiny hand, the reality of everything crashing into me. In just a few moments, we were going to be taking him home.

"Ready?" Stiles asked softly from behind me, and I turned to see him standing in the doorway with a grin on his face.

I smiled, a tear slipping down my cheek as I nodded. "Yeah. We're ready."

We had made it this far, and now, we were bringing our son home. No matter what the future held, we had each other. And together, we were going to make it through anything

Chapter Text

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Jackson's Pov

When I saw Boston again, wrapped in a little blue blanket, his eyes closed as he rested peacefully, I felt a flood of emotion. I reached down and touched his tiny hand, the reality of everything crashing into me. In just a few moments, we were going to be taking him home.

"Ready?" Stiles asked softly from behind me, and I turned to see him standing in the doorway with a grin on his face.

I smiled, a tear slipping down my cheek as I nodded. "Yeah. We're ready."

We had made it this far, and now, we were bringing our son home. No matter what the future held, we had each other. And together, we were going to make it through anything.

Jackson's Pov

We were really doing this. After all the worry, the sleepless nights, the terror and hope and everything in between, we were finally here, at the threshold of a new chapter in our lives. Boston, our tiny, resilient son, was about to leave the NICU.

As I stood there in the doorway of the hospital room, blinking back tears at the sight of him all wrapped up in that little blue blanket, I was struck by how different I felt compared to just a few short weeks ago. I'd been so full of fear back then. Fear for his health, fear that he wouldn't make it, fear of what kind of parent I would be, what kind of future lay ahead for him—for all of us. But now, as I looked at him, all I could feel was this overwhelming sense of gratitude and relief.

Stiles was beside me, smiling in that soft, gentle way he always did when he was both proud and emotional. He nudged me gently, his hand coming to rest on my shoulder. "Hey," he murmured, and I glanced over at him, my chest so full of love I thought it might burst. "We're ready to do this, right?"

"Yeah," I breathed, the single word catching in my throat as I tried to steady myself. "We're ready."

He offered me a knowing smile, and I could see the shine of tears in his eyes too. It was just like Stiles, holding it together for me, but I knew he was feeling all of it just as deeply.

A nurse came over with a clipboard in hand. She had a sweet, motherly face and a gentle voice, someone who had been there for us through this entire process, guiding us step by step. We'd filled out a hundred forms already, but now she was reviewing them one last time, ensuring everything was in place.

"Okay, Jackson, Stiles," she said, her smile warm and encouraging. "We've got all your paperwork in order, and Dr. Hayes has signed the discharge form. Boston's been thriving, and we're so happy for you both. Are you comfortable with everything? Do you have any questions before you take him home?"

I swallowed, my eyes flicking to the monitors that had tracked his vitals for over a week. They were off now, disconnected from him. No more tubes, no more beeping sensors—just Boston, breathing on his own, growing and ready for the outside world. Or at least, as ready as a baby born a bit too soon could be.

"I think... I think we're good," I managed, my voice wobbly. "You've taught us so much these last days. But... is there anything else we should know about him being early? Any warning signs? Anything we need to look out for?"

She nodded, as though anticipating the question. "He's still on the small side, of course, so you'll need to keep up with frequent feeds, regular check-ups, make sure you track his weight gain. And if he shows any signs of difficulty breathing or feeding, or if he seems too sleepy and isn't waking for feeds, you call us immediately, or come back. But from what we can see, he's strong. You're taking him home earlier than we usually allow for a 32-weeker, but he's meeting all the milestones nicely."

Stiles' hand squeezed my shoulder, offering silent reassurance, and I exhaled. It was a lot to take in, but the nurse's confidence in Boston's strength, and our ability to care for him, made me feel a little calmer.

I glanced at the nurse again. "What about me? I... I mean, do you think it's a problem that I'm... different?" I hesitated, not sure if I should say the words out loud: that I'm a werewolf-Kanima hybrid. But I'd told Dr. Hayes enough. He knew, at least somewhat, about my medical history—even if we'd kept the supernatural details vague.

The nurse smiled softly. She didn't know the full truth about my nature—I was certain of that—but she'd seen enough unusual births to know that every parent came with their own set of worries. "I think the best thing you can do is keep doing what you've been doing—loving him, being attentive, and working with us if any issues come up. Boston's a healthy baby boy, and that's what matters right now."

I let that sink in and gave a shaky nod. The nurse took the car seat and she carefully placed Boston into it, covered with a blanket and secure. "We'll walk you down, get you all set to leave."

I reached out and placed my hand on Boston's tiny head, my heart thudding in my chest. It felt so surreal. Stiles came around to the other side of the car seat, mirroring me, his gaze flicking between Boston and me. I could see the awe in his eyes—he was every bit as overwhelmed as I was. The walk down the NICU hallway was strangely emotional. The nurses waved, offering congratulatory smiles and words of encouragement. We'd been there what felt like forever—worrying, waiting, celebrating small victories. Now, we were walking out, Boston in tow, stronger than we could have ever hoped when he first arrived.

As we stepped into the elevator, my arms practically shook with excitement and nervousness. I had a diaper bag slung over my shoulder and holding the car seat. Stiles was trying to juggle some last-minute paperwork.

I couldn't help but notice how normal everything felt for a moment. We were just parents taking our newborn home from the hospital—something that happened every day for countless families. But for us, it was like a miracle. Boston had been so early, so delicate. Yet here he was, practically beating the odds.

The elevator doors slid open, and we made our way through the lobby, which bustled with people. Some in scrubs, some in business clothes, visitors holding balloons or flowers for other patients. Stiles and I exchanged a glance, our hearts pounding in unison. This was it. We were really heading out into the world with our son.

Once outside, the late morning sun hit us, warm and bright. I blinked, adjusting to the light. The air smelled fresher than I remembered, though maybe that was just because my senses were heightened by the relief and excitement coursing through me. Stiles carefully placed Boston into the  car. I hovered anxiously, double-checking the straps and the angle, making sure everything was absolutely perfect. The nurse stood by, offering a helpful tip or two, but otherwise letting us do it. This was our responsibility now. Our baby.

I climbed into the backseat with Boston, not ready to be more than a foot away from him, and Stiles slid behind the wheel. The nurse waved us off, a big smile on her face, and we both gave her a grateful wave in return. Then Stiles started the engine, and suddenly, we were pulling out of the hospital parking lot.

It was quiet in the car. I was too busy staring at Boston to talk, every jolt of the vehicle making my heart skip a beat. Stiles drove slower than usual, being extra cautious, his hands tight on the steering wheel.

"You okay?" I asked, my voice low, but I could see his shoulders relax a bit when he heard me.

He gave a short, breathy laugh. "I'm... yeah. I'm good, just nervous. I don't want to hit a bump or anything that could..." He trailed off, glancing back at me in the rearview mirror.

I understood. We were both so on edge, worried about any little thing that could harm Boston. But we were doing this—we were really doing it. No tubes, no wires, no monitors—just us and our son, heading home.

I gently stroked the blanket around Boston's face, smiling as he let out a tiny sigh in his sleep. I could see the faint rise and fall of his chest, the delicate lashes that fluttered against his cheeks. He was so perfect, in his own small way, and I couldn't believe we were taking him home.

The drive took longer than it normally would have, thanks to Stiles's cautious driving. But eventually, we pulled into the driveway. The house looked almost the same as it always had, but everything felt different now—like the world had shifted around us. I got out of the car carefully, my muscles still protesting from the labor and the postpartum aches. Stiles opened the back door and lifted the car seat with slow, deliberate movements.

We walked to the front door, the weight of the moment pressing on us. Stiles fumbled a bit with the keys, his hands trembling, and I couldn't help but smile at how endearing it was. We were both a bundle of nerves, excitement, and disbelief. Finally, the door swung open, revealing the living room we'd left behind. It looked both familiar and new, like I was seeing it from a different perspective now that we had a child to bring into it.

"Welcome home, Boston," I whispered, stepping inside with Stiles beside me. He carried the car seat like it held the most precious cargo in the universe—which, of course, it did.

The room felt eerily quiet without the hum of hospital monitors. But there was a cozy warmth to it, the sunlight streaming through the windows, illuminating the furniture we'd picked out with such hope. The nursery door was ajar, and I glanced at it, swallowing hard. We had spent so many days getting it ready, never sure when Boston would actually see it. Now, here we were.

Stiles set the car seat down gently in the middle of the living room, and we both just stared at Boston for a moment. My heart pounded in my chest, and I could hear Stiles exhale a shaky breath.

"He's home," Stiles said softly, his voice almost disbelieving.

"Yeah," I murmured, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. "He's home."

It was a strange feeling, the sudden normality of being in our own house, with our son. Without the hospital sounds and the watchful eyes of the nurses, it felt almost surreal. We were on our own now. Every beep, every feed, every breath—Boston was ours to take care of. And that realization both thrilled and terrified me.

We gently took Boston out of the car seat, cradling him in our arms. He stirred, his little face scrunching up as he let out a tiny mewl, perhaps sensing the change in environment. I rocked him softly, whispering, "It's okay, Boston. We're home. We're safe."

Stiles hovered close, his eyes darting around the room as though he was mentally checking off everything we'd prepared. "We have diapers, wipes, formula if we need it—even though he's nursing well. We have the cradle set up in our room, and the nursery's good to go for daytime naps."

I flashed him a soft smile. "You're well prepared, Dad."

He grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm trying. I just want everything to be perfect for him."

We took Boston to the nursery, carefully showing him the space we'd created with love—green walls, cute animal decals, the crib that Stiles had assembled while I was still pregnant. The mobile above the crib spun gently, little plush creatures dangling overhead. I felt a lump in my throat, remembering how, just a few short weeks ago, I'd wondered if he'd ever get to see it at all.

Stiles stood beside me, his hand resting on my back as we gazed at the crib. "He's so small," he muttered, shaking his head in awe. "And yet... we made this room for him. We did this."

I nodded, tears threatening to fall again. "We did. And now he's here."

Slowly, carefully, we placed Boston down in the crib without the blanket watching how his tiny fingers curled around the soft blanket. He made a quiet cooing sound, his eyes fluttering open briefly, almost like he was checking out his new surroundings. Then he drifted off again, breathing softly, as though he knew he was safe.

The next few hours were a blur of tending to Boston's needs, adjusting to the quiet of home life with a preemie. We fed him carefully, making sure he latched properly, and watched him nap in short intervals. I felt like every second, I was either staring at him to ensure he was still breathing or leaning on Stiles to steady my nerves.

Stiles, for his part, was a rock. He was the one who reminded me to drink water, to rest my back when I'd been standing too long. He had a system for everything—checking on Boston, sterilizing bottles, making sure we had all the medical supplies we needed in case anything happened.

But I could see the exhaustion in his eyes. We both wore it, a badge of honor from the hospital that hadn't quite faded. Yet his smile was unwavering, especially whenever he looked at Boston. It was like he drew strength from our son's existence, from the miracle of having him here against all odds.

"Are you okay?" he asked me softly at one point, as I stood by the crib, watching Boston's chest rise and fall in the stillness of the late afternoon.

I blinked, realizing my mind had wandered. "Yeah," I replied. "Just... thinking. He seems so peaceful, doesn't he?"

Stiles nodded, stepping closer to me. "He does. He's home, Jackson. He knows he's safe."

I turned to look at him, my eyes stinging with grateful tears. "I hope so. I want him to always feel safe with us."

Stiles gently pulled me into a hug, his arms wrapping around me as he pressed a soft kiss to my temple. "He will. We'll make sure of it."

As evening fell, the reality of caring for a preemie at home started to sink in. Boston needed frequent feedings, careful monitoring of his temperature and breathing. I felt that old fear creep in again every time I heard him fuss or whimper, terrified that something would go wrong and we wouldn't notice in time.

We set up a makeshift sleeping arrangement—Stiles and I in our room, the cradle right beside me, close enough that I could reach out and touch Boston if I needed to. It was supposed to give me peace of mind, but every time I closed my eyes, I found myself jerking awake, checking on him, panicking at even the slightest noise.

Stiles eventually convinced me to sleep for a bit, promising to stay awake and watch Boston. I relented, though it was more like a fitful doze than real rest. Every time I stirred, I saw Stiles sitting there, quietly making notes on his phone or checking Boston's temperature.

Around 2 a.m., I heard a soft cry come from the cradle, and I jolted upright, my heart pounding. I scrambled to sit up, my hands shaking, but Stiles was already up, gently lifting Boston.

He shot me a quick look, concern in his gaze. "I've got him, Jackson," he whispered. "Go back to sleep."

But I couldn't. I reached out, my voice trembling. "No, I want to be awake. I need to... I need to feed him."

Stiles nodded, handing me Boston carefully. My arms ached, and my eyes were heavy, but I forced myself to focus on our son, on his little whimpers. He latched onto me with only a bit of fussing, and I felt an odd sense of relief flood through me. Even in my exhausted state, the simple act of feeding him brought me peace.

"It's okay, buddy," I murmured, my voice shaky with fatigue. "We're here."

Stiles stood by, watching, his own eyes glinting with unshed tears. "You're doing great, Jackson," he whispered. "So is he."

I nodded, my eyes fixed on Boston's tiny face. He was so small, but he was eating well, and for now, that was enough.

Eventually, morning came again, soft light filtering through the curtains. We were still in our room, the three of us—Stiles, me, and Boston. I cradled him in my arms, feeling the warmth of his little body against mine. Stiles was beside me, leaning back against the headboard, one hand tangled with mine and the other occasionally stroking Boston's cheek.

It was in that stillness that I found my thoughts drifting to the past week, to everything that had happened. The NICU, the fear, the overwhelming sense of relief when we finally got to bring him home. And in the back of my mind lurked the questions about Boston's supernatural future—questions I still didn't have answers to. Would he be a werewolf? Could he be a Kanima like me? Or maybe he wouldn't be affected at all.

But as I looked down at him, his little lips moving in a silent suckling motion even in his sleep, I realized something: it didn't matter. We'd love him no matter what. Whether he turned out to be perfectly normal or if he inherited something from me or some other supernatural quirk, he was ours. He was family.

I glanced over at Stiles, sensing the worry that still lingered in his eyes. "We've come a long way, haven't we?"

He nodded, his gaze shifting from Boston to meet mine. "Yeah, we have. And we still have a lot ahead of us."

I smiled softly. "I know. But I think we can do it. I know we can."

Stiles leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to my cheek. "I'm not going anywhere, Jackson. We'll figure it all out."

And for the first time in a while, I believed him fully. Because no matter what, Boston was here, and we were all together under one roof. That was enough for now.

As the day wore on, we settled into a sort of routine. Feedings, naps, diaper changes—everything focused on Boston's needs. I moved slowly, my body still healing, but every ache was worth it. Stiles kept the house running, making sure we were both fed, hydrated, and had everything we needed to care for Boston.

And through it all, there was a sense of quiet joy. A sense that we had achieved something incredible just by getting Boston this far. There would be more challenges, of course, but we'd handle them as they came.

In the afternoon, I found myself in Boston's nursery, gently rocking him in the chair we'd bought months ago. He stared up at me, his eyes wide and curious, as though taking in the world for the first time. I couldn't help but laugh softly, tears of joy and relief prickling my eyes.

"Hey, buddy," I whispered, my voice trembling with emotion. "You made it. You're home. We love you so much."

He cooed softly, his little fists waving in the air. Stiles was in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, a soft smile on his face as he watched us. "He loves you, Jackson," Stiles said quietly. "I can see it."

I leaned down, pressing my lips to Boston's forehead. "We're a family," I murmured, my heart feeling so full I thought it might burst. "No matter what, we're a family."

Stiles took a step inside, his voice gentle. "I think he's hungry again."

I chuckled, shifting Boston in my arms. "He's always hungry. That's a good sign, right?"

"Definitely." Stiles grinned, standing by my side as I prepared to feed him again. He was getting better, stronger, just like we were. Everything felt like it was falling into place.

Yet even in the glow of that moment, I couldn't fully escape the shadow of my fears—particularly the supernatural question that had loomed over us ever since Boston was born. Could he be like me? Would he inherit the werewolf gene from Derek's bite somehow? Or the Kanima side, some fragment of the chaos that had once consumed me?

I looked down at Boston as he latched on, noticing how each breath he took seemed so calm, so peaceful. If he was something more, would we see signs right away? Or would it manifest years later, like it did for me?

Stiles sensed my tension, even though I hadn't said a word. "Jackson," he whispered, his hand coming to rest on my shoulder. "You're in your head again."

I sighed, not wanting to break the peace of the moment. But I couldn't lie. "I'm just... worried," I admitted, keeping my voice low so as not to disturb Boston. "About everything. About if he's normal, if he's not, if I passed something on..."

Stiles nodded, his gaze flickering down to our son. "I know. But we've talked about this. No matter what happens, Boston is ours. We'll handle it."

"I know," I said, my voice thick with emotion. "I just... part of me worries that I'll fail him if he ends up like me. That I won't be able to guide him. I barely even know how I managed myself when I turned into... that thing."

Stiles's eyes were full of understanding, the same gentle look he'd given me a hundred times over the years. "Jackson, you're not that person anymore. You conquered your Kanima side, you found balance with your werewolf nature. If Boston inherits something, he'll have you—someone who's been through it, who understands. And he'll have me, and the pack, and everyone else to help him."

I blinked back tears, nodding slowly. "You're right. I just... I don't want him to suffer like I did."

Stiles leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. "He won't. Because he has us."

That night, as we put Boston down for another nap in his crib, I felt a sense of calm I hadn't known in weeks. The house was silent, except for the faint rustling of blankets as he settled in. Stiles and I sat in the living room for a while, too tired to do anything but be close to each other. The events of the last few days had drained us both. But in that exhaustion, there was also gratitude.

"We're really parents," I said softly, letting out a small laugh. "Does it feel real to you yet?"

Stiles smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sometimes it hits me out of nowhere, you know? I'll hear him cry, and I'll think, Oh my god, I'm responsible for another life. But then, I see him, and I'm just... excited."

I took his hand, squeezing it lightly. "Me too. I can't wait to watch him grow."

"And we will," Stiles said, his voice full of quiet determination. "No matter what. He's home now, and this is just the start."

I let my head fall against his shoulder, closing my eyes as I breathed in the familiar scent of him. Despite everything—our worry, our exhaustion—this felt right. This was where we were meant to be.

Boston stirred a few times throughout the night, waking for feedings and needing the comfort of our voices. Each time, I'd hold him close, feeling the steady beating of his heart and reminding myself that he was here, and he was okay. Stiles was always there too, making sure the house was safe, that I wasn't pushing myself too hard, that Boston had everything he needed. In the quiet hours between midnight and dawn, we became more certain of this new life, this new identity as parents.

When morning came, the sun spilling through the windows, I found myself standing in the nursery again, watching Boston as he dozed in his crib. I felt Stiles approach behind me, his hand gently resting on my waist.

"How do you feel?" he asked quietly.

I took a breath, letting my gaze linger on Boston. "I feel... hopeful," I said, my voice a soft murmur. "And scared. But mostly hopeful."

Stiles nodded, dropping a kiss to my shoulder. "That's probably how it'll be for a while, I guess. But hey, we've got this."

I smiled, leaning into him. "Yeah. We do."

It wasn't just words anymore. We had brought Boston home, and for the first time in what felt like forever, there was a real sense of stability here. We might not know what the future held, we might not know if the supernatural would play a role in his life, but we had each other. And we had Boston. That was enough.

As the day progressed, visitors trickled in—some of the pack, Stiles's dad, even Scott, who peeked in shyly as though he was afraid of disturbing our fragile bubble. Each one of them brought some small token or gift, and words of love and encouragement. They didn't stay long, mindful that we were still adjusting to life at home with a preemie, but their presence was a reminder that Boston had a whole community of people who cared about him.

Stiles's dad, in particular, was brimming with pride. He stood in the living room, cradling Boston in his arms, his usually stern face melting into a gentle smile as he stared at his grandson. "He's so small," he said in a hushed tone, as if afraid to wake him.

I stood beside him, my chest full of warmth. "He's small, but he's a fighter."

The older man nodded, tears shining in his eyes. "Just like his dads."

I blinked back my own tears, exchanging a quick glance with Stiles. We'd come a long way, and having our son in the arms of family felt surreal. It was everything I had never even known I wanted until now. As evening fell again, the house quieted once more. The visitors had gone, and it was just Stiles, me, and Boston. I found myself on the couch, Boston resting on my chest as Stiles sat beside me, his arm around my shoulders. The lights were dim, and I could hear the faint hum of the heater as the cool night air set in.

I looked down at Boston, watching the soft flicker of his eyelids as he dreamed, his tiny body curled up against me. Even after nine days in the NICU and now one day at home, it still didn't feel entirely real that he was here, that we were finally parents in our own space.

"How do you feel now?" Stiles asked, his voice low in the hush of the living room.

I took a moment, gathering my thoughts. "I feel... peaceful," I said honestly. "I know there's still a lot to worry about, and I'm still scared about what the future might hold. But right now, this moment... it feels good."

Stiles smiled, leaning over to press a soft kiss to my temple. "We'll handle everything as it comes. The werewolf part, the Kanima part, the sleepless nights—all of it. As long as we stick together, right?"

I nodded, my eyes drifting back to Boston. "Yeah," I murmured, my voice shaky with emotion. "As long as we stick together."

And in that stillness, with our son finally home, with each breath reminding me that we had overcome what felt like insurmountable odds, I allowed myself to believe in a future full of possibilities. A future where Boston could grow up safe, loved, and maybe even free from the supernatural legacy that haunted me. But even if he wasn't, even if he inherited it somehow, we would face it. We would guide him, protect him, and show him that love could conquer the darkness.

As night settled in for the second time since we brought Boston home, I thought of all the unspoken vows that bound Stiles and me together. We hadn't just promised to love each other—we had promised to build a life where our son could thrive. We had promised to stand by Boston, no matter what came his way. Each day, we were learning what it meant to be parents, to be a family. And even though it had only been a day since he left the NICU, it felt like a lifetime's worth of emotion had come pouring out of us.

I let my eyes drift closed as I listened to Boston's soft breathing, feeling the comforting weight of Stiles's arm around me. The house was quiet, peaceful. Tomorrow would bring its own challenges—another doctor's visit, more updates, more learning how to be parents—but for now, in this moment, I could rest. Boston was safe, here in my arms, and Stiles was right beside me.

That was all I needed.

The next morning, I woke up to the sound of Boston's quiet cooing. The sun was barely up, the sky a faint blue-gray, but I felt surprisingly rested despite the late-night feedings. Stiles was already up, pacing the living room with Boston in his arms. I could see the soft smile on his face as I approached.

"He woke up early," Stiles said, glancing at me with warmth in his eyes. "I think he's hungry."

I let out a soft laugh, rubbing my eyes. "You didn't wake me?"

"You looked like you needed the rest," he replied, crossing the distance between us. "Besides, I wanted a little bonding time with him."

I nodded, my heart swelling at the sight of him cradling our son. "Thanks," I murmured, leaning in to kiss Boston's head.

Stiles passed Boston to me, and I felt the familiar warmth of his tiny body as I settled into a chair to feed him. I watched as he latched easily, his little mouth working with a determination that made me smile every time.

"Look at him," Stiles whispered, crouching beside me. "He's a natural."

I laughed softly. "He's definitely got an appetite."

We sat there in the stillness of morning, the light streaming in through the windows, illuminating the new day. The fear and worry hadn't vanished, but they had dulled, leaving behind a cautious optimism. Boston was here, and he was safe—and for now, that was enough.

In the back of my mind, thoughts of the future still lingered. The supernatural question, the fact that I was a werewolf-Kanima hybrid and Stiles was wholly human—what that might mean for Boston down the line. But for now, I decided to let that go. We had time. Right now, we needed to focus on loving him, on helping him grow strong and healthy. We had each other, and we had a lifetime to figure out the rest.

And so, as I held Boston close, feeling his soft breathing, I allowed myself to truly believe in a future full of possibilities. Whatever happened, we would face it together. And that was the greatest comfort of all.

Chapter Text

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Jackson's Pov

We sat there in the stillness of morning, the light streaming in through the windows, illuminating the new day. The fear and worry hadn't vanished, but they had dulled, leaving behind a cautious optimism. Boston was here, and he was safe—and for now, that was enough.

In the back of my mind, thoughts of the future still lingered. The supernatural question, the fact that I was a werewolf-Kanima hybrid and Stiles was wholly human—what that might mean for Boston down the line. But for now, I decided to let that go. We had time. Right now, we needed to focus on loving him, on helping him grow strong and healthy. We had each other, and we had a lifetime to figure out the rest.

And so, as I held Boston close, feeling his soft breathing, I allowed myself to truly believe in a future full of possibilities. Whatever happened, we would face it together. And that was the greatest comfort of all.

Jackson's Pov

It had been four days since Boston came home, and in those four days, our lives had already shifted in ways I hadn’t anticipated. The nights were long and unpredictable, the days filled with a delicate balance of joy and overwhelming responsibility. Every day felt like a mixture of exhaustion and wonder, and I wasn’t sure how to put into words the overwhelming love I felt for this tiny human who had come into our lives, so fragile but so strong at the same time.

Boston was 14 days old now, and though he was still small, there was a sense of calm around him that helped me calm the frantic energy inside me. He was growing stronger every day, and I could see that in the way he would latch on when I fed him or the way he would stretch his tiny limbs. But still, there was the constant hum of worry at the back of my mind. Was he okay? Was he getting enough nourishment? Was he too warm or too cold? Every second I wasn’t holding him felt like a moment where something could go wrong.

I shifted in the rocking chair in the corner of the room, staring at Boston’s crib. It was right beside our bed—small, almost too small, but perfect for him. He was sleeping soundly in the dim light of the morning, wrapped in a soft blue blanket that Stiles had picked out for him weeks ago. He looked so peaceful in the crib, his little chest rising and falling with each breath. I still couldn’t get over how much he’d changed in such a short time. Every day he looked a little bigger, a little stronger, and I could see the faintest hints of what he might become. The world was beginning to open up for him, even though the future was still so uncertain.

Stiles was in the bathroom, brushing his teeth, his footsteps soft as he moved about. I listened to the sound of the water running and tried to focus on the soothing rhythm of Boston’s breaths. The past few days had been a blur of feedings, diaper changes, naps, and endless worrying. But there were also moments that felt almost surreal. The first time I held him after bringing him home—his tiny form pressed against my chest, the scent of him so innocent and pure. The first time Stiles fed him with a bottle, his hands steady as he guided Boston’s tiny lips to the nipple. There was a tenderness between us now, an unspoken understanding of just how much we were learning every single day.

“Hey,” Stiles called softly as he entered the room, his voice low, probably to avoid waking Boston. “You good?”

I looked over at him, offering a small smile. Stiles had been my anchor in all of this, always knowing how to calm my racing thoughts, always steady, always there. “Yeah, just… thinking. Watching him sleep.”

Stiles leaned against the doorframe, brushing a hand through his messy hair. “He’s definitely a cutie when he’s asleep, huh?” he said with a half-smile, his eyes soft as he watched Boston.

I nodded, my gaze never leaving our son. “He really is.”

We stood there for a moment, taking in the sight of him, the stillness of the room hanging around us like a soft blanket. The peaceful silence of the moment was almost too much to bear—it was a stark contrast to the chaos that had led up to this. After the constant worry of the NICU, the beeping machines, the sterile walls of the hospital, this felt like something I didn’t deserve but was so incredibly grateful for.

“You know,” Stiles said, breaking the silence, “I can’t believe we’ve already been parents for two weeks. Two weeks.” He shook his head in disbelief, the tiredness in his voice clear. “I feel like I should have it all figured out by now.”

I gave a small chuckle, though there was a slight edge of anxiety underneath it. “I don’t think anyone figures it out in two weeks, Stiles.”

Stiles smiled softly, walking over to the crib. He bent down slightly, placing a gentle hand on Boston’s blanket-covered back. “No, but I feel like we should have more of a rhythm by now, right?”

I stood up slowly, stretching my back. The physical toll of the last few weeks had caught up with me, my body still sore from the delivery and the stress of caring for a premature baby. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was that we were here, and Boston was here with us, safe and sound. “I think we’re doing okay,” I said, stepping beside him, reaching out to touch Boston’s tiny hand. His fingers curled instinctively around my finger, and I couldn’t help but smile.

“I think we’re doing more than okay,” Stiles replied, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re doing great, Jackson. We’re both doing great.”

I looked up at him, the weight of his words settling in my chest. “We’ve got a lot to figure out, though.”

Stiles nodded, but there was a confident gleam in his eyes. “Yeah, we do. But we’re doing it together. And that’s what matters.”

I smiled softly, looking back down at Boston. His tiny face, peaceful and serene, seemed to radiate all the love we both had for him. “I just… I still don’t know if I’m ready for this. What if I’m not good enough? What if I mess up?”

“You won’t,” Stiles said firmly, his hand still resting on Boston’s crib. “You’re already doing everything you can. We’re learning. We’re figuring it out. And you’re the best father for him. No one else would be better. Not even close.”

His words, though simple, gave me the strength I didn’t even realize I needed. Stiles had always been my rock. And here, with Boston asleep in his crib, his hands still small and delicate, I realized that we were all in this together. We were parents now, and no matter how difficult it got, we would make it through.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. I fed Boston again, carefully making sure he latched properly, my mind still racing through the questions that lingered in the back of my mind. Would he inherit some of the supernatural traits I carried? Would he be a werewolf? Would he ever change in ways we couldn’t control? I still didn’t know the answers to any of those questions. But for now, as I sat with him in my arms, I knew that there was nothing else I could do but love him.

Later in the evening, as we both collapsed on the couch, exhausted but content, Stiles glanced over at me, his hand resting on mine. “So,” he said, his voice playful despite the exhaustion creeping into his tone, “what do you think? Do we have time for a little TV before the next feeding?”

I smiled and leaned my head back against the cushions. “Sure. But you’re on diaper duty when he wakes up.”

Stiles laughed, a genuine, tired sound that made my heart ache with affection. “Deal. You’re lucky I love you.”

I chuckled and closed my eyes for a moment, letting the exhaustion finally settle into my bones. “You’re lucky I love you too.”

In the soft glow of the living room, the quiet hum of the house enveloped us. Boston was still asleep in his crib, his soft breaths the only sound. The world outside might have been chaotic and uncertain, but here, with Stiles and our son, everything felt right. For the first time in a long while, I let go of my constant anxiety about what the future would hold. I didn’t have all the answers, and maybe I never would. But I had this—this family. And that was enough.

Stiles leaned back, still holding my hand, as we sat in peaceful silence. We’d gotten through so much to get here. And I knew, without a doubt, that whatever came next, we’d face it together.

Just then, a soft cry broke the quiet of the room. We both turned instinctively toward Boston’s crib, where he stirred in his sleep, his small face scrunching up as he let out another soft whimper.

“Alright,” Stiles muttered, glancing at me. “Your turn. I did the last feeding.”

I sighed but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my lips. “I guess it’s my turn.”

As I got up and made my way over to Boston’s crib, picking him up gently, I realized that this was it—this was the rest of our lives. Long nights, early mornings, and all the love and joy that came with being parents. It wouldn’t always be easy, but as I looked down at our son, I knew there was nothing else I would rather be doing.

As I cradled him in my arms, his tiny hand reaching out instinctively, I whispered softly, “We’ve got you, Boston. Always.”

And in that moment, as his tiny fingers curled around mine, I truly believed it. The quiet of the morning in our room was broken only by the soft sound of Boston’s steady breaths, the gentle rise and fall of his tiny chest. I sat in the rocking chair by his crib, my hand resting on the edge of the bassinet where he lay, watching him with a mix of awe and exhaustion.

It had been four days since we brought him home, and we were still figuring things out—nursing, feedings, diapers, sleep schedules. There was no manual for this, no “right” way to do it. Everything felt like a mixture of trial and error, but we were doing it together. Stiles had become a master at calming Boston when he was fussy, changing his diaper, and getting him settled for naps. And me? I was still working on nursing.

In the NICU, Boston had been fed through a tube, and I had never been able to nurse him directly until he came home. The nurses had helped us, showing us techniques and guiding me as I tried to figure out how to make it work. But each time Boston latched on, I could feel the tension in my body—both from the uncertainty of doing it right and from the newness of the bond that was forming between us.

It was still a challenge. Sometimes Boston would latch, but it wouldn’t feel right, or he’d fuss and pull away too quickly. Other times, he’d latch on but fall asleep almost immediately, making me worry if he was getting enough. We’d worked on it each day, little by little, taking small steps forward, and some days, I couldn’t help but feel frustrated by how long it was taking.

Stiles was in the kitchen, making his usual morning coffee. I could hear the faint clinking of cups, the sound of water boiling. I should’ve been in the kitchen with him, helping with breakfast, but my attention was solely on Boston. I’d been awake for the last hour, watching him sleep, marveling at how much he had already changed in these past two weeks. His face was filling out, his little hands were starting to grip more strongly, and there were small, subtle movements that were making him look more and more like a healthy newborn instead of the tiny preemie who had fought so hard to survive.

I glanced at the clock. It was almost time for his next feeding.

I gently shifted, reaching into the crib and carefully lifting Boston, his little body soft and warm in my arms. He stirred at the motion, his eyes fluttering open and meeting mine. There was always something so heart-stopping about those moments when our eyes locked. He was so small, so new, and yet I could feel the bond growing stronger every day.

I settled back into the rocking chair, adjusting him so he was nestled against me, and I positioned him to try nursing again. I watched him carefully, knowing that sometimes it took a few tries before he’d latch on properly. I gently guided his head toward my chest, giving him a moment to find his way.

It wasn’t immediate, and I could feel a slight knot in my stomach. I was trying to be patient, but it was hard not to worry. Was he hungry? Was I doing it right? I leaned back, trying to stay relaxed, giving him the time he needed.

After a few moments, I felt the slight tug on my nipple, and I let out a soft sigh of relief. He’d latched on.

“Good boy,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. “You’re doing it, buddy.”

I glanced over at the clock again. A few minutes had passed, and Boston was nursing quietly now, his little lips working in rhythm as he drank. His small hands rested on my chest, his body curled against mine, and in that moment, everything felt right. All the worry, the doubt, the exhaustion—it faded away.

“You’re doing so great, Boston,” I murmured, watching him in awe. “I’m so proud of you.”

Just as I was starting to relax, I heard the soft thud of Stiles’s footsteps behind me. He entered the room with a mug of coffee in hand, his tired eyes still bright with a warmth I couldn’t help but be drawn to.

“You’re up early,” he said, a soft smile playing at the corners of his lips. “How’s the little guy doing?”

I smiled up at him, feeling that familiar pull of affection in my chest. “We’re making progress,” I said, my voice soft. “He’s nursing well, I think.”

Stiles walked over, standing by my side and looking down at Boston. His face softened, and I could see the pride in his eyes as he watched our son. “He looks so peaceful,” he murmured, leaning over and gently brushing his hand across Boston’s soft head.

“Yeah, he is,” I said, my voice catching. “He’s doing so much better.”

Stiles’s gaze shifted to me then, his smile widening. “You’re doing great too, you know.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Really? It feels like I’m stumbling through this.”

Stiles chuckled, his hand resting on the back of my chair. “Jackson, you’re doing better than anyone could have expected. You’re getting the hang of it. And Boston? He’s lucky to have you.”

I felt a warmth flood through me at his words. There was so much doubt inside me, so many questions about whether I was doing everything right, whether I was enough. But hearing Stiles’s confidence, hearing him express so much belief in me, helped to quiet those voices in my head.

“I’m just trying to make sure he’s okay,” I said quietly, looking down at Boston. “I never want him to feel… like I felt growing up. I want him to be strong, healthy. I want him to be happy.”

Stiles’s voice softened, and he crouched down beside me, brushing a lock of hair out of my face. “You’re already giving him everything he needs. You’re showing him what love looks like every single day. He’s lucky to have you, Jackson.”

I blinked, feeling my throat tighten. There were moments like this when everything fell into place. I didn’t have all the answers, and I certainly didn’t know what the future would hold for Boston—but in this moment, as I sat there nursing him, I knew that we were a family. We had made it through the hardest part of this journey, and now it was just about moving forward. Together.

“Thanks, Stiles,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. “I needed to hear that.”

Stiles smiled and stood up, kissing my forehead gently. “I’m here, Jackson. We’re in this together.”

With that, he left to grab his own coffee, leaving me alone with Boston. I settled back into the chair, watching him nurse contentedly. His small body shifted slightly with each movement, his little fingers curled into tight fists. It was hard to believe that just two weeks ago, he was fighting for his life in the NICU. Now, here he was, at home with us, growing stronger every day.

I ran my fingers gently through his soft hair, a sense of peace washing over me. No matter what happened, no matter what challenges we faced, I knew we would always have this. We would always have each other. And in those quiet moments, when it was just me and Stiles and Boston, I felt like we were finally becoming the family we had always dreamed of.

As Boston finished nursing, I carefully adjusted him in my arms, gently burping him. He let out a small hiccup, and I smiled, feeling my heart swell with affection. He was still so tiny, but he was strong, and he was ours.

Stiles came back into the room, his coffee in hand, and stood by my side again. “How’s he doing?” he asked softly.

I looked up at him, my heart full of love for both of them. “He’s doing great. I think he’s really getting the hang of it.”

Stiles’s face softened, and he reached out to touch Boston’s tiny hand. “He’s amazing,” he murmured. “Just like you.”

I smiled, feeling a mixture of pride and love for my son and for Stiles. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing that.”

Stiles laughed quietly. “Well, you’ll hear it a lot. You deserve to.”

We stood there in the quiet room for a moment, just watching Boston, taking in the peacefulness of the moment. It was still early, and the house was quiet, but there was an undeniable sense of hope in the air.

With every passing day, Boston was growing stronger. With every feeding, every change, every moment we spent with him, we were finding our rhythm. It wasn’t perfect, and there were still moments of doubt, of worry, of uncertainty. But we were doing it. We were becoming parents.

And that was enough for me.

I glanced at the clock and stood up slowly, still holding Boston in my arms. “It’s time for his nap, I think,” I said softly, brushing my hand over his back as he yawned and stretched.

Stiles smiled at me, his eyes filled with warmth and love. “Yeah, let’s get him settled.”

We walked together to the nursery, where Boston’s crib waited. It had only been a few days since we’d brought him home, but already, it felt like it was meant to be. The room was warm, soft, and welcoming, filled with the gentle light of the afternoon sun. We set Boston gently into the crib, making sure he was comfortable before standing back to watch him settle into his sleep.

As I stood there beside Stiles, watching our son sleep, I realized that we were no longer just parents by title. We were parents by heart, by instinct, by the bond we had created with this tiny person who depended on us for everything.

Stiles squeezed my hand, his voice soft. “We’re doing it, Jackson. We really are.”

I smiled, my heart full. “Yeah. We are.”

And as we stood there, watching Boston sleep peacefully, I knew that this was just the beginning. Whatever came next, whatever challenges or uncertainties we faced, we would face them together. With love, with patience, and with the strength we had found in each other and in our son.

This was our family. And it was everything I had ever hoped for. The exhaustion was different than anything I had ever known. It wasn’t just the physical fatigue—the ache in my muscles, the soreness in my abdomen where Boston had been growing just weeks ago, or the constant pull of sleep deprivation—it was deeper than that. It was in my bones, in my mind, in my heart. I was tired in a way that coffee and naps couldn’t fix.

I didn’t know how to say it out loud. I didn’t know if I should say it out loud.

Boston was perfect. He was here, he was growing, and every day, he was getting stronger. I should have been happy. I was happy. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself. That’s what I wanted to believe. But there were moments—long, quiet moments in the middle of the night when I was feeding him, or early in the morning when I was rocking him to sleep—when the weight of everything felt so heavy, so impossible.

I had carried him for eight months. I had brought him into the world. And now, I felt like I was barely holding myself together.

It had been two weeks since Boston was born, and I was still adjusting. My body still ached, my hormones were all over the place, and I barely recognized myself when I looked in the mirror. I wasn’t used to feeling this weak. I had always prided myself on being strong—on pushing through pain, on controlling everything. But now, my body was no longer my own. It felt foreign, strange.

I hadn’t been prepared for the aftermath of giving birth. The way my body felt unsteady, uncoordinated. The way my stomach was still soft, still swollen, even though Boston was no longer inside me. The way my emotions felt so completely out of my control.

I wasn’t sure if I was doing this right.

I had spent so much time worrying about Boston—about his health, about whether or not he was eating enough, whether he was warm enough, whether he was breathing properly—that I hadn’t really stopped to think about me. But lately, something had been creeping in. A numbness. A dull ache in my chest that never really went away.

I should have been grateful. I was grateful. But I was also… sad.

The first time I realized something was wrong was the third night after we brought Boston home. He had woken up crying—his tiny, hungry wails breaking through the silence of our bedroom. I had jolted awake, my heart racing, but instead of moving to get him, I just… froze.

I stared at the ceiling, my body heavy, my mind foggy. I could hear Stiles shifting beside me, already reaching for Boston, his voice gentle as he whispered reassurances.

I should have gotten up. I should have been the one to pick him up, to feed him, to comfort him. But I couldn’t move.

Stiles must have noticed because he glanced at me, his brow furrowing. “Hey, I got him,” he whispered, as if I needed permission to stay in bed.

I nodded, barely able to find my voice. “Thanks,” I murmured, turning onto my side and squeezing my eyes shut.

But sleep didn’t come.

I just lay there, staring at the wall, my mind racing with thoughts I didn’t want to have. Why am I feeling like this? What’s wrong with me?

I had wanted this. I had fought for this. So why did I feel like I was sinking?

The days passed in a blur of feedings, diaper changes, and sleepless nights. I went through the motions—because that’s what I had to do—but there was an emptiness that I couldn’t shake.

I still loved Boston. That was never the question. But sometimes, when I looked at him, I felt… disconnected. Like I was watching someone else’s life instead of living my own.

I kept waiting for it to get better. But it didn’t.

One morning, after a particularly rough night, I found myself standing in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at my reflection. My skin was pale, my eyes hollow. I looked… wrong. Like a version of myself I didn’t recognize.

Stiles found me there, standing motionless, hands gripping the edge of the sink.

“Jackson?” His voice was soft, cautious.

I didn’t answer right away. I didn’t know what to say.

Finally, I exhaled shakily. “I don’t feel like myself,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

Stiles didn’t say anything for a moment. He just stepped closer, his hand brushing against my arm. “Tell me what’s going on,” he urged gently.

I let out a bitter laugh. “I don’t even know,” I admitted. “I just… I feel off. Like I’m not here.” I swallowed hard, forcing myself to keep talking. “And I feel guilty. Because I should be happy. I should be okay.” My voice cracked. “But I’m not.”

Stiles frowned, his eyes scanning my face, searching. “Jackson,” he said carefully, “I think you might have postpartum depression.”

I blinked, the words hitting me like a punch to the gut.

Postpartum depression? Me?

“That’s… that’s a thing?” I asked, my voice shaking. “For guys?”

Stiles nodded. “Yeah. It’s not just something women get. You gave birth, Jackson. Your hormones are shifting. Your body is recovering. And everything you’ve been through—Boston being early, the NICU, the stress—it all adds up.”

I swallowed hard, staring at the floor. “I thought… I thought it was just me being weak.”

“No,” Stiles said firmly. “It’s not weakness. It’s real. And you’re not alone in it.”

The lump in my throat grew tighter, and before I could stop myself, I felt tears welling up in my eyes. I tried to blink them away, but Stiles saw. He always saw.

He reached for me, pulling me into his arms without hesitation. I didn’t resist. I let myself lean into him, let myself feel the comfort of his touch.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, his hand running up and down my back. “You’re okay.”

I let out a shaky breath, my body trembling. “I just don’t know how to fix it.”

“You don’t have to fix it alone,” Stiles reassured me. “We’ll get through it. Together.”

I nodded against his shoulder, not trusting myself to speak.

For the first time in weeks, I allowed myself to not have all the answers. To not be strong. To just be.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

Third Person

Jackson had always prided himself on his ability to handle things. If something needed to be done, he did it, no questions asked. The stress of the last few weeks, the sleepless nights, the constant worry about Boston, and his own exhaustion had been manageable at first. But as time wore on, it became harder and harder to pretend everything was fine. Stiles had noticed it. And now, as much as Jackson hated to admit it, so had he.

The drive to the OB’s office felt like a blur. It wasn’t far from the house, but every second of the car ride was filled with a sense of impending dread. Jackson had resisted the idea of going to the appointment at first. He told himself it was unnecessary. He wasn’t the kind of person who dealt with mental health issues, right? That wasn’t him.

But Stiles had insisted, and Jackson knew he couldn’t keep pretending that everything was fine when it clearly wasn’t. The exhaustion was becoming too much, and the guilt that came with not feeling like he was “enough” for Boston was weighing heavily on him. So here they were, pulling into the parking lot of the office, Jackson’s hands tight on the steering wheel.

“I’ll be right here,” Stiles said gently, glancing at Jackson before he opened his door. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

Jackson nodded, giving him a tight smile. “I know. I’ll be fine.”

But even as he said the words, he wasn’t entirely sure. The truth was, he had no idea what he was walking into. What if the doctor told him that it was something permanent, something he couldn’t fix? What if this feeling—the numbness, the overwhelming weight of it all—never went away?

As they walked inside, the sterile smell of the office hit him. The bright white walls, the soft murmur of voices in the waiting room—it all felt so clinical, so impersonal. It made him feel like he was already failing. Like this was the place where he had to admit something was wrong.

After a short wait, they were called back. The nurse led them into a small exam room, and Jackson sat down on the paper-covered table, trying to steady his breath. Stiles perched on the edge of the chair beside him, his eyes never leaving Jackson’s face, always watching, always attentive. Jackson appreciated it, even though it made him feel like he was being scrutinized.

The door opened, and Dr. Hayes walked in with a calm smile. He had been with Jackson throughout the pregnancy, and he’d been one of the first doctors to realize that Jackson’s unique hybrid nature meant there were additional challenges. But the friendly smile and calm demeanor always put Jackson at ease, even if it felt like this appointment was different.

“Jackson, Stiles, good to see you both,” Dr. Hayes greeted, settling into his chair. His eyes flicked over to Jackson, noting the exhaustion in his posture, the slight tension in his jaw. “How are you feeling today?”

Jackson hesitated, his hands resting on his lap, a slight tremor in his fingers. “I’ve been better.”

Dr. Hayes nodded, his gaze sharp but kind. “I understand. It’s been a big transition, bringing Boston home. And I know it hasn’t been an easy road for you.” He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. “But it’s important to talk about how you’re really doing, Jackson. I’ve been reading your postpartum check-in notes. It seems like you’ve been struggling a bit.”

Jackson let out a slow, shaky breath, feeling the familiar weight pressing down on his chest. “I’m just tired,” he said, his voice quieter than he intended. “I didn’t think it would be like this.”

Dr. Hayes gave a soft chuckle, though it was not dismissive. “No one ever does. But with everything you’ve been through—the pregnancy, the early delivery, Boston’s time in the NICU—and now the responsibilities of being a parent to a preemie, it’s normal to feel overwhelmed.”

Stiles leaned forward slightly. “Jackson’s been having a tough time, Doc. It’s not just the exhaustion; he’s been feeling… disconnected. It’s like he’s there, but not really there. He’s not himself. He’s not sleeping, and when he does, it’s not even restful. It’s like—” Stiles faltered, unsure how to put it into words. “Like he’s barely hanging on.”

Dr. Hayes turned his attention to Jackson, his voice soft but steady. “Jackson, I know this isn’t easy to admit, but I’m going to ask you something. And I want you to answer me honestly, okay?”

Jackson nodded, his throat tightening. He didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to face the truth that had been gnawing at him for days.

“Have you been feeling disconnected from Boston?” Dr. Hayes asked. “Not just physically, but emotionally? Are you struggling to bond with him?”

Jackson felt a sting behind his eyes. The simple question made something break inside him. The answer was yes. He loved Boston with every fiber of his being, but there were moments when it felt like he was watching the experience of parenthood, instead of actually living it. He’d been trying so hard to be the father Boston deserved, but somewhere along the way, he had lost himself.

“I don’t know,” Jackson muttered, his voice breaking. “I try to be there. I want to be there. But… it’s like… like I’m not really present, you know?”

Dr. Hayes leaned forward slightly, giving him a sympathetic look. “Jackson, I’m glad you’re being honest with me. Postpartum depression isn’t just something that affects women. It can affect fathers too, especially when there’s a lot of stress, and especially after what you’ve been through. What you’re describing—feeling disconnected, struggling with the physical and emotional aspects of parenthood—are all signs of postpartum depression.”

The words hit him like a punch. He had never thought of it that way. He had always thought of depression as something that was either in your head or something people could just snap out of if they wanted to. But this—this felt different. It was like something had shifted, and now he was struggling just to keep his head above water.

Stiles’s hand found his, squeezing it gently, his thumb running along Jackson’s knuckles. “Is that… what’s going on? Postpartum depression?”

Dr. Hayes nodded. “Yes. And it’s okay, Jackson. This doesn’t mean you’re failing. It means your body and mind are reacting to a huge life change, and it’s okay to admit that you’re struggling.”

Jackson felt the weight in his chest lighten just a little, as if someone had opened a window to let in some fresh air. He wasn’t broken. He wasn’t failing. This was something that could be worked through.

“I don’t know how to fix it,” Jackson said, his voice cracking again. “I just want to feel like myself again. I don’t know how to get back to that.”

Dr. Hayes gave a soft, reassuring smile. “It’s not about fixing yourself, Jackson. It’s about understanding that what you’re going through is a part of the process. The transition into fatherhood—especially with everything you’ve experienced—can be difficult. The emotions you’re feeling are real, but they don’t have to control you. There’s support available, and there’s no shame in asking for help.”

Stiles nodded, his eyes never leaving Jackson’s. “We’re here for you, Jackson. I’m here for you.”

Jackson let out a shaky breath, letting the tears slip down his cheeks, finally feeling the release that he had been holding onto for far too long. It was like a dam had burst inside of him, and the flood of emotion couldn’t be stopped. “I just want to be good enough for him,” Jackson whispered. “I want to be the dad he deserves.”

Stiles reached for him, pulling him into a tight hug, pressing his face into Jackson’s hair. “You are,” Stiles whispered back. “You’re the best dad for him. We’re learning together, okay?”

Dr. Hayes watched them, his expression soft but knowing. “It’s okay to take your time with this, Jackson. You don’t need to have everything figured out immediately. And the fact that you’re here, that you’re asking for help—that’s a sign of strength, not weakness.”

Jackson nodded against Stiles’s shoulder, trying to steady his breath. It felt like a weight had been lifted, just a little bit. For the first time in what felt like forever, he wasn’t alone in this. He had Stiles, and now he knew he could lean on others for support. Maybe it wouldn’t be easy, and maybe it would take time, but he wasn’t broken.

“You’re not alone,” Dr. Hayes continued, his voice kind and firm. “We’ll help you work through this, step by step. If it helps, we can set you up with some resources—therapy, support groups, whatever feels right for you. And we’ll keep an eye on how you’re doing.”

Jackson nodded, wiping his eyes and taking a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll try. I’ll do what I need to do.”

Stiles squeezed his hand, his voice warm and steady. “We’ll do it together, Jackson. You don’t have to do it alone.”

As they left Dr. Hayes’s office, the sense of relief that had been building since the conversation started started to grow stronger. It wasn’t a cure-all, but it was a step in the right direction. There was a plan. There was help. And for the first time in a long time, Jackson felt like he could breathe again.

It wouldn’t be easy. There would be hard days ahead. But with Stiles by his side, and with the support of the people who cared about him, Jackson knew that he could get through this. He wasn’t failing. He was just human, trying to do the best he could for his family.

And that, for now, was enough.

Chapter Text

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Jackson's Pov

Stiles squeezed his hand, his voice warm and steady. "We'll do it together, Jackson. You don't have to do it alone."

As they left Dr. Hayes's office, the sense of relief that had been building since the conversation started started to grow stronger. It wasn't a cure-all, but it was a step in the right direction. There was a plan. There was help. And for the first time in a long time, Jackson felt like he could breathe again.

It wouldn't be easy. There would be hard days ahead. But with Stiles by his side, and with the support of the people who cared about him, Jackson knew that he could get through this. He wasn't failing. He was just human, trying to do the best he could for his family.

And that, for now, was enough.

Jackson's Pov

August 17th, 2024

Three weeks. It had been three weeks since Boston came into the world, and I still wasn't sure if I was doing anything right.

I sat on the edge of the b ed, staring at the small crib nestled next to our bed, listening to the soft sounds of Boston's breathing. His tiny chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, his little fists curled up beside his face. He looked so peaceful, completely unaware of the absolute chaos his dads were going through trying to keep up with him.

Three weeks. It felt like a lifetime and a single blink at the same time. The days blurred together, and I wasn't even sure what day of the week it was half the time. The only real markers of time were Boston's feeding schedule, diaper changes, and the occasional moments of sleep Stiles and I could steal in between.

Stiles was still asleep beside me, his arm stretched out toward my side of the bed like he had reached for me sometime in the night. I glanced over at him, watching his steady breathing. He'd been incredible—always there, always ready to take over when I was too exhausted to function. But I could see it wearing on him too.

I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly. My OB appointment a few days ago had been a wake-up call. I had been so focused on Boston, so caught up in the whirlwind of keeping him safe and healthy, that I hadn't stopped to think about what was happening to me. The doctor had said it wasn't about fixing myself, but about understanding what was happening and taking steps forward. That was easier said than done.

Boston stirred slightly in his crib, letting out a tiny noise, and I immediately sat up, peering over at him. His little mouth opened and closed a few times before he settled back into sleep.

That was something I had learned—preemies made a lot of noises. Soft grunts, little whimpers, even tiny squeaks. At first, every sound made my heart race, thinking something was wrong, but I was starting to learn his patterns. He was strong. He was growing. He was okay.

I leaned back against the headboard, rubbing my face with my hands. I should go back to sleep. I needed the rest. But my body wouldn't let me relax, my brain constantly running through every possible thing that could go wrong. I had spent the last three weeks in a constant state of hyper-awareness, afraid that if I closed my eyes for too long, something would happen.

Stiles had noticed. He always noticed.

"Jackson," his groggy voice cut through the quiet. I looked over to see him blinking at me, his face still half-buried in the pillow. "You okay?"

I forced a small smile, nodding. "Yeah. Just watching him."

Stiles made a soft noise and pushed himself up on one elbow, looking between me and Boston's crib. He rubbed his face, trying to wake up fully. "How long have you been awake?"

I hesitated, then shrugged. "I don't know. A while."

Stiles sighed, sitting up completely now. "Jackson..."

"I'm fine," I cut him off before he could start another speech about how I needed to take care of myself too. "He just made a noise, and I wanted to make sure he was okay."

Stiles ran a hand through his messy hair, exhaling slowly. "Babe, you don't have to sit here watching him every second. He's okay."

I knew that. I did. But knowing it and believing it were two different things.

I sighed, leaning back against the headboard. "I just... I don't know how to shut it off, Stiles."

Stiles shifted closer, resting a hand on my knee. "I know. And I get it. But you're running on fumes, Jackson. You're barely sleeping, and when you do, you wake up at every tiny sound he makes."

"I have to," I said automatically. "What if—"

Stiles squeezed my knee. "What if nothing, Jackson? He's okay. He's home. He's breathing, eating, sleeping—he's doing everything he's supposed to be doing." He softened his voice, brushing his fingers along the inside of my wrist. "You don't have to do this alone. You don't have to be on high alert every second of the day."

I swallowed hard, staring down at my hands. "I don't know how to let go of it."

Stiles was quiet for a moment before he moved, shifting until he was sitting beside me with his back against the headboard too. "Maybe you don't have to. Not all at once. But let me help, okay? Let's take shifts or something. You get sleep, real sleep, and I'll keep an eye on him."

I hesitated. "You already do so much."

Stiles snorted. "Yeah, and so do you. We're in this together, Jackson." He nudged my shoulder. "So let me help."

I wanted to argue, to tell him that I had to be the one making sure everything was okay, but the exhaustion was weighing too heavily on me. I let out a long breath, nodding slightly. "Okay."

Stiles smiled, pressing a quick kiss to my temple. "Good."

We sat there in silence for a few minutes, watching Boston sleep. The morning light was starting to creep through the curtains, casting soft shadows across the room.

After a while, Stiles nudged me again. "So, since you're awake, I was thinking..."

I groaned. "Oh god, what now?"

Stiles grinned. "We should start reading to him."

I blinked at him. "Reading?"

"Yeah, like baby books. It's supposed to be good for them, even when they're this little."

I raised an eyebrow. "You just want an excuse to make me read Harry Potter to him."

Stiles gasped dramatically. "How dare you call me out like that?"

I smirked, shaking my head. "Fine. But you're not allowed to give voices to every single character."

Stiles groaned. "But that's the best part."

I chuckled, finally feeling some of the tension in my chest ease. "Alright. We can try reading to him."

Stiles grinned, clearly satisfied. "Great. I'll pick out the first book."

I sighed, rolling my eyes, but deep down, I was grateful. Grateful for Stiles, for Boston, for these little moments that made everything feel okay, even when my brain was telling me otherwise.

Boston stirred again, stretching slightly before settling back into sleep, and I exhaled, feeling myself relax just a little bit more.

Maybe I wasn't doing everything perfectly. Maybe I was still struggling. But in this moment, in this quiet morning with my family, I knew one thing for sure.

We were going to be okay. The afternoon light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the bedroom. I sat on the edge of the bed, my elbows resting on my knees, staring at the floor. My body still felt foreign to me—weak, sore, not mine. Three weeks postpartum, and I still wasn't sure how to exist in this version of myself.

Boston was asleep in his crib beside the bed, his tiny hands curled into fists near his face. He made a soft sound in his sleep, one of those little grunts I was starting to recognize as normal, and I found myself holding my breath, waiting to see if he'd wake up.

He didn't.

I let out a slow exhale, rubbing my hands together, trying to ground myself.

I should be happy. I was happy. At least, that's what I kept telling myself.

Boston was healthy. He was home. He was growing, thriving, and doing better than I ever could have imagined when he was first born. Stiles and I had finally started falling into some sort of rhythm as parents. We were figuring things out together, supporting each other, doing our best to make sure Boston had everything he needed.

So why did I still feel like I was drowning?

It had been days since I admitted to Stiles that I wasn't okay. Since my OB told me what I was feeling was normal. Postpartum depression. The words still felt strange, like they didn't belong to me. Like they were someone else's problem, someone else's struggle. But they weren't. They were mine.

And I hated it.

I hated the way I felt disconnected from myself. I hated how even when I was holding Boston, feeding him, rocking him to sleep, there was still a part of me that felt numb. I hated how I couldn't just snap out of it, couldn't just force myself to be the father Boston deserved.

I clenched my fists, pressing them against my thighs. I had never been the kind of person who struggled with emotions like this. I had always been strong, in control. Even when I had gone through my own supernatural transformation—when I had turned into the Kanima and lost myself completely—I had still fought to regain control.

But this? This was different.

I didn't know how to fight this.

I felt the bed shift slightly, and I didn't have to look up to know Stiles had sat down next to me. He didn't say anything at first, just rested a hand on my knee, his thumb tracing slow circles.

"You're in your head again," he murmured.

I let out a humorless laugh, shaking my head. "I live in my head these days."

Stiles sighed, squeezing my knee gently. "I know, babe." He was quiet for a moment before asking, "Have you thought more about what Dr. Hayes said?"

I stiffened slightly.

Dr. Hayes had suggested therapy. Support groups. Talking to someone.

I hadn't said no.

But I hadn't said yes either.

I swallowed hard, keeping my eyes on the floor. "I don't know, Stiles."

He didn't push. He never did. But I could feel the concern rolling off him. "I just want you to have support, Jackson. I am here for you, and I always will be. But I don't want you to think you have to fight this alone."

My throat tightened. "I don't know how to not fight things alone," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

Stiles let out a soft laugh, though there was no humor in it. "Yeah, I figured." He nudged me gently. "But we're parents now. You don't have to do anything alone anymore."

I closed my eyes, taking a slow breath. "It's just hard, Stiles. It's hard to admit I need help."

"I know," he said simply. "But you're not weak for needing help. And you're not failing just because you're struggling."

I finally looked up at him, meeting his gaze. His eyes were full of love, full of patience. I didn't deserve him.

"I just... I don't know how to feel like myself again," I admitted.

Stiles's expression softened, and he reached up, brushing a hand through my hair. "Maybe you don't have to feel like the old you. Maybe you just need time to figure out who you are now."

His words hit something deep in my chest.

Who was I now?

I had spent my whole life trying to be something. The best lacrosse player, the strongest, the most in control. Even after I had been turned into a werewolf-Kanima hybrid, I had still clung to that need for control, for perfection.

But now?

Now, I wasn't just Jackson Whittemore, the guy who had fought to prove himself his whole life. I was Jackson Whittemore, a father. A husband.

Maybe Stiles was right. Maybe I needed time to figure out what that meant.

I exhaled, leaning into his touch slightly. "I don't know how to do that."

Stiles smiled, pressing a kiss to my temple. "You don't have to figure it out all at once."

Boston stirred in his crib then, making a soft, sleepy noise, and I immediately turned my attention to him. It was instinct now. Every sound, every movement—my whole body was wired to respond to him.

Stiles watched me, a small, knowing smile on his face. "See? You're already doing it. You are here, Jackson. Even when you don't feel like yourself."

I swallowed hard, my chest tightening.

Maybe he was right.

Maybe I wasn't as lost as I thought.

I reached over, carefully lifting Boston into my arms. He was warm, his tiny body curling against mine, his face relaxed. His soft breaths hit my neck, and I felt something shift inside me.

I wasn't broken.

I was just healing.

I looked over at Stiles, my grip on Boston tightening slightly. "I'll think about therapy," I said quietly. "I'm not saying yes. But I'll think about it."

Stiles's face softened, and he nodded. "That's all I ask."

We sat there together, Boston between us, his tiny hands resting against my chest. The weight of my depression was still there, still heavy, but in this moment, with my family beside me, I felt the smallest bit lighter.

Maybe I would get through this.

Maybe I wasn't alone after all.

The clock on the nightstand read 5:02 p.m. as I leaned back on the couch, holding Boston against my chest. His tiny body was warm, and the gentle rise and fall of his breathing was steady. His little hand had curled around the fabric of my shirt, gripping it tightly even in his sleep.

I closed my eyes for a moment, just soaking in the quiet, allowing myself to feel something other than exhaustion or the endless weight of doubt pressing against my chest. Stiles had been right earlier—I was here, even if I didn't always feel like myself.

Boston stirred slightly, making a soft whimpering noise, and I instinctively rubbed his back in slow, soothing circles.

"You think it's too early to start a routine?" Stiles asked, plopping down on the couch next to me with a bottle of water.

I smirked. "Define 'too early.'"

Stiles stretched his legs out, twisting the cap off his water bottle. "I mean, do you think he'll actually catch onto it yet? He's only three weeks old."

I glanced down at Boston, watching his tiny features scrunch up in sleep before he settled again. "I don't know. But if it makes our lives even slightly easier, I'm willing to try."

Stiles hummed, leaning his head back against the couch. "So what's the plan, Dad?"

I let out a quiet laugh. "Dinner, bath, feeding, story—if he stays awake for it—then bed."

Stiles glanced at the time. "Alright, well, let's start with dinner. You want me to cook something while you keep him occupied?"

I nodded, adjusting Boston slightly against my chest. "Yeah. That'd be good."

Stiles pressed a quick kiss to the side of my head before getting up and heading toward the kitchen. I heard the familiar sound of the fridge opening, cabinets shifting, and soon, the soft sound of water running as he started preparing something.

I glanced down at Boston again, his little mouth moving in his sleep, as if he were still nursing. He was growing stronger every day, and that should have reassured me. It did reassure me. But there was always that quiet fear lingering in the back of my mind. Was I doing enough? Was I doing this right?

I sighed, gently shifting him so he was cradled in my arms instead of lying against my chest. His eyelids fluttered slightly, but he didn't fully wake.

"You're lucky you're cute, kid," I murmured, brushing my fingers lightly over his cheek.

Dinner was quick. Stiles threw together some pasta and grilled chicken, simple but enough to keep us from running on fumes. We took turns eating, one of us always holding Boston, always making sure he wasn't alone. It was something I hadn't even realized we were doing until I saw Stiles glance at me mid-bite, realization dawning in his eyes.

"We haven't put him down once, have we?" he asked, a small smirk on his lips.

I frowned, looking down at Boston, who was curled up in my arms. "I guess not."

Stiles chuckled, shaking his head. "We're obsessed."

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't argue.

After dinner, it was time for his bath.

I carried Boston into the bathroom while Stiles grabbed the small infant tub we'd set up next to the sink. Boston had just started tolerating bath time. The first few days, he screamed like we were trying to drown him. Now, he still fussed, but it wasn't a full-on meltdown.

"Alright, buddy," I murmured as I slowly started unzipping his onesie. "Let's try not to act like we're torturing you tonight, okay?"

Stiles snorted. "You know he's gonna scream."

I sighed. "Yeah, probably."

Boston was squirming before I even had him fully undressed. His tiny arms flailed slightly, and his legs kicked out against my chest. I could already feel his little body tensing in preparation for what was coming.

Stiles tested the water temperature, then gave me a nod. "Alright, let's do this."

I carefully lowered Boston into the warm water, supporting his head and neck, and—

Immediate wailing.

Stiles burst out laughing. "Oh my God, he hates us."

I shook my head, trying not to laugh as Boston kicked his legs wildly, his face scrunched up in pure betrayal. "Dude, it's just water. You were literally floating in this stuff for eight months!"

Boston didn't care. He just continued crying, his tiny hands grasping at the air like he was trying to escape.

"Alright, alright," Stiles said, still grinning as he grabbed the washcloth. "Let's make this quick."

I hummed in agreement, gently running my fingers through Boston's damp hair while Stiles washed him as fast as possible. The crying lessened slightly when we poured warm water over his stomach, but the second we stopped, the wailing returned in full force.

"Alright, alright, we're done," I assured him as I quickly wrapped him in a soft towel and pulled him against my chest. He was furious, his tiny face red, his little hands gripping onto my skin.

Stiles grinned. "That went well."

I sighed. "Yeah, great."

We carried him back into the bedroom, and I gently dried him off while Stiles grabbed a clean diaper and pajamas. Boston had mostly calmed down, but he was still hiccupping occasionally, his body twitching slightly against my chest.

"Shh, I know," I murmured as I carefully dressed him, pulling his tiny arms through the sleeves of his onesie. "Rough life, huh?"

Stiles flopped onto the bed beside us, watching with a soft smile. "He looks exhausted."

"Yeah, but we still need to feed him before bed."

I settled onto the bed with Boston in my arms, adjusting him slightly before guiding him to nurse. He latched quickly, and I let out a slow breath, relaxing into the pillows.

Stiles shifted closer, resting his chin on my shoulder. "See? You're doing amazing."

I snorted. "Amazing? Pretty sure I've been running on caffeine and sheer panic for three weeks straight."

Stiles pressed a kiss to my shoulder. "And yet, you're still here. We're still here. And Boston is happy, healthy, and growing. So yeah, I'd say you're doing amazing."

I swallowed hard, my chest tightening with something I couldn't quite name.

He was right.

It didn't feel like I was doing great most days. But I was still here. I was still trying. And maybe, right now, that was enough.

When Boston finally finished eating, his tiny body relaxing into sleep, I carefully lifted him onto my shoulder, patting his back until I heard the softest little burp.

Stiles smiled, reaching over to rub a hand over Boston's back. "Alright, story time?"

I let out a soft chuckle. "He's asleep, Stiles."

"So?" Stiles grinned, already grabbing one of the books from the nightstand. "He can absorb the words in his sleep."

I rolled my eyes, but I didn't stop him.

Stiles opened the book, keeping his voice soft as he started reading.

I leaned back against the headboard, holding Boston against my chest, feeling the steady warmth of him. His little breaths were slow, even, his fingers barely twitching in sleep.

And for the first time in a long time, I felt something other than exhaustion or anxiety.

I felt content.

Stiles finished the book, setting it aside before turning to me. "You good?"

I looked down at Boston, then over at Stiles.

I nodded. "Yeah. I'm good."

And in that moment, I meant it.

Once Boston was settled in his crib for the night—at least until his next feeding—Stiles and I finally dragged ourselves into bed. It was only 9:30 p.m., but it might as well have been the middle of the night with how exhausted we both were.

I lay back against the pillows, my body aching in ways I wasn't sure would ever fully go away. Three weeks postpartum, and I still wasn't used to this new version of myself. My muscles felt weaker, my stomach still soft and unfamiliar, my emotions still swinging unpredictably between exhaustion and overwhelming love.

Stiles slid into bed beside me, letting out a deep sigh as he stretched out. He rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow as he looked at me.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice quiet, knowing that I wasn't always ready to talk about what was going on inside my head.

I exhaled slowly, turning my head to meet his gaze. "I don't know," I admitted, rubbing my hand over my face. "I think so. Tonight felt... normal. Or as normal as life can be now."

Stiles smiled slightly, reaching over to run his fingers through my hair. "That's a good thing, right?"

"Yeah," I murmured, closing my eyes for a second. "It's just weird. It still doesn't feel real sometimes."

Stiles let his fingers move gently along my scalp, his touch grounding. "What part?"

I opened my eyes again, staring up at the ceiling. "All of it. Being a dad. Having him here. The fact that we made it through the NICU and we're still standing. I spent so much time waiting for something to go wrong that now that things are settling... I don't know what to do with myself."

Stiles nodded in understanding. "I get that. It's been a nonstop rollercoaster since we found out you were pregnant. But we're here now, and we're figuring it out. You are figuring it out."

I sighed. "Some days, I don't feel like I am."

Stiles frowned, shifting even closer. "Jackson, you're doing amazing. You get up every time he cries, you hold him when he needs you, you're feeding him, you're taking care of him. Even on the days when you feel like you're not yourself, you're still showing up for him. That's what matters."

I swallowed hard, my throat tightening. "I just don't want to fail him, Stiles."

"You won't," Stiles said immediately. "You can't fail him. He loves you already, Jacks. He trusts you. And so do I."

I let out a shaky breath. It was stupid how much I needed to hear that.

Stiles watched me for a moment before reaching down and taking my hand, threading our fingers together. "Come here," he murmured, tugging me gently until I shifted onto my side, facing him. He reached up, brushing his thumb along my cheek. "You don't have to do this alone. I know it's hard. I know you're still struggling with everything. But we're in this together. Always."

I nodded, my throat too tight to speak.

Stiles leaned in, pressing a soft kiss against my forehead, lingering there for a moment before shifting back just enough to look me in the eyes. "You need sleep," he said gently.

I let out a small laugh, shaking my head. "You say that like Boston's not going to wake up in three hours."

"Yeah, but you need more than three hours, Jackson," Stiles said, giving me a pointed look. "I can take the next feeding."

I hesitated. I hated asking Stiles to do more when I already felt like I wasn't pulling my weight.

"Hey," Stiles said, squeezing my hand when he saw the hesitation on my face. "I want to do it. Let me take this one. Please."

I swallowed hard, my body already sagging into the mattress at the thought of getting a full stretch of sleep. "Okay," I whispered.

Stiles smiled, pulling me closer so I could rest my head against his chest. His fingers moved lazily up and down my back, and I felt my body start to relax in a way I hadn't let myself in weeks.

The room was quiet except for the sound of our breathing and the occasional soft grunt from Boston's crib. I felt Stiles press another kiss to my hair before murmuring, "You're doing so good, Jacks. I'm so proud of you."

I closed my eyes, letting his words sink in.

For the first time in weeks, I let myself believe him.

I woke up to the sound of Boston crying. My eyes snapped open immediately, my body already shifting to get out of bed before I remembered what Stiles had said. I turned my head, seeing Stiles already up, moving toward the crib with quiet, soothing words.

"It's okay, buddy," Stiles murmured, carefully lifting Boston into his arms. "I got you."

I watched as Stiles carried him over to the rocking chair, settling down with Boston nestled against his chest. He grabbed the prepped bottle from the nightstand and started feeding him, his voice soft as he whispered reassurances.

"You're hungry, huh? I know, I know. We got you, buddy."

My chest ached, but for the first time, it wasn't from anxiety. It was from love.

I had never doubted that Stiles would be an amazing father, but seeing it—watching the way he cared for our son—was something else entirely.

Boston made a soft, content noise as he drank, his tiny fingers curling around Stiles's thumb.

I swallowed hard, overwhelmed by the sight in front of me.

Stiles must have noticed me watching because he glanced up, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

"Go back to sleep," he whispered.

I shook my head. "I just want to watch."

Stiles chuckled quietly. "You're such a sap."

I rolled my eyes but didn't argue. I was a sap.

I watched as Stiles continued feeding Boston, his movements slow and steady. The room was quiet again, peaceful in a way I hadn't let myself appreciate before.

Eventually, Boston finished eating, letting out a soft hiccup as Stiles gently patted his back.

"Good job, buddy," Stiles murmured.

He stood up slowly, walking over to the crib to lay Boston back down. Boston shifted for a moment, his little face scrunching up, and for a second, I thought he might start crying again. But then, Stiles reached down, rubbing his hand gently over Boston's chest, and just like that, he settled.

I exhaled softly.

Stiles turned back toward me, stretching his arms above his head as he made his way to the bed. "See? No big deal."

I shook my head, smiling slightly as he climbed back in beside me. "You're amazing, you know that?"

Stiles smirked. "Yeah, but I like hearing you say it."

I rolled my eyes, shoving at his shoulder lightly. He laughed, pulling me against him again, letting me rest my head against his chest.

I let out a slow breath, feeling something settle inside me.

I still had a long way to go. I still had the weight of postpartum depression lingering in the back of my mind, still had moments where I felt like I was barely keeping it together. But for the first time in weeks, I felt like I wasn't drowning.

I had Stiles. I had Boston.

I had a family.

And maybe—just maybe—that was enough to keep me going.

Chapter Text

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Jackson's Pov

I shook my head, smiling slightly as he climbed back in beside me. "You're amazing, you know that?"

Stiles smirked. "Yeah, but I like hearing you say it."

I rolled my eyes, shoving at his shoulder lightly. He laughed, pulling me against him again, letting me rest my head against his chest.

I let out a slow breath, feeling something settle inside me.

I still had a long way to go. I still had the weight of postpartum depression lingering in the back of my mind, still had moments where I felt like I was barely keeping it together. But for the first time in weeks, I felt like I wasn't drowning.

I had Stiles. I had Boston.

I had a family.

And maybe—just maybe—that was enough to keep me going.

Jackson's Pov

August 18th, 2024

I woke up to the sound of Boston fussing, his soft cries gradually pulling me from sleep. My body felt heavy, my muscles aching in ways they never had before. Three weeks postpartum, and everything still hurt—my back, my legs, even my arms from holding Boston so much. But it wasn't just the physical exhaustion that weighed on me. It was the mental toll, the constant hum of anxiety that never fully went away.

Beside me, Stiles let out a quiet groan, shifting slightly before forcing his eyes open.

"I got him," I murmured, already pushing myself up, ignoring the stiffness in my body.

"You sure?" Stiles asked, his voice still rough with sleep.

"Yeah."

He looked like he wanted to argue, but he let out a sigh and nodded, rolling onto his back while I carefully slipped out of bed.

The room was dim, the first traces of dawn barely peeking through the curtains. I made my way to the crib, where Boston was kicking his little legs, his face scrunched up in frustration. His cries weren't full-on wails yet, but I knew if I didn't move fast, we'd get there.

"Shh, buddy," I murmured, reaching down and carefully lifting him into my arms. His tiny body was warm against my chest, his whimpers quieting slightly as I rubbed slow circles on his back.

I had read somewhere that babies weren't really capable of manipulating their parents at this age—that every cry meant something, whether it was hunger, discomfort, or just needing to be close. But sometimes, I swore Boston just wanted to be held. And honestly? I was okay with that.

I sat down in the rocking chair, adjusting him slightly against me. "You hungry?" I whispered, already knowing the answer.

Boston made a soft noise in response, his tiny fingers curling against my shirt.

I shifted, getting him into the right position, guiding him to nurse. He latched quickly—something that still surprised me. When we first got home from the hospital, it had been a struggle. Some nights, I'd spent hours trying to get him to latch properly, frustration bubbling up in my chest until I had to blink back tears.

But we were getting better at this. I was getting better at this.

Stiles sat up slowly, rubbing his face. "How's he doing?"

I glanced over at him, exhaustion weighing down my voice. "He's eating."

Stiles watched us for a moment, then let out a quiet chuckle. "You guys look good together."

I snorted. "He's just using me for food."

"Maybe," Stiles mused, sliding out of bed and stretching. "But he's also obsessed with you."

I felt my chest tighten at that.

Boston was still so small, still so dependent on us for everything. But when he looked up at me, his big eyes full of something I couldn't quite name, I felt it. That connection. That trust.

"I'll get you some water," Stiles said, already making his way toward the kitchen.

I hummed in response, refocusing on Boston. His little fingers twitched slightly against my chest as he nursed, his breathing slow and steady.

This was the part I liked best about the early mornings. The quiet. The stillness. The feeling that, even though I was exhausted beyond words, even though my body felt like it wasn't mine anymore, I was needed.

Stiles came back a moment later, pressing a cool water bottle into my free hand before perching on the edge of the bed. "He gonna go back down after this?"

I exhaled. "I hope so."

Stiles nodded, rubbing a hand over his face. "Well, if he doesn't, at least we're already up."

I huffed out a laugh. "You're way too cheerful for five in the morning."

He grinned. "It's a gift."

Boston finally finished nursing, his tiny body going slack against me. I shifted him up onto my shoulder, rubbing his back, waiting for the inevitable burp.

Stiles watched, his smile soft. "I don't think I'll ever get tired of seeing you with him."

I rolled my eyes. "You say that now. Give it a few years."

"Nah," Stiles said, leaning closer to press a kiss to my temple. "Pretty sure I'll still be just as obsessed."

The warmth of his words settled into my chest, pushing back some of the darkness that had been lingering there for weeks.

Boston let out a small burp, making a sleepy noise as he tucked his head into my shoulder.

I sighed. "Okay. Let's see if we can get you back down, little man."

I stood carefully, crossing the room to place Boston back in his crib. He stirred for a second, making me hold my breath, but after a moment, he settled.

Stiles and I both watched him for a beat, waiting.

When it became clear he wasn't waking back up, I let out a quiet exhale. "Success."

Stiles grinned. "Nice work, Dad."

I turned toward the bed, already feeling the exhaustion pulling at me. "I don't know how much longer I can keep this up."

Stiles patted the mattress. "Come here. Sleep while you can."

I didn't argue. I slid back under the covers, immediately curling into Stiles's side. His arm came around me, his hand resting on my hip.

We lay there for a moment in the quiet.

"You're doing a good job," Stiles murmured.

I swallowed hard, my chest tightening.

"Even when it doesn't feel like it?" I asked.

Stiles pressed a kiss to my shoulder. "Especially then."

I closed my eyes, focusing on the steady rhythm of his breathing, on the sound of Boston's soft exhales from the crib.

I wasn't sure how long this feeling—this quiet, this peace—would last.

But for now, I let myself have it. I woke up to the sound of Boston stirring in his crib. It wasn't a full-on cry yet, but I knew it was coming. His little noises had become familiar over the past few weeks—soft whimpers, a few grunts, and then the inevitable fussing that meant he was hungry or needed a diaper change.

I blinked, my body still heavy with exhaustion, and turned my head toward the crib. Sunlight was barely filtering through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. Beside me, Stiles let out a quiet groan as he rolled over, his hand automatically reaching for me like he was checking to make sure I was still there.

"You up?" he mumbled, his voice rough from sleep.

I nodded, even though I knew he probably couldn't see me. "Yeah."

Boston let out another whimper, and I sighed, pushing myself up and rubbing the sleep from my eyes. My body ached—my back, my legs, my stomach. Three weeks postpartum, and I still felt like I'd been hit by a truck most days.

Stiles shifted beside me, watching as I swung my legs over the edge of the bed. "You want me to get him?"

I shook my head, already standing and moving toward the crib. "I got it."

I peered down at Boston, who was kicking his little legs, his face scrunched up as he let out another soft cry. "Hey, little man," I murmured, reaching in and carefully lifting him. His tiny body was warm against my chest as I cradled him close. "What's going on, huh?"

Stiles sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. "Probably hungry."

"Yeah," I agreed, settling into the rocking chair. "I'll feed him if you want to sleep a little longer."

Stiles made a face but didn't argue, instead watching as I helped Boston latch. It was getting easier—less frustrating, less stressful. There were still nights when he struggled, but we were figuring it out.

I glanced up to see Stiles watching us, his eyes soft. "What?" I asked.

He shook his head, giving me a small smile. "Nothing. Just love seeing you with him."

I rolled my eyes, but a part of me warmed at his words.

By the time Boston finished eating, the morning light was a little brighter, and I could hear the faint sounds of people outside—neighbors leaving for work, cars passing by. It was strange, remembering that the rest of the world was still moving when my entire life had shifted into something unrecognizable.

I carefully burped Boston, rubbing slow circles on his back as he let out a tiny hiccup. "Good job, buddy," I murmured.

Stiles stretched, groaning as he got out of bed. "Alright, let's get this day started."

I snorted. "It already started, Stiles. We've been up for an hour."

He grinned. "Yeah, but now we make it official."

Boston let out a soft coo, and I shook my head. "You hear that? Your dad's making it official."

Stiles leaned down, pressing a kiss to Boston's forehead. "Damn right I am."

By the time we made it to the kitchen, Boston had already spit up on me twice, and I had somehow managed to step on one of Stiles's socks that had been abandoned near the hallway.

Stiles yawned as he started making coffee, glancing over at me. "What do you want for breakfast?"

I raised an eyebrow. "You're cooking?"

He placed a hand over his heart, mock-offended. "I can cook, Jackson."

I smirked. "Uh-huh. You mean you can put bread in the toaster?"

Stiles scoffed. "Okay, rude. But yes, I was thinking of making toast."

I rolled my eyes, shifting Boston in my arms. "I'll take toast. But don't burn it this time."

Stiles grumbled something under his breath but turned toward the toaster.

Boston was wide awake now, his big blue eyes staring up at me as I swayed gently back and forth. "You gonna let me eat breakfast today?" I asked him.

He blinked at me.

I sighed. "That's what I thought."

Stiles laughed. "He's plotting against you already."

I carefully sat down at the table, adjusting Boston in my arms. "Of course he is. He's your son."

Stiles beamed. "Damn right he is."

Breakfast was quick—mostly because Boston decided he didn't want to be put down, so I ended up eating one-handed while Stiles kept making ridiculous faces at him.

"You know he doesn't even understand what you're doing yet, right?" I pointed out as Stiles wiggled his eyebrows dramatically at Boston.

"Yeah, but one day he will," Stiles argued, shifting so he could boop Boston's nose. "Gotta start early. Set expectations."

Boston let out a tiny sneeze in response.

I smirked. "I think that was a rejection."

Stiles gasped. "How dare you?"

Boston hiccupped.

I sighed. "Alright, time for a diaper change before you explode on me."

Stiles made a face. "I did the last one."

I shot him a look. "No, you did not."

He grinned sheepishly. "Okay, fine. You caught me."

I shook my head, standing carefully and heading toward the changing table in the living room.

After a fresh diaper and a new onesie—because Boston had somehow managed to get spit-up on both of us—we settled onto the couch. Stiles plopped down beside me, his coffee in one hand and his phone in the other.

"You wanna do anything today?" he asked, glancing at me.

I thought about it for a second.

Most of our days had been spent inside, adjusting to life with a newborn. I hadn't gone anywhere other than the doctor's office, and while Stiles had gone on a few quick grocery runs, we hadn't really done much outside of the house.

"I don't know," I admitted. "I don't think I'm ready for anything big yet."

Stiles nodded, setting his coffee down. "That's fine. We can just take it easy."

I appreciated that about him. He never pushed, never made me feel like I had to do something just because it had been a few weeks.

Boston yawned in my arms, stretching slightly before curling back into me.

"You think he'll nap again?" Stiles asked.

I shrugged. "Maybe. I feel like all he does is eat, poop, and sleep."

Stiles snorted. "He's living the dream."

I rolled my eyes but didn't argue.

We sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching Boston drift in and out of sleep. The morning light filtered through the windows, casting soft shadows across the room.

For the first time in a while, I felt okay. Not perfect. Not completely like myself. But okay. And maybe that was enough for today.

By the time noon rolled around, I felt like I had already lived an entire day.

Boston had gone down for his morning nap a little after 10:30 a.m., which meant I had exactly forty-five minutes of uninterrupted time to shower, change into fresh clothes, and inhale a granola bar before he woke up again.

Now, as I sat on the couch with Boston in my arms, swaying slightly to keep him content, I could feel the exhaustion creeping back in. It was always there, lingering under the surface, but I was learning to function with it. Stiles had been busy putting together lunch, which I could hear him working on in the kitchen, the occasional clatter of dishes breaking the relative quiet of the house.

Boston made a soft noise, shifting against my chest. His tiny fingers curled into the fabric of my shirt, and I glanced down, watching as his sleepy eyes blinked up at me.

"You're not gonna let me put you down, are you?" I murmured.

He blinked again.

I sighed. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

A second later, Stiles appeared in the doorway, balancing two plates in his hands. "Lunch is served."

I raised an eyebrow. "Please tell me it's more than toast."

He gasped, feigning offense. "Excuse you, I made sandwiches. Gourmet sandwiches."

I snorted. "Stiles, putting extra mayo on a turkey sandwich doesn't make it gourmet."

"Hey, it's not just turkey. There's cheese. And tomato. And a little bit of love."

I rolled my eyes but stood carefully, adjusting Boston so he was more secure in my arms. "Alright, well, I hope your love makes up for the fact that I have to eat this one-handed."

Stiles grinned. "I got you."

He set the plates down on the coffee table before taking Boston from me with practiced ease. Boston made a tiny grumble of protest but settled quickly against Stiles's chest.

"See? We got this down to a science," Stiles said, sitting back on the couch and rocking Boston slightly. "Now eat before he decides he needs you again."

I didn't argue. I sank into the couch, grabbing my sandwich and taking a bite. It wasn't anything fancy—just turkey, cheese, and tomato, like he said—but it was food. And these days, that was good enough.

Stiles watched me as I ate, his free hand resting against Boston's back.

"You know," he said, "I was thinking... maybe we should take Boston outside for a little bit today. Just in the backyard, nothing crazy."

I chewed my bite slowly, considering.

We hadn't really taken him outside much since bringing him home. The idea of exposing him to anything made my anxiety spike, but at the same time, I knew fresh air would be good for all of us.

"Yeah," I said after a moment. "That might be nice."

Stiles gave me a small smile, like he knew it was a big step for me. "Cool. We can go after lunch."

After I finished eating, I took Boston back while Stiles cleaned up. He had been more on top of things lately—making sure dishes didn't pile up, doing laundry before we ran out of clean clothes. I appreciated it, even if I hadn't said it out loud yet.

As I rocked Boston, I glanced down at him, studying his tiny features. He was more alert these days, his eyes focusing on things more, his expressions changing in small but noticeable ways.

"You ready for your first real taste of the outside world?" I murmured, brushing my fingers lightly over his soft hair.

He didn't respond, obviously. But I liked to think he understood me on some level. Getting outside was more of a process than I anticipated.

Between making sure Boston was in something warm enough but not too warm, packing a blanket, and gathering the diaper bag (just in case), it took twenty minutes just to step outside onto the back porch.

Stiles, of course, found this hilarious.

"You act like we're taking him on a cross-country road trip," he teased as he held the sliding door open.

I shot him a look. "You're laughing now, but you know if we didn't have everything ready, we'd need something the second we sat down."

Stiles snorted but didn't argue.

We finally settled on the outdoor couch, which had just enough shade from the patio covering to keep the sun from being too harsh. I held Boston close, letting him rest against my chest while I gently swayed.

He blinked up at the sky, his tiny fingers twitching every so often. His eyes were still that deep blue that all newborns had, and I wondered if they would stay that way or change.

Stiles sat next to me, stretching his legs out. "I think he likes it."

I glanced down at Boston. His expression was hard to read, but he wasn't fussing, which I took as a win.

"I think so too."

We sat there for a while, the quiet settling around us.

It was nice.

I hadn't felt this calm in... I wasn't even sure how long.

Stiles must have noticed because after a few minutes, he turned his head toward me and smiled. "You're breathing."

I frowned. "Uh, yeah? I do that sometimes."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "No, I mean really breathing. Like, not all tense, not all wired and anxious. You're just... here."

I let his words sink in.

I hadn't even realized it, but he was right.

For the first time in weeks, I wasn't overthinking everything. I wasn't drowning in my own head. I was just existing.

I looked down at Boston, then over at Stiles.

"Yeah," I said quietly. "I think I am."

Stiles smiled. "Good."

Boston shifted slightly, his tiny mouth opening into a wide yawn.

Stiles chuckled. "Looks like someone is already tired of the great outdoors."

I smirked. "He takes after you."

"Hey," Stiles said, pretending to be offended. "I love the outdoors. I just prefer them from a safe distance."

I laughed, adjusting Boston slightly. "Alright, let's get him inside before he actually wakes up and starts demanding things."

Stiles stood first, grabbing the blanket we had laid across the patio chair. I followed, careful as I walked back into the house.

It was a small thing—just thirty minutes outside—but it felt big.

I had spent the past few weeks feeling like I was stuck in a loop, never really moving forward. But this? This was progress.

And maybe—just maybe—I was starting to believe I could do this.

That we could do this. By the time 2:00 p.m. rolled around, Boston was napping in his bassinet, and I was stretched out on the couch, feeling like I had run a marathon. Stiles sat at the other end, his legs stretched across my lap as he scrolled through his phone, occasionally making small noises of amusement at whatever he was reading.

The house was quiet—one of those rare moments of peace that felt almost too good to be true.

I let my head fall back against the cushions, exhaling slowly. My body still felt heavy, still sore, but I had learned to live with it. The postpartum aches were a constant reminder that even though Boston was here, my body was still recovering from everything it had been through.

"How long do you think he'll sleep?" Stiles asked, glancing at the bassinet.

I cracked one eye open. "If we're lucky? Maybe an hour."

Stiles smirked. "If we're not lucky?"

I sighed. "Twenty minutes."

As if on cue, Boston let out a soft whimper but didn't wake fully. We both froze, waiting to see if it would turn into a full cry.

After a few seconds, he settled again, and I let out a slow breath.

"Close one," Stiles murmured.

I hummed in agreement, shifting slightly so I could rub at my shoulder. "You'd think I'd be used to functioning on this little sleep by now."

Stiles chuckled, putting his phone down. "Your body is still playing catch-up." He shifted, nudging my foot with his own. "You should nap while you can."

I shook my head. "Can't."

"Why not?"

I shrugged, glancing over at the bassinet again. "I just... can't."

Stiles frowned, shifting to sit up. "Jackson."

I sighed, rubbing my face. "I don't know. Every time I try to sleep, I just feel on edge. Like if I close my eyes for too long, something's gonna happen."

Stiles's expression softened. He reached over, placing his hand on my knee. "Babe, I get it. But you need sleep too."

I didn't answer right away. I knew he was right. But knowing and feeling were two different things.

Instead of pushing, Stiles gave my knee a squeeze. "How about this—just lay here with me for a little while. You don't have to sleep, but just... rest."

I hesitated, but the warmth in his eyes made it hard to say no.

"...Okay," I murmured.

Stiles grinned, immediately shifting so he could pull me down beside him. I let my body sink into the couch, my head resting against his chest as his fingers traced slow patterns on my back.

We stayed like that for a while, the silence stretching between us in the best way.

I wasn't sure when my eyes finally drifted shut, but the last thing I remembered was Stiles whispering, "I got you, Jacks. Always."

I woke up to the sound of Boston fussing, and for a second, I felt disoriented. Then I realized I was still curled up against Stiles, his arm draped loosely over my waist. Boston let out another small whimper, and I blinked myself fully awake, stretching slightly.

"I got him," Stiles murmured, shifting beside me.

I sat up, rubbing at my face. "No, it's okay. I'm up."

Stiles didn't argue. Instead, he leaned over, pressing a quick kiss to my temple. "I'll start dinner while you feed him?"

I nodded, already standing and making my way toward the bassinet.

Boston's tiny fists were flailing slightly, his face scrunched up in frustration. I scooped him up carefully, pressing a soft kiss to his head.

"Alright, alright, I know," I murmured, settling into the rocking chair. "Food's coming, little man."

He latched quickly, his tiny hands resting against my chest as he nursed.

Stiles clattered around in the kitchen, humming softly under his breath. I could smell something cooking—something actually decent, which was a pleasant surprise.

I let my head rest against the back of the chair, watching as Boston's little eyes fluttered open and closed.

The past few weeks had been the hardest of my life, but moments like this—this was what made it all worth it.

By 5:30 p.m., dinner was ready, and I was back in the kitchen with a now-content Boston curled against my chest.

Stiles had made spaghetti, which I honestly hadn't expected.

"You actually cooked?" I asked, raising an eyebrow as I settled into my chair.

Stiles scoffed. "Wow. No faith in me."

I smirked. "Can you blame me?"

"Okay, rude."

I laughed softly, shifting Boston slightly so I could eat with one hand. He was dozing, his tiny body warm against me.

Dinner was quiet, both of us too tired to do much talking.

After a few minutes, Stiles spoke up. "So... how are you feeling?"

I glanced at him.

He gave me a knowing look. "And don't say 'fine.'"

I sighed, running my fingers over Boston's back. "I don't know. Some moments feel... easier. But then there are times where it just feels like I'm running on autopilot."

Stiles nodded, twirling his fork in his spaghetti. "That's normal, you know."

I hummed in response, unsure of what else to say.

Stiles studied me for a moment before reaching across the table, squeezing my hand. "I'm proud of you."

I swallowed, my throat suddenly tight.

It was such a simple sentence, but it hit something deep inside me.

"...Thanks," I murmured, squeezing his hand back.

We finished eating in comfortable silence.

By 7:00 p.m., Boston was awake again, stretching his little arms as he let out a tiny yawn.

Stiles grinned. "You ready for bath time, buddy?"

I snorted. "You say that like he enjoys bath time."

Stiles shrugged. "Hey, I'm manifesting, okay?"

Boston let out a soft coo, his eyes blinking sleepily.

I sighed. "Alright. Let's do this."

Bath time was... a process, as always. Boston tolerated it for the most part, though he still gave us the occasional indignant cry.

Once he was dried and dressed in a soft onesie, I cradled him against my chest, rubbing his back in slow circles.

Stiles stood beside me, watching with a soft smile. "He really loves you, you know."

I swallowed, glancing down at Boston. "I hope so."

"I know so," Stiles said firmly.

I didn't respond right away.

Instead, I pressed another gentle kiss to Boston's head, whispering, "Love you, little man."

Stiles wrapped an arm around my waist, leaning into me.

We still had a long night ahead. But for now, in this quiet moment, I let myself feel something close to peace. By the time 9:00 p.m. rolled around, I could feel it—the pull.

It started as a subtle hum under my skin, an energy that hadn't been there earlier in the day. It wasn't overwhelming yet, but I knew it was coming. The full moon was tomorrow, and my body was already reacting to it, muscles tensing in preparation for something primal, something I had spent years learning to control.

But this time felt different.

This time, I had Boston to worry about.

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at my hands, flexing my fingers just to feel something solid, something real. My claws weren't pushing through yet, but I knew it wouldn't be long before my body started shifting in little ways—heightened senses, sharper reflexes, the restless feeling that made it impossible to sit still.

And then there was Boston.

I glanced at the bassinet beside the bed, where he was sleeping peacefully. His tiny chest rose and fell in steady little breaths, his fingers curled into loose fists against his onesie.

We still didn't know if he would inherit any of my supernatural traits.

Would he be a werewolf? A Kanima? Would he even have any supernatural abilities at all?

We had no idea, and that terrified me.

The full moon could trigger something in him. Or it could do nothing. Either way, I couldn't stop my mind from racing with every possible worst-case scenario.

What if he shifted? What if his tiny body couldn't handle it? What if my own instincts went wrong and I wasn't able to control myself around him?

I ran a hand down my face, letting out a slow, shaky breath.

I had never been scared of the full moon before.

Not like this.

The mattress shifted beside me, and I felt Stiles's familiar warmth before I even turned my head. He scooted closer, resting a hand on my back, rubbing slow, grounding circles.

"You're thinking too much," he murmured.

I let out a humorless laugh. "You say that like I know how to turn my brain off."

Stiles huffed a small laugh, pressing a quick kiss to my shoulder. "Fair point." He paused, his fingers still tracing patterns against my back. "You're worried about tomorrow."

It wasn't a question.

I nodded, my throat tight. "Yeah."

Stiles didn't say anything right away, just let the quiet settle between us for a moment before he spoke again.

"Talk to me," he said softly. "What's going on in that ridiculously overthinking brain of yours?"

I exhaled, staring down at my hands again. "I don't know, Stiles. It's just... this is Boston's first full moon, and we don't even know if it's going to affect him. And I—" I swallowed hard. "I don't know how I'm going to be. What if I lose control? What if something happens?"

Stiles's hand stilled against my back before he shifted, sliding fully onto the bed so he could face me. "Jackson, look at me."

I hesitated, then turned my head.

His expression was steady, calm—grounding. "You are not going to lose control."

I clenched my jaw. "You don't know that."

"Yes, I do," he countered firmly. "You've had control over this for years, Jackson. You're not that seventeen-year-old kid who turned into a murder lizard."

I huffed. "Wow, thanks for that visual."

Stiles smirked but didn't let me deflect. He reached up, brushing his fingers along my jaw. "You know how to handle this. And if—if—Boston ends up being supernatural, we'll figure it out. Together."

I exhaled slowly, my shoulders dropping slightly. "What if I can't protect him?"

Stiles's eyes softened. "You are protecting him. Every second of every day. You are literally holding yourself together right now because of how much you love him."

I swallowed past the lump in my throat, looking back at the bassinet. Boston was still sleeping peacefully, completely unaware of how much space he took up in my heart, in my everything.

"I just don't want to screw this up," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

Stiles squeezed my hand. "You won't."

I sighed, shaking my head. "I don't know how you're so sure."

He smirked. "Because I know you. And because you love that kid more than anything in this world, which means you're never going to let anything happen to him."

I let his words settle in, let them sink into the parts of my brain that were trying to convince me otherwise.

For a moment, I let myself believe him.

Boston let out a tiny noise in his sleep, shifting slightly, and I immediately turned my attention to him, my body on alert before I even realized I had moved.

Stiles chuckled under his breath. "See? Already protecting him."

I rolled my eyes, but the tension in my chest had lessened.

Stiles let out a deep sigh and flopped back against the pillows. "Alright, so what's the plan for tomorrow?"

I frowned. "Plan?"

"Yeah, plan," he repeated, stretching his arms above his head. "Because I know you, Jackson, and I know you're not just going to wing this."

I sighed. "I was thinking of taking a suppressant."

Stiles blinked, then sat up slightly. "Really?"

I nodded. "Just to be safe. If Boston does react to the full moon, I need to be fully in control. No heightened instincts, no risk of my wolf or Kanima side reacting before my brain can."

Stiles studied me for a moment before nodding. "That makes sense. I think that's a good idea."

I huffed. "Wow, you agreeing with me? Mark this day down in history."

Stiles rolled his eyes but grinned. "Don't get used to it."

I smirked, but my mind was still running a mile a minute.

Stiles must have noticed because he shifted closer again, his hand finding mine. "Hey," he murmured. "You want to lay down? Try to sleep?"

I hesitated, then sighed. "Yeah. Probably should."

Stiles nodded, standing up to turn off the bedroom light before crawling back into bed beside me. I settled under the blankets, feeling the weight of the day pressing down on me.

Stiles curled up behind me, wrapping an arm around my waist. His hand rested gently against my stomach, his touch grounding.

"You're not alone in this, Jacks," he whispered.

I exhaled, relaxing slightly against him.

"I know."

Boston let out another tiny sigh in his sleep, and I felt my chest tighten—not with fear, but with love.

Tomorrow would be a challenge.

But I wasn't facing it alone.

Chapter Text

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Jackson's Pov

Stiles curled up behind me, wrapping an arm around my waist. His hand rested gently against my stomach, his touch grounding.

"You're not alone in this, Jacks," he whispered.

I exhaled, relaxing slightly against him.

"I know."

Boston let out another tiny sigh in his sleep, and I felt my chest tighten—not with fear, but with love.

Tomorrow would be a challenge.

But I wasn't facing it alone.

Jackson's Pov

August 19th, 2024

It was just after 4:15 a.m. when I jolted awake. Not because Boston was crying, not because Stiles had moved or the house had made some weird creaking noise—no, it was something deeper. Something in me.

My skin felt electric, like static was crawling just beneath the surface. I could feel it in my spine, in the way my jaw ached, like my teeth were preparing to shift even though I hadn't even moved yet.

The full moon wasn't even above the horizon yet, but my body knew.

I turned slowly toward the bassinet next to our bed, heart pounding so loud it echoed in my ears. Boston was still asleep, curled up in a tiny ball, his little hands tucked under his chin. His breathing was steady. Peaceful. Completely unaware of what was happening around him—or inside him.

I sat up carefully, the sheets rustling just enough to stir Stiles beside me. He groaned, shifting onto his side.

"Jackson?"

"I'm okay," I said quietly, even though I wasn't sure that was entirely true.

His hand reached across the bed, brushing against my back. "Is it starting already?"

I nodded once. "Yeah. I can feel it."

Stiles propped himself up on one elbow, blinking through the dim morning light. "Is it bad?"

I hesitated. "It's... manageable. But it's stronger than usual."

He didn't say anything for a second, then sat up completely. "You think it's because of Boston?"

I turned toward the bassinet again, unable to look away from our son. "I don't know. Maybe. Or maybe it's just because I'm on edge."

"Jackson," Stiles said gently, "you've been on edge for days. You haven't slept longer than two hours at a time. You've barely eaten. Your instincts are in overdrive and it's understandable. This is his first full moon."

I nodded, my throat tight. "I just... I don't know what to expect."

I stood slowly and padded over to the bassinet, placing a hand on the edge and looking down at Boston. His little face was so soft, so calm. There was no sign of tension, no shift in his scent, no outward sign that the moon was affecting him at all.

"Is it a good thing or a bad thing that nothing's happened yet?" I asked, not looking away from him.

Stiles joined me, wrapping his arm around my waist. "I think it's just a thing. He's three weeks old. Preemie. It might not trigger anything. Or it might later. But either way, we're prepared."

"Are we?" I asked quietly. "Because I feel like I've been holding myself together with duct tape and instinct since the day he was born."

Stiles turned to me, his expression soft but serious. "Yeah. And you've kept it together better than anyone else could have, considering you're postpartum, running on zero sleep, and dealing with supernatural stress and parenting a newborn. So yeah—we are prepared. Because we've got each other."

My eyes burned suddenly, and I had to look away before I completely cracked.

There was something about hearing Stiles say that—we've got each other—that anchored me in place.

I didn't feel ready for tonight. Hell, I barely felt ready for this morning.

But I had Stiles. And I had Boston.

And I wasn't going to let the full moon take that away from me.

Around 6:00 a.m., I gave up on the idea of sleep completely. I had dozed off on and off between 5:00 and 5:30, but my dreams were filled with flashes of claws, crying, blood, and Boston's cries echoing like they were coming from every direction at once.

When I sat up again, I was drenched in sweat.

Stiles stirred beside me but didn't wake. Boston was still asleep in his bassinet. I stood carefully, walked quietly to the bathroom, and turned on the sink to splash cold water on my face.

My reflection looked back at me like a stranger—dark circles, pale skin, sharp edges. My eyes flickered yellow for a second, then back to their usual blue.

Breathe, I reminded myself. Just breathe.

I made my way into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. Stiles would appreciate waking up to that, and honestly, I needed it more than air.

The kitchen was quiet. The hum of the refrigerator, the drip of the coffeemaker, the early birds chirping outside—normal sounds. Calming sounds.

I sat at the table, staring blankly ahead, waiting for the coffee to finish, trying not to spiral. I had already taken one of the lunar suppressants the night before. It would keep me grounded, hopefully. But the pull of the moon was strong this time. Stronger than usual.

Was it because of Boston?

I didn't know.

But something in my gut told me tonight was going to change something.

Boston stirred a little before 7:00, and I was already moving toward him before his soft cries even reached full volume.

"Shh," I whispered, lifting him into my arms. He was warm, so warm, his little face flushed. Was that normal? I tried to measure his breathing. It was fast—but newborns breathed fast.

Still, I couldn't ignore the small flicker of worry that spread across my chest.

Stiles came around the corner in his pajama pants and one of my old t-shirts, yawning and rubbing his eyes. "Is he okay?"

"I think so," I murmured, but I didn't sound convincing. "He just feels... hot."

Stiles came over and gently pressed his hand to Boston's head, then nodded. "Maybe a little. Could just be body heat from the swaddle."

Maybe. But I could feel the instincts inside me stirring again, louder now. Protective. On guard.

As the sun came up fully, washing the room in soft gold, I looked down at my son—tiny, vulnerable, powerful in a way we didn't yet understand. The clock read 9:37 a.m., but it felt much later.

Boston had just gone down for another nap in the bassinet, and I was sitting on the couch in our living room, a warm mug of decaf tea in my hands. I wasn't trusting myself with another cup of coffee today—not with the moon hanging heavy in the sky tonight and not with the way my hands had been twitchy since before sunrise. Too much caffeine was the last thing I needed.

Stiles was across from me on the loveseat, laptop perched on his thighs. He'd promised not to check work emails while we were on leave, but I could see the guilty look on his face every time he clicked something. Probably a case file. Or maybe Fornell checking in.

"You're breaking your own rule," I said without looking up.

He sighed, closing the laptop with a quiet click. "Caught."

"You lasted a week," I smirked. "Impressive."

"I'm still technically winning. I didn't open Outlook."

"You opened something."

Stiles set the laptop aside and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "Can't help it. It's weird not being in the middle of chaos. You'd think I'd want a break, but I kind of miss it."

I tilted my head toward the bassinet. "You're still in chaos. It just has a smaller volume."

Stiles smiled faintly. "True. But I don't need to chase serial killers with a bottle in one hand."

I looked down at my mug. "It's the first full moon since Boston's birth. I know this is supposed to be our time off, but part of me feels like I should be somewhere. Doing something."

"You are," he said, his voice quiet and sure. "You're right where you need to be."

I didn't respond right away. I knew he was right. I knew that logically, everything I was feeling was just the usual full moon anxiety compounded by parenthood and the fact that I hadn't had more than three hours of sleep in a row in three weeks.

But logic didn't make the buzzing under my skin go away.

I'd taken the first dose of my lunar suppressant last night—just enough to take the edge off, not enough to fully dull my instincts. The meds always made me feel... a little off. Disconnected, in a way I didn't love. But for Boston's sake, I wasn't taking chances.

"I keep watching him like something's going to happen," I said after a moment.

Stiles followed my gaze to the bassinet.

"He's not even showing signs of anything, Jackson," he said gently. "His vitals are normal. Dr. Hayes said his development is right where it should be. No temperature spikes. No restlessness. No scent shifts. I've been watching too."

I nodded slowly. "I know. But... if anything's going to happen, it'll be tonight. If he's anything like me—"

"You were a teenager when you changed," Stiles cut in gently. "And it was forced. Derek bit you. That was trauma on top of trauma. Boston's three weeks old. He wouldn't change even if he had a full wolf gene. His body wouldn't be ready."

"But the Kanima—" I started.

Stiles raised a hand, gently, not accusing. "I know. I know. But you didn't become the Kanima until all of that identity confusion and pain was eating away at you. You were spiraling. Boston isn't. He's safe. He's warm. He's surrounded by love. He's got us."

I swallowed hard. "What if love isn't enough?"

Stiles moved to sit next to me, his arm sliding around my shoulders, tugging me in close.

"Then we give him more."

We sat in silence for a long while. I let my head rest on his shoulder, my eyes falling shut for just a minute. The sun was creeping across the floor, casting long shadows from the window blinds onto the rug. The warmth of Stiles's arm, the soft scent of the baby soap we'd used on Boston last night—it grounded me. Reminded me I was here, now, not in my head playing out a dozen horrible outcomes.

Boston stirred around 10:15, and I was on my feet in an instant.

He didn't cry—just made those little grunting noises he did when he was about to wake. Stiles followed me to the bassinet, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as we peered over at our son.

He blinked slowly, the kind of sluggish, drowsy newborn blink that meant he wasn't entirely awake. His face was pink, his nose scrunched up, and his hands stretched outward, like he was testing the limits of his own arms.

"You hungry, little guy?" I whispered, gently scooping him into my arms.

He made a quiet sound that landed somewhere between a whimper and a sigh. I settled on the couch, shifting my shirt and guiding him to nurse. He latched on easily, and I couldn't help but let out a slow breath of relief. Every time it worked, every time it was easy, it gave me this tiny burst of hope that I was doing something right.

Stiles sat next to me, watching us with that soft look he reserved only for these moments—the ones where it was just us and our son, quiet and safe.

I brushed my fingers along Boston's back, feeling the way his body curled into mine.

"Still no shifts," I said under my breath.

"Still human," Stiles replied just as softly.

"Maybe he'll stay that way," I whispered.

Stiles was quiet for a second. Then, "Would that be better?"

I looked at him. "Wouldn't it?"

He tilted his head. "You've always said your life was harder because of the supernatural, not in spite of it. But would you trade it? What if Boston has something inside him that's powerful—something that helps him later? Would you want to take that away?"

I sighed. "I don't know. I just want him to be safe."

Stiles smiled faintly. "He will be. No matter what he is."

I nodded, holding Boston a little closer.

He was done feeding by 10:45, so I burped him gently and tucked him into the wrap on my chest. He settled quickly, his head resting just under my chin.

I paced slowly around the living room while Stiles picked up the bottle we'd prepped for his next feed and placed it in the fridge.

"Are you still feeling it?" he asked after a minute.

"The moon? Yeah," I said quietly. "It's in my bones."

"You think you'll need another dose of the suppressant before tonight?"

I hesitated, chewing the inside of my cheek. "Maybe. I hate how it makes me feel, but I'd rather be safe."

"We can talk to Deaton," Stiles offered. "He said he'd check in this afternoon."

I nodded again, watching as Boston's tiny hand slipped out from the wrap and rested on my chest.

Stiles came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder. Together, we stared at the little boy between us, feeling the calm before whatever tonight might bring. If there was a storm coming, we were facing it together.

Boston was finally sleeping again, tucked tightly into the wrap against my chest. His breathing had slowed to that soft, rhythmic tempo I could feel more than hear, the kind of stillness that made my pulse match his. I stood in front of the living room window, watching the tree line sway in the distance. The streets in our neighborhood were quiet today—no kids riding bikes, no dogs barking in fenced yards. Just wind, heat, and the buzz of the cicadas that had made a home somewhere in the backwoods behind our fence.

It felt too still. And that stillness made me itch.

I hated days like this.

Not because I didn't love being with Stiles or Boston. That wasn't the problem. It was this gnawing, unshakable disconnect. Like even though my body was here, even though I had a home and a family, part of me still felt hundreds of miles away.

I let my forehead rest against the glass for a moment and closed my eyes.

Forty-one hours. That's how long it would take to drive back to Beacon Hills.

I'd done the math too many times since we moved out to Quantico. Every time someone back home called, or texted, or FaceTimed with a fuzzy screen and a weak signal—every time someone from the pack mentioned Sunday dinner at Deaton's or dropping by the Hale loft—I felt that number press against my ribs like a bruise.

Forty-one hours.

If I got in a car right now, no stops, no sleep, I wouldn't make it back to Beacon Hills until the middle of the next day. Not that I'd do that. But the distance made it feel like I was on another planet.

I used to think moving away from Beacon Hills would make me feel free—like I could finally be Jackson Whittemore without the shadows of the Kanima and Derek's bite hanging over me. And maybe, in some ways, it had.

But what I didn't realize was that Beacon Hills had been the place where I found myself again. It was where I found my pack. Where I found Stiles. Where I'd learned how to control my shifts, how to balance the weight of dual natures. It was where I stopped being angry all the time. Where I started healing.

And now, here I was. Standing in a house in Quantico, Virginia, watching my newborn son sleep against me while the full moon whispered in my bones. And I felt like I was doing it alone.

"I miss home," I whispered, my breath fogging a tiny patch of the windowpane.

Stiles appeared behind me a second later, silently offering me the mug of tea. He didn't say anything, just stood next to me and looked out the window, following my gaze.

"Thinking about them?" he asked softly.

I nodded. "I hate that we're so far. Forty-one hours. I looked it up again this morning."

Stiles sighed and bumped his shoulder against mine. "You always check when you're anxious. Like clockwork."

"I know," I said. "But today... it just feels worse."

Stiles was quiet for a moment. "It's the moon."

"It's the distance."

"It's both."

I glanced down at Boston, still fast asleep and completely unaffected by any of the tension coiled in my gut. "If something happens tonight—if something goes wrong—we can't just call Scott or Derek or Deaton and have them here by dinner."

Stiles nodded, slowly sipping his tea. "I've been thinking about that too. And yeah, it sucks. I miss them too."

I looked over at him. "Do you regret moving here?"

He blinked, caught off guard. "No. Never. Not for a second."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Okay," he corrected, "maybe a second. When I realized D.C. pizza is trash compared to California. But this?" He motioned around the room—our house, our life, our son. "This is ours. We built this. I don't regret that."

I nodded, but I didn't speak. Not yet.

Stiles stepped closer, his hand brushing against my lower back. "You wanna call them?" he asked.

"I already texted Scott this morning," I admitted. "Didn't say much. Just asked if he'd keep the pack grounded tonight. In case I felt... unsteady."

Stiles's eyebrows pinched slightly. "You really think that's a risk?"

I exhaled. "I don't know. But if something happens—if I feel myself slipping—I need to know someone's out there balancing the scales."

Stiles nodded slowly. "I get it."

Boston stirred against my chest, making a soft squeaking noise. I shifted my weight instinctively, bouncing gently to soothe him back to sleep.

Stiles looked down at the baby and smiled. "He's completely unbothered. You think that means he's human?"

I frowned. "It could. But... it could also mean he just hasn't hit that stage yet. I wasn't a born supernatural, remember? I was bitten. This isn't like the Hale bloodline. If he's got something in him, it might not surface until he's older."

"Then maybe we get to breathe for now," Stiles said.

"Or maybe it just means we're waiting for the next shoe to drop."

I didn't mean for the words to come out so bitter. But they did. And Stiles didn't flinch.

"Then we wait," he said simply. "Together."

I looked at him—really looked—and felt that familiar twist in my chest. The kind that only happened when I remembered just how much of my life he held together.

"I'm sorry I've been tense," I said, quieter this time.

Stiles chuckled. "You're always tense, Jackson."

"I mean worse than usual."

His smile faded into something gentler, something real. "I know. I get it. And you're allowed to be. Tonight is a big unknown. But we're not in Beacon Hills anymore, and maybe that's a bad thing sometimes—but we've got each other. And Boston."

I nodded slowly, watching as the wind picked up outside, rustling the trees again.

Stiles leaned in and rested his head against my shoulder. "We're gonna be okay."

I didn't know if he meant tonight or this whole life, but either way, I needed to believe him.

So I whispered, "Okay."

And for the first time all morning, I let myself believe it was true. The clock hit noon, and the sky was still that dull blue-gray, the kind that hinted at the full moon before it ever rose. I could feel it under my skin—pulling. My instincts weren't spiking yet, but they were coiled up like a spring, waiting.

Boston was asleep again, this time in his portable bassinet in the living room while Stiles made us grilled cheese sandwiches and soup in the kitchen. He said it was "comfort food for a stressful day." I didn't argue.

I didn't really feel like eating. But I also hadn't eaten much this morning, and I needed something in my system before the real restlessness started. The suppressant I'd taken last night had dulled some of my natural pull toward the moon, but it hadn't erased it—and the longer I went without eating, the more frayed I felt.

I sat on the couch, absently rocking the bassinet with my foot as I stared out the window. Still quiet. Still no one outside. Still just the wind and the waiting.

"Alright, you need to eat something before you disappear into your own head again," Stiles said, dropping a plate and bowl in front of me. "You're pale."

"I'm always pale," I muttered.

"Okay, fine. You're more broody than usual. That's saying something."

I glanced down at the sandwich and soup. I didn't have much of an appetite, but I forced myself to take a bite. Stiles didn't sit right away. He hovered, watching me, waiting for me to speak.

After a few minutes, I looked up at him. "You don't have to hover."

"I'm not hovering," he said, clearly lying. "I'm monitoring."

I rolled my eyes. "Same thing."

He finally sat beside me. "I'm just... I'm keeping an eye on you. And on him. And on me, because let's be real, this is stressful as hell, and I've never done a full moon with a baby before."

"Me neither," I murmured. "I didn't think I'd ever have to."

Boston stirred in the bassinet, shifting slightly under the light swaddle. I reached out, brushing a hand over his tiny head, careful not to wake him.

Stiles watched me. "You still thinking about taking another dose?"

"Yeah." I nodded. "I need to. I'm holding it together right now, but I can feel it coming. My claws almost pushed through when I was changing his diaper this morning."

Stiles winced. "Okay. Yeah. Definitely take the second dose."

"I just hate how it makes me feel," I admitted. "Like I'm stuck in between—not quite human, not quite wolf. Numb, but raw at the same time. Like I'm missing pieces of myself."

"But it keeps you from shifting," he reminded me. "It keeps you present."

I sighed, resting my elbow on the back of the couch. "I know. I'm just... not used to being this out of control."

"You're not out of control," Stiles said quickly. "You're the most self-aware werewolf-Kanima hybrid I've ever met."

I raised an eyebrow. "I'm the only werewolf-Kanima hybrid you've ever met."

He grinned. "Exactly. You win by default."

I snorted, but the edge of anxiety still clung to me.

After lunch, I took the second dose of the suppressant. I swallowed it with a mouthful of water, staring at the bottle like it might tell me how the night would go.

By 1:30 p.m., the shift started—not a physical one, but internal. The way I always felt when the suppressant kicked in: a kind of emotional muting. My thoughts felt slower, quieter, like someone had turned the volume down in my head. It was better than the sharp anxiety I'd been feeling, but I still hated it.

Boston had woken up again by then. He was more alert now, his eyes wide and blinking at us as I carried him into the nursery. We'd spent so much time in our bedroom lately that I'd barely been in here since he came home.

The room smelled like fresh laundry and baby powder. The mobile above the crib spun slowly, even though no breeze had touched it. The walls were a soft gray-blue, the kind Stiles had picked out before we even knew if we were having a boy or a girl. The shelves were still mostly empty, but a few stuffed animals from Lydia and Malia were tucked into the corners, guarding the space.

I sat down in the rocker with Boston curled against my chest, his little head under my chin. I could feel his heartbeat, soft and fast, and for a moment I just breathed. I needed this—this—more than I could say.

"Do you feel anything?" I asked him quietly. "Anything weird? Anything pulling you?"

He blinked at me, totally uninterested in supernatural revelations. His tiny hand smacked lazily against my chest, like he was more concerned about food than the moon.

I smiled. "Yeah. You and me both, kid."

Stiles leaned in the doorway a minute later. "Everything okay?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Just rocking."

He came in and crouched beside us, brushing a hand over Boston's tiny arm. "He seems calm."

"So far."

Stiles looked up at me. "You do too."

I didn't respond right away. Then I said, "The suppressant helps. But I still feel... weird."

"Not unsafe?"

"No. Just... dulled."

Stiles leaned in and kissed my temple. "I'd rather you be dulled than dangerous tonight."

I exhaled, guilt tugging at my ribs. "You really think I'd hurt him?"

"No," he said instantly. "But I think you're scared you might. And that's enough for me to want you safe. And him safe. Even if it means you feel off for a little while."

I swallowed hard, nodding.

We stayed in the nursery until almost 3:00 p.m., rotating between feeding, rocking, and diaper changes. Boston seemed totally unaffected by the supernatural energy swirling in the world outside—just another day of being held, loved, and changed on a strict schedule.

But I could feel it.

And I could feel the way my body wanted to respond to it.

The sun was starting its slow slide downward by 4:00 p.m. when Stiles pulled me outside to get some air. Boston was asleep again, swaddled and safe in the bassinet in our room with the monitor on full blast.

We sat on the back patio, the late summer heat sticky in the air. It smelled like earth, like pine and faint humidity. And underneath that, I could smell something else—metallic, like blood in my nose. The way I always did before a shift.

"You smell it too?" I asked quietly.

Stiles nodded. "Yeah. It's getting stronger."

We didn't say much for the next thirty minutes. Just sat. Watched the shadows grow long. Felt the world get still.

At 5:30 p.m., I finally stood and said the words I'd been dreading all day.

"We should start preparing for tonight."

Stiles nodded once. "Yeah."

And just like that, the day shifted into something else—something older. Something wild.

And we still didn't know what it would mean for Boston. By the time the sky started turning that heavy lavender-gray, I could feel it crawling under my skin.

The pull.

It wasn't like a tug or a whisper tonight. It was an ache. Deep, low, and hungry. My senses had dulled a little thanks to the second dose of the suppressant, but it was still there, building with the slow certainty of a storm.

Stiles had closed the blinds around 6:00 p.m., dimmed the lights, and put on one of those ambient forest-sound playlists that he insisted made the room feel "calm and earthy." He said it helped me stay grounded. Maybe he was right.

But no sound machine in the world could cancel out the pressure of the full moon rising.

Boston was in his footed pajamas already—little gray ones with tiny moons and stars printed across them. He didn't know what tonight was. He didn't know why I kept glancing at him like I was waiting for something to go wrong.

He was lying in his crib next to our bed, swaddled and dozing, making those soft sighing noises that melted me no matter how tight my chest felt. Stiles sat next to me on the bed, cross-legged, thumbing through a baby book we'd been pretending to keep up with since the NICU.

"You think he'll wake?" I asked.

Stiles didn't look up. "I think he might stir. Like last night. But he's been calm all day."

"And what if he wakes up screaming?" I asked. "Or shifts? Or starts leaking black venom from his ears and nose like I did?"

Stiles closed the book. "Then we deal with it. Together."

I exhaled, hard and sharp. "This isn't just about me shifting anymore. It's not about tying myself to a radiator and waiting it out like I used to. It's him now too. He's so small, Stiles. What if—"

"I know," he said gently, cutting me off. "I've thought about every scenario. I've lived in your head for the last twenty-four hours, remember? And you're right—this could go wrong in a hundred ways."

That didn't help.

"But," he continued, "you're not alone. You have me. And we've got Deaton on standby, and the pack is grounded and keeping the supernatural threads calm across the ley lines. And you took the suppressant, and Boston's been monitored. We're not going into this blind."

I nodded, but I didn't feel any calmer.

Not until I looked at Boston again.

He stirred around 7:15 p.m., opened his eyes for a few minutes, made a little face like he'd just been asked to do taxes, and then dozed back off. No glowing eyes. No shifting. No venom. No panic.

I let out a breath I didn't even know I'd been holding.

Stiles was watching me closely.

"You want to run?" he asked, suddenly.

I blinked. "What?"

"Not leave," he clarified. "Just shift and run. In the woods. You've done it before on nights like this, when the suppressant dulls but doesn't kill the edge. Might help you feel like you're not caged in."

"I don't want to leave him."

"You won't be far. I'll be here. And I'll call if anything changes."

I hesitated. "You sure?"

"I wouldn't offer if I wasn't."

I looked at him again. His eyes were steady. Unshaken.

And I realized—he knew I needed it.

So I nodded.

I changed quickly, pulling on sweats and a loose hoodie, just in case. But once I stepped outside onto the porch, I knew clothes weren't going to last long.

The sky was darkening fast, and I could feel it now. The moon wasn't visible yet—hidden behind thick clouds—but she was there, just out of reach, and my body recognized her the way wolves do.

I walked toward the tree line, past the fence gate, and into the woods behind the house. The minute I stepped under the canopy of pine and oak, I felt my spine stretch, my instincts swell.

And I let it come.

The shift wasn't violent. It wasn't like it used to be, back when I was all fear and fire. It rolled through me like a muscle stretching, like a voice in my chest saying: I'm still here. I've always been here.

The hybrid form was always strange—part wolf, part lizard, part something else entirely. I didn't fully become either. But out here, in the dark, under the weight of the moon, I could be something that didn't need to fear itself.

I ran.

For thirty, maybe forty minutes, I let go.

The wind on my face, my claws skimming bark, the heat in my lungs—it was like breathing for the first time all day. No words. No fear. Just motion and instinct.

By the time I circled back, I was drenched in sweat, my body buzzing but my mind calmer.

Stiles was waiting on the back porch with a hoodie and a bottle of water. He didn't say anything as I shifted back. Just handed me the clothes and sat beside me as I put myself back together.

"Better?" he asked.

I nodded. "Yeah. That helped."

"Boston's still asleep. Not even a twitch."

My heart clenched. "So... nothing?"

"Nope."

A pause.

"Maybe that's a good sign," he added.

I nodded. I wasn't sure if I believed it yet. But I wanted to.

We went inside quietly. Checked on Boston again. His temperature was normal. His scent was normal. His body calm. No spikes. No signs of anything supernatural stirring.

At 9:47 p.m., I finally let myself sit down in bed with Stiles. We left the baby monitor volume high, Boston just a few feet away, and curled around each other under the blankets.

The full moon was out now—full and heavy above the clouds—but we were still here. Still breathing. Still whole.

"He's okay," Stiles said quietly.

I stared up at the ceiling.

"So far."

Stiles reached for my hand. "One night at a time, right?"

I nodded.

I didn't sleep.

I knew I wouldn't. I don't think Stiles expected me to either. He didn't push when I got out of bed around 10:30 p.m. and walked over to Boston's bassinet for what had to be the hundredth time that day. I just stood there in the quiet, watching our son's chest rise and fall, his tiny hand curled against his cheek.

The moonlight filtered in through a crack between the blackout curtains, washing the room in soft silver.

I could feel her now—her. The moon. Hanging above us like a quiet threat. She didn't shout. She didn't scream. She just existed, steady and ancient and cruelly beautiful. She pressed against my bones like she was reminding me what I was underneath the skin. The wolf. The Kanima. The thing that used to kill before it learned how to love.

I wasn't afraid of shifting tonight. That wasn't the part that scared me.

What scared me was the idea that I might not know who my son was. That something in him might be waiting to wake up.

And if it did—would I even recognize it?

I reached down and brushed my fingers across Boston's onesie. He didn't stir. His body was warm, his breath even, his heart steady. Still just a baby. Still just ours.

Behind me, I heard the soft rustle of blankets. A moment later, Stiles joined me, hoodie zipped up halfway, hair a mess, eyes bleary but alert.

"You okay?" he asked, voice rough with sleep.

I didn't answer right away. I couldn't lie. But I didn't want to scare him either.

"I feel like I'm trying to read a map in the dark," I said finally. "Like I know the path is there, but I just can't see it. And I'm scared I'm gonna step wrong."

Stiles moved beside me, close enough that our arms touched. "You haven't stepped wrong yet."

"I might not know if I do."

He was quiet for a beat. Then: "You're not alone out here. You're not lost. I've got a flashlight."

I laughed, the sound soft and tired. "Is it one of those tiny pocket ones that dies in two minutes?"

"It's metaphorical," he said with a smirk. "But sure, let's say it's one of those tactical ones that can also start a fire."

I smiled. But only for a second.

Boston shifted in his sleep, one hand flailing upward before settling again. We both held our breath.

Still no glowing eyes. No inhuman twitching. No venom. Just a baby who wanted to stretch.

It was 11:02 p.m. when the moon crested fully, high above the house. I felt the shift like a click inside my chest. Like the world had turned up the volume just enough that everything buzzed.

The claws didn't come, not this time. But they wanted to.

I walked to the other side of the room, trying to calm the instinct. My breathing was tight, jaw clenched. Stiles watched me but didn't stop me. He knew better.

I let myself pace.

Ten steps from the crib to the wall. Ten steps back.

Again.

Again.

Boston stirred once at 11:28. Let out a soft grunt and opened his eyes for the briefest second. Then he settled.

I knelt beside the bassinet and watched his chest rise and fall. I pressed the back of my hand to his forehead. Still normal. Still no fever. No energy spike. No shift in scent.

Still my baby.

Stiles came to kneel beside me. "He's good, Jacks."

I nodded. I believed him. But I also didn't. Because the moon still hadn't let me breathe.

"Why do I feel like something's coming?" I whispered.

"Because you're a father. And your brain's wired for danger now."

"Or because I know what it feels like when the shift is coming."

Stiles hesitated. "And you don't feel it in him?"

I stared at Boston. "No. But I'm terrified I'm missing it."

We didn't talk for a while after that.

At 12:15 a.m., Boston let out a full cry. Not a scream—just one of his usual hungry, "I'm annoyed" cries.

I snapped into motion before Stiles even turned toward him. My body moved faster than my mind.

I lifted him into my arms and checked him over. His skin was warm but not hot. His face was flushed, but it always got that way when he cried. I peeled back the swaddle and ran my hands gently along his arms and legs. No tension. No twitching. No supernatural glow.

Still just a hungry baby.

I sat in the rocker and began feeding him, his little mouth latching instantly. My heartbeat was pounding in my throat, louder than his breathing.

Stiles crouched beside us. "Still good?"

I nodded slowly. "Yeah. Just hungry."

Stiles let out a breath of relief and kissed the top of my head.

Boston drank, soft and steady. He grunted when he was done and then burrowed against my chest like he knew exactly where he belonged.

1:00 a.m. came and went. So did 2:00.

I didn't sleep.

Neither did Stiles.

We traded off watching, holding, checking vitals even though no one told us to. We weren't afraid of something going wrong, not anymore.

We were afraid of missing it.

But it never came.

No fangs. No scales. No growls. No wild energy pulses or venom or glowing golden eyes.

Just a baby who wanted to be held and fed and loved.

At 3:00 a.m., Stiles finally said, "I think we're okay."

I was sitting on the floor, back against the bed, Boston asleep in my arms. My head rested against the mattress.

I looked up at him, eyes burning. "You sure?"

He nodded. "I think... I think if something was going to happen, we'd know by now."

I looked down at Boston.

Still my baby.

Still just ours.

I pulled him closer, kissed his forehead, and whispered, "You made it through your first moon."

And maybe I had too.

Chapter Text

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Jackson's Pov

I was sitting on the floor, back against the bed, Boston asleep in my arms. My head rested against the mattress.

I looked up at him, eyes burning. "You sure?"

He nodded. "I think... I think if something was going to happen, we'd know by now."

I looked down at Boston.

Still my baby.

Still just ours.

I pulled him closer, kissed his forehead, and whispered, "You made it through your first moon."

And maybe I had too.

Jackson's Pov

August 21, 2024 (Wednesday)

It's been two nights since the full moon, and I still catch myself holding my breath.

I know nothing happened. I know Boston didn't shift, didn't glow, didn't sprout claws or scales or even make a weird face. He slept. Ate. Cried a little. Slept again. A perfectly normal night for a perfectly normal newborn.

And yet... the anxiety hasn't quite faded. It's like my body hasn't gotten the message that the danger passed. Or maybe it's just that I've been living in high alert mode for too long now to come back down.

Now, I'm sitting on our couch in the living room, one leg folded under me, the other foot bouncing Boston's bouncer gently while he kicks his legs with surprising force and makes little huffing sounds like he's already annoyed he can't walk yet.

I can't help but laugh under my breath. "Easy, little man. You've got time. You just figured out your toes last week."

He grunts, kicking again, like that's an insult to his pride.

I take another sip of the cold coffee I've been working on since sunrise. We were up at 3 a.m., 5:30, and again at 7. He's eating more these days. Not cluster-feeding anymore, thank God, but he's gaining weight steadily, alert more often, and I swear he's started tracking Stiles and me with his eyes when we talk.

His focus has this sharpness to it, like he's already trying to figure out the world around him. That scares me sometimes. That his brain might already be working overtime, just like mine used to when I was a kid. Just like Stiles's still does, on days when he disappears into his thoughts for hours.

But maybe that's just parenting — seeing pieces of yourself in this tiny human and hoping they inherit your best parts, not the broken ones.

Boston kicks again. Harder this time. The bouncer jerks a little, and I instinctively reach out to steady it.

"You trying to launch yourself into orbit?" I ask him, grinning.

He makes another frustrated noise and balls his fists like he's gearing up to challenge gravity next. Honestly, it wouldn't surprise me. The kid's determined.

Stiles is upstairs, finally getting a shower. I practically shoved him toward the staircase when Boston went down for his last nap, and he groaned like I was asking him to run a marathon. He's been running on the same fumes I am, trying to keep our little world from toppling over. But at least he got to sleep in until 6:30 this morning, which, in newborn time, is practically noon.

I glance at the baby monitor sitting on the coffee table. It's unnecessary — Boston's right in front of me — but it's habit now. The monitor's always on. The volume's always turned up. Because no matter how close he is, I still have this fear that I'll miss something.

Another little huff escapes Boston as he flails his legs again. He's not upset, just annoyed. Restless. I get it, kid.

"I know," I say, leaning forward to brush my fingers over his soft brown hair. "It's hard being five weeks old and having no control over anything."

He blinks up at me like he understands. His eyes are lighter now — still blue, but softening at the edges into something I think might shift into hazel. Maybe mine. Maybe Stiles's. It's still too early to tell.

"You've got time," I whisper. "You don't have to rush."

I didn't have that luxury, and maybe that's why I keep pushing it on him. I was always rushing. Trying to prove myself. Trying to be good enough, strong enough, fast enough. Now, all I want is for Boston to be able to just be.

The front door opens quietly, and I look up to see Stiles walk in holding a small bag from the pharmacy and a half-empty iced coffee.

"You got out?" I ask, surprised.

He shrugs, setting the bag down and slipping off his shoes. "Boston was asleep. You looked like you were in the zone. I figured I had thirty minutes of freedom before he noticed I was gone."

"He's been attempting to Hulk-smash his way out of the bouncer for the last fifteen minutes," I say, nodding toward our very focused infant.

Stiles laughs and walks over, crouching beside the bouncer. "Hey, little gremlin. You giving your dad trouble again?"

Boston gives him the same annoyed huff. Stiles gasps dramatically. "Oh wow. Rude."

He stands up and leans over me to kiss my forehead, then hands me the iced coffee. "They had your order."

"God, I love you," I murmur, taking a blessed sip of actual caffeine.

"I know," he smirks, flopping down next to me.

We sit in silence for a moment, the kind that's become familiar — the kind that doesn't feel awkward, just lived in. It's strange how fast that happened. Five weeks ago, we were terrified in a NICU room. Now, this is our life. Bottles drying on the counter. Swaddle blankets draped over the back of the couch. Diaper pail half full. Baby on the verge of launching himself into orbit.

"Hey," Stiles says quietly after a while. "You've been quiet since the full moon."

I glance at him. "Just... thinking."

"About Boston?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"I don't know. I guess I was expecting something to happen. A sign. A shift. Something that screamed yes, this kid has claws, or nope, he's just squishy and human."

Stiles nods, leaning back against the cushions. "Maybe no answer is the answer."

"Or maybe we just have to wait."

"Like everything else with parenting," he says, eyes flicking over to Boston. "The great mystery."

We both watch Boston kick himself into a gentle rhythm again. I can see the tiny beads of sweat forming near his hairline. He's been moving nonstop.

"He's gonna be a handful," I say softly.

Stiles grins. "Just like his dad."

I elbow him, and he laughs.

Boston finally lets out a soft squeak — not quite a cry, more of a "notice me" sound. I unclip him from the bouncer, and Stiles helps lift him into my arms. He settles quickly, one hand resting on my chest, his whole body going still.

It hits me then — how small he is, still. Even with his strong kicks and his fast-growing appetite and his endless energy. He fits right against me like he was always meant to be here.

Like he belongs to me. To us.

And nothing supernatural, no looming full moon, no unknown heritage can take that away.

"We're okay," I whisper, more to myself than anyone else.

Stiles hears it anyway.

"Yeah," he says, voice soft as his hand finds mine over Boston's back. "We really are."

August 22, 2024 

It's barely past 5:00 a.m., and the sky outside our window is still more night than morning. That liminal, in-between blue where everything looks colder than it really is, and time feels stretched out, sleepy, like it hasn't decided whether or not it wants to start the day.

Boston woke up at 4:17 on the dot, hungry and absolutely done with the idea of sleeping. It started with his usual warning sounds—those breathy little "ehh, ehh" noises that mean you've got thirty seconds before this turns into yelling—so I got up fast, before he had a chance to go full nuclear.

Stiles didn't even stir. I don't blame him. He took the midnight shift and didn't crawl back into bed until a little after two. I watched him doze off, one hand still curled protectively near the bassinet even in sleep.

I'm in the rocking chair now, Boston cradled against my chest, wrapped in one of his softest swaddle blankets—the gray one with the tiny moons again. His favorite, I think. Or maybe it's my favorite, and I've just decided it's his too.

He's just finished nursing, which, thank God, went smoothly this time. We've had our battles—early latching problems, his occasional preference for a bottle, the frustrating guessing game of whether he was truly hungry or just needed closeness—but this morning, it all clicked. He latched fast, fed deeply, and now he's milk-drunk and dozing, cheek smushed against my collarbone.

I run my palm slowly over his back, feeling the warmth of him, the way his tiny body rises and falls with every breath.

"Good job," I whisper, as if he can hear it, absorb it, file it away somewhere in that developing brain of his. "You did good, Boston."

The house is still. The kind of stillness that only exists before the sun rises—before the day remembers how loud it's supposed to be. There's no traffic yet. No phones buzzing. No agents calling. No distractions. Just me, my son, and the sound of the rocker creaking slightly under my weight.

I used to hate this hour. Back when I lived in Beacon Hills, and then again at the Academy, this time of morning was reserved for drills, training runs, tactical sweeps. There was no quiet then. No time to breathe. Just movement. Constant, grinding movement.

Now it's different.

Now I hold my son in my arms and listen to the quiet. I sit with it. Let it wrap around me like a blanket. This version of 5 a.m. is sacred in a way I didn't know I needed. In this hour, I'm not a hybrid or an agent or anyone trying to prove himself. I'm just a dad. Just Boston's dad.

He sighs in his sleep, his mouth twitching into the smallest ghost of a smile. I don't even know if that's real yet—if babies this age can smile on purpose. But I don't care. I take it.

"You better not turn out to be a morning person," I whisper. "One of us has to keep the streak alive."

He grunts softly in reply. A noncommittal baby noise. Stiles would say that means he agrees with me. I'm choosing to believe it, because it's 5 a.m. and I'm tired and I need a win.

The kettle clicks on in the kitchen—set on a timer, because Stiles swears tea first thing in the morning "resets" his brain. I don't really drink it, but I'll make a cup for him anyway. He'll come down in a couple hours, eyes still half-closed, hair sticking up in wild angles, and he'll pretend not to smile when I hand it to him.

I live for that smile. Even when it's hidden behind a yawn.

I shift Boston carefully, one hand under his back, the other supporting his head. He doesn't stir. Not even a twitch. His lips are parted slightly, tiny breaths ghosting over my hoodie. I don't dare move him yet.

These quiet moments don't last long.

Some mornings, I catch myself staring at him too long. Trying to memorize every angle of his face. The curve of his lashes. The perfect swirl of his hairline. The faint blue vein beneath his eyelid that pulses with life, with everything. It's terrifying, how much I love him. How much of me belongs to him now. I didn't even notice when it happened—it just did.

He has no idea how much I've changed for him. How much I will keep changing.

I'm calmer now. More patient. Still high-strung in the ways I've always been, but the edges are softer. There's no room for rage anymore, not when there's a tiny human relying on me to stay steady.

I rock with him for another twenty minutes or so, until my legs start to ache and my arm is numb. Then I very carefully stand, tiptoeing across the hardwood to the bassinet we keep in the living room during the day. I ease him down, praying to every deity I don't believe in that he stays asleep.

And he does.

I breathe out slowly and back away like I've just defused a bomb.

The tea kettle finishes, and I make Stiles's mug, just the way he likes it. One sugar. Splash of milk. I set it by the coffee maker where he'll see it as soon as he comes downstairs.

Then I sit on the floor in front of the bassinet and just watch.

This is my favorite view. Boston, swaddled and safe, mouth open just slightly, one hand twitching like he's dreaming. Probably about milk. Or kicking his bouncer into submission.

The clock reads 6:17 a.m. now.

I should go back to bed. I should crawl under the covers and sleep for a little while before Boston's next feed, before Stiles wakes up, before the rest of the world realizes it's Thursday and decides to start spinning again.

But I don't.

I just stay here.

And listen to my son breathe.

 By the time Stiles came downstairs, Boston had already woken up again.

He was fussing in his bassinet at 6:41 on the dot, kicking his legs like a tiny athlete and making frustrated little "huh, huh, huh" noises that meant Pick me up. I'm mad. And I don't know why yet.

I was already crouched next to him when Stiles padded into the living room. His hoodie was halfway zipped, his hair was still gravity-defying from sleep, and his feet were bare—he always forgot his socks in the morning. He blinked blearily at the scene in front of him: me in sweats, Boston in a fresh diaper, and a half-empty bottle warming beside us.

"Did I sleep through another feeding?" he asked, scrubbing at his face with both hands.

"You earned it," I said. "And yeah. He's been up since 4."

Stiles groaned but shuffled closer and dropped onto the floor next to me, leaning his head on my shoulder. "You smell like baby wipes and exhaustion."

"I'm pretty sure that's just my natural scent now."

We both sat there for a moment while Boston continued to wiggle and grumble.

"You want me to feed him?" Stiles asked, already reaching for the bottle.

"I got him," I said softly, lifting Boston into my arms and settling into the rocker. "You make yourself drink that tea I left you."

Stiles blinked like he'd just remembered it. "You're too good to me."

"You say that like it isn't true."

Stiles disappeared into the kitchen, and I focused on getting Boston settled. He took the bottle quickly, latching without protest. I watched his eyes flutter open and closed while he drank, his tiny hands curling into fists and then relaxing again.

He looked so content in that moment. So safe. So loved.

"You've got a good life, little man," I murmured. "We're still figuring it out, but we've got you."

By 7:15 a.m., we were in the nursery, which had quickly become less a quiet space for naps and more a chaotic rotation of clean laundry piles, discarded burp cloths, and the ever-present scent of baby shampoo. I changed Boston while Stiles picked out a new outfit for him—something soft and breathable, since it was already humid out, and the forecast was pushing 90 degrees.

"He'll outgrow this by next week," Stiles said, holding up a onesie that used to be loose on him and now looked almost snug.

I smiled. "That's what happens when you eat every ninety minutes."

"I still think he's gonna be a lacrosse player."

I raised an eyebrow. "Says the guy who used to complain about practice every day."

"Okay, but," Stiles said, pointing a finger at me, "I never had a dad who used to be team captain and a supernatural hybrid with unfair reflexes."

"Genetics only get you so far," I muttered, snapping the final button on Boston's onesie. "And I'm not going full stage parent."

"Liar."

I smirked, lifting Boston and nuzzling my nose against his. "Okay. Maybe a little stage parent. Just enough to make sure he knows he's the fastest toddler on the playground."

Boston sneezed and then immediately grunted like the sneeze offended him personally.

Stiles laughed. "Yup. That's my kid."

By 8:00 a.m., we were all downstairs again. Boston had already spit up once on the new outfit. I was carrying him around shirtless while Stiles worked on breakfast—oatmeal for him, scrambled eggs and toast for me.

We'd figured out this dance in the last five weeks: trading off shifts of sleep, passing the baby back and forth, timing feedings and naps like a pair of low-stakes spies on an intel mission. There were missteps, sure. Days when neither of us remembered if we'd eaten. But we were getting better.

We sat on the couch again to eat—Boston dozing against my chest while I carefully maneuvered toast with one hand and tried not to drop crumbs on his head.

Stiles looked over at us and smiled.

"You look natural like that," he said.

I raised a brow. "Shirtless and covered in formula?"

"I mean it," he replied. "You look like... you were meant to be someone's dad."

That hit something deep in my chest.

"You think I'm doing okay?" I asked, barely above a whisper.

Stiles didn't even pause. "I think you're doing more than okay. You're in it, every second. Even when you're tired or frustrated or terrified. And Boston knows it. He knows you love him."

I didn't answer. I couldn't. My throat was too tight.

He didn't press. Just kept eating beside me like he hadn't just said something that would sit with me all day.

By 9:00 a.m., Boston was wide awake again. Eyes open, hands flailing, legs kicking at anything and everything. We laid out a blanket on the living room floor for tummy time and watched him struggle valiantly to lift his head, groaning in protest the entire time.

"I know it's hard," I said, lying on my stomach beside him. "But you've gotta get those little muscles working."

He grunted again, forehead crumpling in determination.

"You were that dramatic when Derek made you do pushups," Stiles called from the kitchen.

I flipped him off without looking up.

By 9:30 a.m., Boston had rolled off the blanket entirely, managing a full-body scoot that took him to the edge of the rug.

"Okay, now that's new," Stiles said.

"Is five weeks too early to start baby-proofing?" I asked.

Stiles tilted his head. "Emotionally? Yes. Logistically? Maybe not."

I scooped Boston up and he immediately went limp, curling into my chest like he was done with his workout. His face was flushed, and I could feel a warm little patch of drool forming against my collarbone.

"Nap time again?" Stiles asked.

"Nap time always," I said.

He followed me upstairs while I got Boston resettled in the bassinet in our bedroom. He was asleep almost instantly, mouth open, arms splayed like he'd just finished running a marathon.

I stood there for a minute longer than I needed to, watching him breathe.

"You okay?" Stiles asked from the doorway.

I nodded. "Yeah. I just... never want to forget this."

Stiles came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and pressing his cheek against my shoulder.

"We won't," he whispered. "We'll remember all of it."

We stayed there in the doorway for a little while longer. Just watching. Just listening.

Until the sun came fully through the blinds, and the day asked us to begin again. The house was quiet after lunch.

Stiles had managed to convince me to eat more than toast, which was a feat considering how tired I was. I only agreed because Boston had just gone down for a nap and the silence felt like an endangered species in this house—something we had to protect, and maybe enjoy for more than five minutes.

We sat at the kitchen island, splitting leftover pasta and some quickly thrown together salad while the baby monitor sat between us, volume cranked up just enough that we could hear the soft static hum, but not enough to keep us on edge.

"He only woke up three times last night," Stiles said mid-chew. "I mean, that's practically sleeping through the night, right?"

"Don't jinx it," I warned. "You know if we say that out loud, he's going to scream from 1 a.m. to sunrise."

Stiles snorted. "Not if I bribe him."

"With what? He eats, sleeps, and poops."

He pointed his fork at me. "Exactly. I'll offer extra food and no tummy time."

I laughed despite myself and shook my head. "He's got you so wrapped already."

"Obviously." He grinned. "You think I'm immune to chubby cheeks and angry baby squeaks?"

I leaned my head against my hand, smiling. "He's gonna have you completely trained before he's even crawling."

"Already does," Stiles said. "But don't worry. He's got you, too. You're the comfort human."

"Comfort hybrid," I corrected.

We both laughed, and it felt so damn normal, I almost forgot what it was like to live in fear of the supernatural for years. To exist constantly bracing for the next crisis.

Boston had changed everything.

By 1:00 p.m., we were back in the living room, and I had Boston laid out on the activity mat Peter sent us. Stiles still wasn't sure how to feel about accepting gifts from Peter, but I couldn't deny the mat was nice. It had dangling woodland creatures, crinkly edges, and a mirror that Boston loved to stare at like he was personally offended by his own face.

"He's going to roll soon," I said, watching Boston kick and grunt at the dangling owl overhead.

"He just discovered his left hand last week," Stiles said. "Give the kid a minute."

Boston made a noise somewhere between a growl and a cough, then smacked the toy with a surprising amount of force.

I blinked. "Okay, never mind. Maybe tomorrow."

We took turns rotating him every ten minutes, checking to make sure he wasn't overheating, watching his legs flail with enthusiasm that made me tired just looking at him. He was so determined. Even now. As if he was trying to make up for the time he spent in the NICU, like he was making sure we never once underestimated him.

"He's gonna have your work ethic," Stiles said as he took over mat duty.

"Or yours," I said, settling into the couch. "You forget, you were the one dragging me through AP Chem while texting Scott during an active werewolf manhunt."

"I multitask with style," he said smugly.

Boston gave the owl another swat and then turned to glare at the mirror again. We both burst out laughing.

Around 2:00 p.m., Boston needed another feed. I took him upstairs to our room while Stiles used the moment to crash on the couch with a book that he was probably too tired to read.

As I sat in the rocker with Boston nursing again, I let myself drift. Not asleep—just... soft. Unfocused. Boston's fingers gripped the edge of my shirt like he needed to hang on, and I closed my eyes, feeling his warmth settle into my chest like a reminder that I was still here. That we were still here.

This wasn't how I pictured my life five years ago. Hell, even three years ago. The idea of being someone's dad, of rocking a baby through a late August afternoon while the crickets buzzed outside and the scent of laundry soap hung in the air... I wouldn't have believed it.

But I wouldn't trade it for anything.

After feeding, Boston stayed in my arms, curled up and dozing, mouth slack and cheeks flushed pink. I didn't put him down. I didn't want to.

By 3:00 p.m., Stiles came upstairs and leaned in the doorway, a smile tugging at his lips.

"You ever gonna let me hold my kid again?"

"Maybe," I whispered. "He's warm."

"You're such a softie."

"You love it."

He grinned, came over, and pressed a kiss to my forehead. "I really do."

He took Boston gently, settled him into the portable bassinet, and we both hovered like we always do. Watched his chest rise and fall. Checked his temperature, his coloring, every little detail that no one ever prepared us to obsess over.

"He's getting chubbier," Stiles said quietly.

"He's filling out."

Stiles ran a finger down Boston's arm. "He feels... stronger than a few weeks ago. His body, I mean. Like he's holding himself tighter. His scent is changing a little too."

I swallowed. "I know."

"You think it's starting?"

I shook my head. "I don't know. Could just be normal baby development. Could be something more."

We didn't speak for a minute. Just watched him sleep.

At 3:45 p.m., we were back downstairs. Boston was still napping, the baby monitor clipped to my waistband while I helped Stiles start prepping dinner. We'd gotten into a rhythm where whoever didn't feed or rock got stuck with dinner duty. Today, that was him.

"Do I get points if I make something green?" Stiles asked, holding up broccoli like it was a science experiment.

"Only if you don't burn it this time."

He gasped. "How dare you."

We argued about seasoning for fifteen minutes, then compromised with lemon pepper and garlic salt because, as Stiles put it, "That's what Gordon Ramsay would do if he were an exhausted FBI agent with one clean pan left."

By 4:30 p.m., dinner was in the oven, Boston was starting to stir again, and I was back in the rocker for his afternoon cuddle session while Stiles cleaned up. The golden hour sun poured through the windows, turning the room soft and warm. Boston blinked slowly up at me, dazed and dreamy.

I hummed quietly—a lullaby I remembered from my own childhood but couldn't place the words to. Just the melody. It must've been buried somewhere deep in my memory, one of the few soft things I'd carried with me all this time.

Stiles came in behind me, drying his hands with a dishtowel.

"You singing?"

I shook my head. "Just humming."

"Whatever it is, he likes it."

Boston's eyes drifted closed again, and his mouth relaxed into the tiniest smile.

I felt something loosen in my chest.

The house was still. Dinner was cooking. My son was safe in my arms. By the time the oven timer dinged at 5:15, Boston had fully woken up and was letting us know — not with full cries, not yet, but with his signature warning whines. His little fists waved in the air, his legs kicking against the blanket that had somehow tangled around him in the bassinet.

"Okay, okay," I said, scooping him up before he could work himself into something dramatic. "We're gonna do food first, then bath, then snuggles. The usual, yeah?"

He blinked up at me like I was being extremely slow on purpose.

Stiles appeared in the doorway from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel. "Dinner's done, chef," he said, then turned to Boston. "And for our star guest — warm breastmilk, vintage two hours ago, served in a well-loved bottle."

I rolled my eyes but smiled. "He's unimpressed by your wine list."

"Babies have no taste."

Stiles brought the bottle over, and I took my usual spot on the couch. Boston latched quickly, his hunger finally catching up to the long afternoon nap.

Stiles sat beside me, plate of pasta in hand, already halfway through a bite. "You want me to bring yours?"

"In a minute," I said, nodding toward the baby. "He comes first."

"Softie," he said around a mouthful of penne.

"I'm not even arguing anymore."

The house was filled with the soft sounds of dinnertime — silverware clinking, baby suckles, the quiet hum of the fan overhead. I didn't realize how much I loved this hour until we started making it a routine. The stretch of time where the sun starts dipping low, the world slows down, and everything starts to feel manageable again.

Boston finished his bottle, pulled away, and let out a belch that echoed like he was proud of it.

I laughed, shifting him upright to burp him more gently. "You're definitely Stiles's son."

"Don't put your crimes on me," Stiles said, grinning.

Boston blinked slowly, clearly in that in-between state: not fully asleep, not fully awake.

"Bath time?" Stiles asked.

I nodded. "Let's do it before he gets a second wind."

Bath time had become one of Boston's favorite parts of the day — surprisingly. At first, he'd hated it. Flailing, screaming, absolute betrayal. Now, he seemed to find comfort in the water, especially when one of us kept a steady hand cradled beneath his head.

We had a little tub we set up in the kitchen sink, perfectly sized for him, with a padded insert to keep him from sliding around. I handled undressing and wrangling while Stiles filled the water and set out the washcloths.

Boston cooed as we eased him into the warm water, his tiny limbs stretching.

"He's starting to like this too much," Stiles said. "We're raising a bath snob."

"Better than a bath screamer," I pointed out.

We took our time, letting him kick his feet gently while we washed his hair and gave him the gentlest mini-massage we could manage. It wasn't just about getting him clean. It had become a ritual, something that helped all of us let go of the day.

Once he was dry and dressed in his softest pajamas — dark gray with tiny lightning bolts — we brought him back to the couch.

Stiles handed me my dinner, and I finally got to eat, balancing the plate on one knee while Boston nestled into the crook of my other arm.

We watched a rerun of some sitcom neither of us had the brainpower to actually follow. The TV volume was low. The lights even lower. By eight, Boston was clearly tired. He'd yawned three times in a row and rubbed his face against my shirt like he was trying to physically erase the sensation of being awake.

We brought him upstairs, one of us grabbing the swaddle while the other dimmed the nursery lights.

He fussed a little when I laid him in the bassinet, but once I hummed — that same melody I didn't have words to — he went quiet. Still. Watching me with those wide, sleepy eyes.

I leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"Night, Boston," I whispered.

Stiles added, "We'll be right here."

He was asleep before we even left the room.

Back downstairs, we didn't talk much. We just curled into each other on the couch, the baby monitor between us, the hum of the dishwasher filling the silence.

Stiles rested his head on my chest, his hand splayed lightly over my stomach.

"You good?" he asked.

I nodded. "Yeah. I think I'm finally breathing again after the full moon."

"Still thinking about it?"

"Always."

"But you're not afraid anymore."

I hesitated. "I'm still a little afraid. But it's not the kind that eats me alive."

"That's progress."

I kissed the top of his head. "It's you."

He didn't argue.

We checked on Boston one more time before bed. He was curled on his side, arms loose, completely at peace. His cheeks were flushed, his breath soft.

We stood there for a few moments, just watching.

"Still no signs?" Stiles whispered.

"No. He's just him."

Stiles reached for my hand. "That's enough."

We went to bed with the monitor between us, just loud enough to hear every little sigh and shuffle.

Boston stirred once, at 11:52.

I was up before the sound was even clear.

By the time I reached the bassinet, he was already settling again. Just a sleep whimper. A dream.

I rested my hand lightly over his chest.

Still here.

Still okay.

And so, finally, I let myself sleep.

Chapter Text

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Jackson's Pov

We went to bed with the monitor between us, just loud enough to hear every little sigh and shuffle.

Boston stirred once, at 11:52.

I was up before the sound was even clear.

By the time I reached the bassinet, he was already settling again. Just a sleep whimper. A dream.

I rested my hand lightly over his chest.

Still here.

Still okay.

And so, finally, I let myself sleep.

Jackson's Pov

August 25th, 2024

5 weeks and 4 days old

The world was still gray when I woke up.

Not quite dark anymore, not fully morning either. That strange, muted hour where even the house itself seemed to hesitate, unsure whether to stay sleeping or start stretching awake. I rolled onto my side, careful not to jostle Stiles, who was still tangled in the blankets beside me, mouth slightly open, completely dead to the world.

The baby monitor on my nightstand glowed softly. No cries. No whimpers. Just the steady, low static that had somehow become the new background noise of my life.

I sat up slowly, swinging my legs over the side of the bed, and ran a hand through my hair. My body was stiff in that familiar, heavy way — the kind of exhaustion that no amount of sleep could erase. But there was something else too, a buzz just under my skin. Restlessness. A quiet hum that told me, even without checking, that Boston would be stirring soon.

I pulled on a hoodie — one of Stiles's, soft and worn thin — and padded barefoot across the hardwood to Boston's bassinet in the corner of our room.

He was awake.

Not crying yet, but fidgeting. His hands flexed in the swaddle, legs kicking tiny protests against the confines of the blanket. His face was scrunched up like he was working through a very important decision, and I smiled despite how tired I was.

"Hey, buddy," I whispered, crouching down so he could see me. His eyes blinked open at the sound of my voice, unfocused but searching. "Morning. You thinking about starting trouble already?"

He let out a tiny grunt, the kind that meant yes, obviously, and I chuckled softly.

I scooped him up, one arm curling automatically under his head, the other cradling his body against my chest. His warmth soaked into me instantly, grounding me in the way nothing else ever had. His scent — soft, clean, uniquely him — wrapped around me like armor against the creeping grayness outside.

Boston shifted, pressing his face into my hoodie, his small body relaxing now that he was being held. His hand broke free of the swaddle and latched onto the fabric near my collarbone with surprising strength.

I kissed the top of his head and whispered, "Okay, okay. Let's get your day started."

Downstairs, the house was even quieter. The wood floor creaked under my steps, familiar and worn. I didn't bother turning on the lights. The soft blue-gray glow filtering in through the windows was enough to see by, and honestly, I didn't want to break the fragile peace hanging in the air.

I made my way to the living room, where Boston's bouncer sat waiting near the couch. It had become our routine — me sitting here in the early morning hours, one leg folded under me, the other foot bouncing Boston's seat gently while he kicked his legs and made huffing sounds like he was already frustrated that he couldn't run a marathon.

I settled into the couch, carefully tucking him into the bouncer. His feet immediately started moving, strong little kicks that made the whole thing wobble slightly.

"You've got opinions about everything, huh?" I murmured, smiling as I bounced him with my foot.

Boston huffed again — that same determined little sound he made when he was trying very hard to express himself without words. His arms waved in the air like he was already trying to crawl, like there was some race happening that only he could see.

I just watched him for a while. No phone. No distractions. Just me, my son, and the steady rhythm of the bouncer rocking back and forth.

There was something sacred about these hours. Before the coffee. Before the emails. Before the weight of the world remembered to settle on my shoulders. Here, in this little bubble of half-light, it was just us. No expectations. No fear. No future pressing in too hard.

Boston kicked again, stronger this time, and let out a little frustrated squeal.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees so I could be closer to him. "You're strong," I told him softly. "Stronger than you know."

He blinked up at me, unfocused but intent.

"I hope you know... you don't have to fight so hard," I whispered. "Not here. Not with us. You're safe."

He didn't answer, obviously. But in the way his tiny hand stretched toward me, fingers grasping at the air like he was trying to hold onto something, I imagined he understood. At least a little.

The clock on the wall ticked toward 5:30 a.m. Boston's kicks slowed. His eyelids started to flutter with sleep again, the fight draining out of him as he relaxed back into the soft seat.

I kept bouncing him gently with my foot, not daring to stop, not wanting to break the spell.

This — this — was what they never told you about becoming a parent. It wasn't just the feedings, the diapers, the endless worry. It was these fragile, golden minutes where nothing else existed but the weight of a tiny human trusting you with his entire world.

And somehow, against all odds, you trusted yourself enough to carry it.

I reached out and brushed a finger along Boston's cheek, smiling when he tilted his face toward the touch in his sleep.

"You're doing okay, kid," I murmured. "We're both doing okay."

And for once, I actually believed it. By the time the clock ticked over to 7:00 a.m., I knew it was coming even before Boston made a sound.

There was this instinct, deep and old in my bones, that stirred the second he shifted in his bouncer. A subtle change in his breathing, the way his arms jerked slightly out of sync, his legs giving one of those disjointed, searching kicks. His body language spoke louder than any cry, and I was already moving before he let out the first soft, hungry whimper.

I scooped him up easily, the weight of him familiar and grounding. His head nuzzled immediately against my chest, seeking, rooting instinctively. It didn't matter that he was still half-asleep; his body knew exactly what it wanted.

I settled onto the couch, shifting the hoodie I was wearing up out of the way. I'd gotten used to it by now—the mechanics of it. Nursing had been awkward at first, especially when my body was still healing and adjusting, but five weeks in, it had become almost second nature. It wasn't perfect yet. Some feedings went smoother than others. But we'd found our rhythm, Boston and I, and in the stillness of the early morning, it felt almost easy.

Boston latched without hesitation, his tiny mouth finding the right spot with a desperation that made me ache a little. His fists curled into the fabric of my hoodie, clinging tightly as he fed, his whole body relaxing against me in slow increments as his hunger started to ease.

I leaned my head back against the couch and closed my eyes, breathing him in.

These moments were a kind of magic I hadn't expected when I found out I was pregnant. Back then, it was all fear and logistics. How would my body handle it? Would the supernatural parts of me interfere? Would Boston be safe? Would I be enough?

But now—now, holding him against me, feeling his heartbeat match mine as he fed—none of those doubts mattered.

He was here.

He was real.

And somehow, against every odd the universe threw at us, he was thriving.

The morning light had shifted while I sat there, turning the living room from gray to gold. It painted soft stripes across the rug, dust motes dancing lazily through the beams. Boston's hair caught the light, and for a second, he looked almost ethereal—tiny and perfect and endless.

I brushed my fingertips over his back slowly, feeling the tiny muscles moving under his skin as he suckled, the way his shoulder blades flexed and settled again. His little ears were flushed pink from effort, and every so often he made a soft, contented grunt against me.

"You're doing good, buddy," I whispered. "You're doing so good."

The words weren't really for him. They were for me. A reminder that I could do this. That we were doing it, together, minute by minute, feed by feed, breath by breath.

Boston shifted slightly, adjusting his latch without even waking fully. It amazed me, sometimes, how much he just knew what to do, how much was hardwired into him from the start. I wondered if that instinct was purely human, or if maybe—just maybe—there was something a little bit supernatural humming quietly in him too.

I didn't feel anything yet. No surge of energy, no flicker of shifting. But it was there, tucked away like a seed in springtime soil, waiting. I wasn't afraid of it anymore, not the way I had been before the full moon. If Boston had inherited that part of me—the wolf, the kanima—it would be a part of him the same way his tiny, stubborn spirit already was. And he'd never have to face it alone.

I pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head, breathing him in, letting the scent of him chase away the last stubborn shadows of worry clinging to my brain.

The feeding slowed gradually. Boston's strong, desperate pulls became softer, more languid, like he was drifting off again. I shifted slightly to support his head better, feeling the solid weight of him in my arms. Five weeks ago, he had felt fragile, like spun glass. Now he was heavier, denser. Still small—but full of life, full of growth.

When he finally pulled away with a soft, sleepy sigh, I lifted him to my shoulder and began to rub slow circles over his back.

The burp came quickly, a small but satisfying sound that made me grin.

"Good job, little man," I murmured. "Full belly, happy heart."

He melted against me, boneless and warm, his breathing evening out as he slipped into a deeper sleep.

I didn't move right away. I didn't want to.

The house was still quiet, Stiles still upstairs, the world outside still caught between night and day. It felt like we were suspended here, just the two of us, wrapped in a bubble no one else could touch.

Boston's hand twitched against my chest, a reflex more than anything, and I gently tucked his arm closer to his body. His face was soft in sleep, his mouth parted slightly, cheeks flushed pink and healthy.

Looking at him like this, it hit me again—the magnitude of it all.

I had made this. Somehow. Me. The kid who spent half his teenage years lashing out at anyone who got too close. The hybrid who once thought he was nothing but broken pieces stitched together by anger and fear. I had helped create something pure. Something good.

Boston shifted again, nestling deeper into my chest, and a lump rose in my throat so quickly it startled me.

I closed my eyes, breathing through it.

This was the part no one told you about—the quiet, soul-deep love that stole your breath and rewrote every part of who you were. It wasn't loud. It wasn't dramatic. It was soft. It was steady. It was the foundation I hadn't even realized I'd been building toward my whole life.

I shifted carefully, easing us both into a more comfortable position on the couch. I wasn't planning on sleeping again, but I didn't want to get up either.

So I stayed there.

Held my son against my chest.

Listened to the rise and fall of his breathing.

And let the morning bloom around us in slow, golden silence. Boston was asleep again, chest to mine, tiny body pressed like a warm little bundle of purpose against my heartbeat. His arms were limp now, one tucked under his chin, the other draped lazily over my side. And in his mouth, rhythmically bobbing with the softest, most peaceful motion, was his brand-new pacifier.

Just two days ago, his pediatrician gave us the okay to try one — said Boston was latching well, gaining weight beautifully, and that introducing a pacifier might help soothe him in those in-between times when he didn't need to eat but still wanted the comfort.

I'd been hesitant at first. It felt like cheating, giving him something synthetic when I could just nurse him again or hold him tighter. But then the first time he took it, he'd let out this tiny sigh of satisfaction, like his little world had just become a bit easier to handle.

Now, watching it move gently with each suck, I couldn't argue with the results. His face was calm, his brow relaxed, his body still and secure where he lay curled against me.

We were still on the couch. I'd adjusted myself slightly so I could stretch my legs out, my arm cradling him firmly, his head nestled perfectly between my collarbone and shoulder. The pacifier wiggled with each soft breath, and I could feel the flutter of his lashes every so often when he drifted a little deeper into sleep.

The living room was bathed in the kind of light that only happened around nine or ten in the morning. Warm, filtered through the blinds, brushing over the furniture in stripes. Outside, I could hear birds. Some cicadas too, buzzing faintly like background noise. The rest of the world felt distant—softened behind layers of quiet and routine.

I didn't want to move.

Boston was safe. Fed. Dreaming whatever it was five-week-old babies dreamed about. Maybe milk. Or shadows on the ceiling. Or just the sound of Stiles's voice, which had quickly become one of his favorite things.

The pacifier clicked softly with every suck, slow and steady. It was comforting. Like a clock you didn't mind ticking. Something that let you know time was passing in a good way.

I turned my head a little and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. His hair was getting a little longer now, still soft and wispy, but enough that it tickled against my chin. He smelled like that baby soap we used—the gentle lavender one Stiles liked because it made the whole upstairs smell calm for hours afterward.

From the hallway, I heard the creak of the stairs. Light footsteps. A pause. Then a voice, still raspy with sleep.

"You didn't come back to bed."

I looked up to see Stiles leaning against the doorway, hair a mess, wearing pajama pants and a Beacon Hills lacrosse hoodie that had definitely been mine before he claimed it.

I offered him a soft smile. "Didn't want to wake you."

He padded into the room barefoot and leaned over the back of the couch to press a kiss to the side of my face. Then he looked down at Boston.

"Pacifier debut?" he asked, whispering even though he didn't need to.

I nodded. "Big success."

Stiles smiled and brushed a finger lightly along Boston's back. "He looks smug about it."

"He looks asleep."

"Same thing," he whispered.

He came around the couch and sat beside me, tucking his legs under himself. His hand slid over mine, fingers curling gently as he stared at the baby on my chest.

"How long's he been out?"

"Almost an hour. He fed around six-thirty, dozed off a little, and then really conked out when I gave him the pacifier."

Stiles let out a quiet hum, that content kind of noise he always made when something just fit into place.

"He's growing so fast," he said after a moment. "Look at his legs—those were sticks two weeks ago."

"They still kind of are," I smirked. "Just... meatier sticks."

Stiles laughed softly. "Little preemie overachiever."

We fell into a silence then, not because we ran out of things to say, but because we didn't need to fill the air with anything more. It was one of those rare mornings where time felt generous. Where nothing needed to be rushed. Where the quiet wasn't just an absence of noise, but a presence all its own.

Boston shifted slightly on my chest. His tiny mouth released the pacifier for just a second—just long enough to let out a soft sigh—before latching back onto it like he hadn't meant to let go.

Stiles and I both watched, amused and in awe of how something so small could be so completely himself already.

"I still can't believe he's real sometimes," Stiles said.

"Me neither," I replied. "And he's ours."

Stiles leaned his head on my shoulder, careful not to jostle Boston. "You're doing amazing, you know."

I glanced at him, heart thudding a little harder than expected. "So are you."

"Yeah, but you're the one who—" He hesitated, gesturing vaguely at Boston. "You made this happen. You held him, grew him, fed him—"

"And you've been here every step," I cut in. "I couldn't do this without you."

He didn't say anything after that. Just shifted closer and let his fingers rest on Boston's tiny feet, curled against my stomach.

We stayed like that for the rest of the hour. Just the three of us.

Boston eventually stopped sucking, the pacifier falling from his mouth as he slipped deeper into sleep. His breath warmed the side of my chest, his limbs now slack and still.

And for the first time in days, I didn't feel tired. I didn't feel like I needed a break, or a nap, or a moment to escape.

I felt full.

Of love.

Of peace.

Of purpose.

And when I looked at Stiles, still watching Boston with that wonder that never seemed to fade, I knew—this was the version of our life I'd always hoped for. Boston stayed asleep on my chest for another half hour before he started to stir again. It wasn't much at first — a shift of his hand, a tiny frown pulling between his brows — but it was enough to make me sit up straighter, adjusting the way he rested against me. I caught the pacifier just as it slipped from his mouth, tucking it into the pocket of my hoodie for later.

"Easy, bud," I whispered, rubbing small circles on his back. "Still sleepy?"

He grunted in that unmistakable newborn way — somewhere between a protest and a question. I could feel the way his muscles flexed, waking up bit by bit, even as his body sagged heavily into mine, reluctant to leave the comfort of sleep behind.

Stiles shifted beside me on the couch and stretched his arms overhead, yawning wide enough that his jaw cracked.

"You need coffee," I said under my breath, smiling when he groaned in agreement.

"I need an IV drip of it," he muttered. "You want some too?"

I nodded, gently handing Boston off to him so I could stand and stretch out my stiff muscles. Even though my body ached, I didn't mind it. It was a good kind of tired — the kind that came from doing something that mattered. Something that was ours.

While Stiles rocked Boston lightly in his arms, I padded into the kitchen and started the coffee maker. The rich, warm scent filled the room almost instantly, curling into the corners of the house like a promise. It felt cozy. Settled.

I leaned against the counter while the machine sputtered and hissed. Boston had begun making soft little cooing sounds, that bright babble that only came when he was in that half-wakeful state, content but aware.

When the coffee was done, I poured two mugs — one for me, one for Stiles — and brought them back into the living room.

"Here," I said, offering Stiles his.

He took it with a grateful noise, balancing the mug carefully on the armrest while he held Boston close.

We stayed like that for a while — sipping coffee, trading Boston back and forth when one of us needed a break to stretch or answer the inevitable text from my dad or Lydia checking in. Boston was awake but peaceful, content to be passed between us, smiling in his sleep, occasionally kicking one foot in the air like he was dreaming of running.

It was strange how normal it all felt now. A month ago, every tiny noise had sent a spike of panic through me. Every hiccup, every frown, every shift in breathing had felt like a potential emergency. Now, I could tell the difference between a hungry cry and a tired one. I could sense when he needed a change before he even started to fuss.

It hadn't happened all at once. It had been slow, messy. Some days it still was. But it was happening. We were learning him, the way he was learning us.

Around 10:30 a.m., Stiles suggested we try taking Boston outside for a bit.

"Just the backyard," he said when I hesitated. "Ten minutes. Some fresh air might be good for him. For us too."

I looked down at Boston, who was wide-eyed but calm, his head turning toward the sound of my voice like he already recognized it better than anything else.

"Yeah," I said finally. "Okay. Let's do it."

We dressed him lightly — a soft onesie, a lightweight hat to shield his head, and a cozy blanket just in case. Stiles slid open the back door, and the warm, humid air spilled into the house immediately. Late summer in Virginia had a heavy, almost tangible weight to it, but there was still a breeze this morning, soft and carrying the faint scent of cut grass and distant rain.

I stepped out first, cradling Boston close to my chest. The world outside felt bigger somehow — brighter. Sharper. The sky was a brilliant blue, cottony clouds scattered across it like loose stitches. I moved to the patio and sat in one of the Adirondack chairs, adjusting Boston so he could rest against me and still see a sliver of sky if he wanted to.

Stiles followed, sinking into the chair next to mine with a heavy sigh of satisfaction.

We didn't talk much.

We didn't need to.

Boston's eyes flicked toward the light, blinking slowly as the breeze ruffled the fine hair on his head. He made a soft sound — not quite a coo, not quite a cry — and burrowed closer to my chest, his hands flexing and relaxing against the fabric of my hoodie.

"You think he can see the trees yet?" Stiles asked quietly after a few minutes.

I shrugged. "Maybe. Shapes. Colors, maybe. He mostly just feels things right now. Warmth. Sound. Us."

Stiles smiled. "He's gonna love being outside when he's bigger. You watch. He'll be the kid you can't drag back inside even when it's pouring."

I looked down at Boston, his mouth slightly open, his breathing slow and even.

"I hope he's fearless," I said softly. "But I hope he knows it's okay to come back to us when he's tired too."

"He will," Stiles said without hesitation. "We'll make sure of it."

We stayed out there for nearly twenty minutes, just rocking, just breathing. Boston dozed off again easily, his little body limp and trusting against mine. I could feel his heartbeat through his onesie, fast and strong and steady.

When we finally came back inside, the house smelled like coffee and fresh air and home.

I settled Boston into the bassinet in the living room, tucking the blanket around him loosely. He stirred a little, shifting his head to one side, but didn't wake. His pacifier was still tucked safely into the pocket of my hoodie, but he didn't seem to need it right now.

Stiles pulled me into a hug before I could sit down, his arms wrapping around my waist tightly, grounding me.

"You're doing so good," he said against my shoulder. "With him. With everything."

I squeezed him back, the words sticking a little in my throat.

"So are you," I managed.

We stood like that for a long moment, the morning stretching on, golden and sure around us. By the time the clock on the microwave blinked to 12:07 p.m., Stiles and I had finally convinced ourselves to reheat leftovers. Lunch had become more of a formality than a meal these days — an awkward pause in the day where we realized we were starving but had about ten minutes before Boston would need attention again.

I stood at the kitchen island in my socks, watching the container of pasta spin in the microwave like it might answer some of the questions still floating in my head. Boston had gone down easy after our short time in the backyard. I'd placed him in the living room bassinet again, and he'd barely made a sound before closing his eyes. It felt like a small win. One I didn't want to jinx.

Stiles came into the kitchen behind me, raking a hand through his hair and eyeing the coffee pot like it had personally betrayed him.

"You're not actually thinking of having another cup, are you?" I asked without turning around.

"I'm considering it," he said, opening the fridge and peering into it like he didn't already know what was there. "But I might just stick to water so my organs don't revolt."

The microwave beeped. I pulled the container out and handed it to him.

"Eat first. Survive now. Caffeine later," I said.

He gave me a tired smile. "You're better at this parenting thing than I expected."

"Gee, thanks."

"Hey," he said with a laugh, "you know what I mean."

We sat down together at the kitchen table — plates balanced between elbows, eyes flicking toward the monitor on the counter every thirty seconds like it might spring to life with news. It didn't. Boston stayed asleep, the static hum low and steady.

Somewhere between bites of cold pasta and gulps of lukewarm water, Stiles reached across the table and rested his hand over mine. I looked up, surprised by the quiet gesture.

"I was thinking," he said, "maybe we should FaceTime my dad later. And the pack. Just for a few minutes."

I nodded, the thought already brewing in the back of my mind. "Yeah. They've been patient. I think it'd be good."

"Plus," he added with a grin, "Scott's been begging for another glimpse of Boston. Said the last time he tried to screenshot a photo during the call, it was so blurry he thought Boston had claws."

I laughed — a genuine, chest-deep sound. "To be fair, the way Boston grabs my shirt in his sleep? I wouldn't put it past him."

Stiles leaned back in his chair, content. "Maybe we can call them around three. After his next feed."

"Let's see how long the nap lasts," I said, glancing toward the living room. "No promises."

By 12:45 p.m., the house had fallen into that warm, slightly sleepy rhythm it sometimes found on weekends. The kind where everything felt a little softer, a little slower. We cleaned up lunch without speaking much, moving around each other in perfect sync. We'd become good at this dance — parenting as a partnership, a team. I reached for the dishes when Stiles was already handing them to me. He loaded the dishwasher without me needing to ask.

I caught him glancing toward the baby monitor again.

"You're worse than me," I teased gently.

"I just... like knowing he's okay."

I leaned in and kissed his temple. "Same."

At 1:00 p.m., Boston started to stir.

It was subtle at first — a shifting of blankets, a little grumble that might've just been gas. But I recognized the difference. This wasn't a fluke. He was waking.

I made it to the bassinet just as he opened his eyes. Those soft, stormy blue ones that still hadn't settled into a permanent color. He blinked slowly, like the daylight was trying to coax him back into the world.

"Hi," I whispered, leaning over the side. "Good nap?"

He answered with a squeak and a kick that rattled the bassinet's frame.

I picked him up, tucking his head into the crook of my neck. His little body squirmed for a moment before settling — warm and heavy against me, his fingers twisting into my hoodie like it was his anchor.

"You hungry, bud?"

He didn't answer, but the way he turned his head and began rooting told me everything I needed to know.

I headed upstairs, Stiles following behind me with a fresh burp cloth and a bottle just in case Boston decided halfway through that he wasn't interested in nursing. Some days were like that. Fickle. Unpredictable. We were learning to roll with it.

By 1:15, I was back in the rocker, hoodie pushed aside, Boston tucked against me again — the familiar weight of him grounding me as he latched and began to feed.

Stiles sat nearby on the bed, scrolling through his phone for a few minutes before setting it down and watching us.

"Still one of my favorite things," he said.

"What?" I asked quietly.

"You. With him. It's like... all the versions of you I've known rolled into one. The wolf. The scared kid. The stubborn perfectionist. All of it's in there. But this? This is the calmest I've ever seen you."

I didn't answer. I didn't need to.

He wasn't wrong.

Boston's sucking slowed after a while. His eyes fluttered closed, and his grip on my hoodie loosened. I gently broke the latch and shifted him up to my shoulder, his head resting heavily against me as I rubbed slow, gentle circles on his back.

When the burp came, it was loud enough to make Stiles laugh.

"He's got your lungs," he said.

"And your timing," I added.

By 1:45 p.m., Boston was clean, changed, and content again — swaddled in a soft blanket, his pacifier resting lightly in his mouth. He watched the ceiling fan spin lazily above us like it was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.

I sat with him for a while on the couch, just letting the afternoon light spill over both of us.

And for a few perfect minutes, the rest of the world could wait. By the time 2:00 p.m. rolled around, the house had warmed with the sun. Long stripes of golden light stretched across the hardwood floors, and the faint hum of summer heat vibrated against the windows. Boston dozed lightly in his bouncer, the pacifier bobbing lazily in his mouth with each soft breath.

Stiles and I took the rare quiet moment to pick up the living room a little. Not full-on cleaning — we weren't that ambitious — but enough to clear the clutter: folding spare blankets, stacking the unopened mail, tossing empty water bottles into the recycling. Parenthood had taught me that a "clean" house now just meant not tripping over a bottle warmer at two in the morning.

I found myself glancing over at Boston every few minutes anyway. Even when he was silent and still, a part of my mind stayed hooked to him, attuned like a thread stretched taut from me to him. I don't think that would ever go away. I didn't want it to.

Stiles set down a stack of burp cloths and rubbed his hands on his jeans.

"You think he's up for FaceTiming everyone?" he asked, nodding toward the baby.

I looked at Boston, whose fingers were twitching slightly in sleep, like he was dreaming about grabbing things he couldn't quite reach yet.

"I think we should do it before he wakes up hungry and grumpy," I said. "Which gives us about fifteen minutes."

Stiles grinned. "Challenge accepted."

He pulled out his phone, tapping quickly through his contacts. A second later, the familiar tone of FaceTime ringing filled the room.

The screen split almost immediately into a grid of familiar faces: my dad's serious but warm expression, Scott's bright grin, Lydia's perfectly styled hair even though it was Sunday, and Malia, who looked like she had just woken up from a nap and wasn't apologizing for it.

"Hey, kiddos!" my dad said, voice scratchy but full of affection. "There's my boys!"

"Hey, Sheriff," I said, smiling despite myself.

Stiles adjusted the phone so the camera caught all three of us — me on the couch, Boston snoozing in his bouncer beside me, Stiles perched next to me.

"Is that the little guy?" Malia asked, squinting. "He looks bigger already."

"He is," Stiles said proudly. "Five weeks and some change now."

"And still no howling or glowing eyes, I assume?" Lydia teased gently.

I shook my head. "Still just your average adorable baby. No supernatural weirdness yet."

Scott leaned in closer to his camera, as if that would somehow help him see better. "Man, he's gonna be fast. Look at those legs. He's already ready to sprint."

Boston stirred a little at the noise, one hand flailing up in a sleepy protest before settling again.

Everyone collectively cooed at the motion, like it was the cutest thing they'd ever seen — and honestly, I couldn't blame them.

"You two look good," my dad said, and there was something extra behind his voice — that subtle mixture of pride and concern he always carried when he looked at us. "Tired, but good."

Stiles chuckled. "We're figuring it out."

"You're doing better than figuring it out," my dad said. "You're doing it."

I swallowed hard against the sudden lump in my throat. I hadn't realized how much I needed to hear that.

We chatted for a while longer — catching up on Beacon Hills gossip, hearing about Scott's latest rescue mission with Deaton, laughing at Malia's terrible attempt at baking muffins that somehow exploded in her oven. Normal stuff. Stuff that made the distance between us and home feel a little smaller, at least for a little while.

Boston woke about halfway through, blinking up at the ceiling with a confused frown before letting out a soft whimper. I scooped him up immediately, settling him against my chest, his small body still heavy with sleep.

Everyone melted at the sight.

"Little guy's a natural heartbreaker," Lydia said fondly.

"You're gonna have your hands full," Scott added, laughing.

"I already do," I said, adjusting Boston's blanket. "But it's the best kind of full."

The call ended around 3:30 p.m., after a flurry of goodbyes and promises to visit soon.

When the screen went dark, the house felt a little quieter again. Not heavy, not lonely — just quieter. I set the phone down and shifted Boston in my arms, marveling at how easily he'd settled against me again.

"You did good, kiddo," I whispered against his soft hair. "You survived your first pack interrogation."

Stiles laughed, pulling Boston's pacifier from his pocket and gently tucking it back into his mouth.

"Survived is right. Lydia almost made him sign up for Ivy League preschool programs," he teased.

"Not if I can help it," I said. "He gets to be a kid first."

We decided to take him upstairs for a proper nap after that. Even though he'd slept most of the morning, newborns were basically professional nappers, and Boston was no exception.

At 4:00 p.m., we laid him down in the bassinet in our room. He fussed a little, kicking his legs against the swaddle, but eventually he settled, his body going limp and relaxed under the soft rhythm of the fan blowing gently across the room.

Stiles stretched out on the bed with a sigh, arms crossed behind his head.

"You gonna come lay down?" he asked, patting the space beside him.

I hesitated for half a second — part of me wired to stay vigilant, to keep moving — but then I gave in. I kicked off my socks and slid under the covers, resting my head on the pillow beside him.

For a few minutes, we just stared up at the ceiling. Listening to the soft whir of the fan, the occasional creak of the house settling, the even, steady sound of Boston's breathing.

"I like it here," I said after a while.

Stiles turned his head toward me, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Home wasn't a place. It wasn't Beacon Hills or Quantico or some name on a mailbox. It was this. Right here.

A quiet house.

A sleeping baby.

The weight of Stiles's hand brushing against mine under the blanket.

The feeling that, no matter how much the world shifted, I wouldn't have to face it alone.

At 5:00 p.m., Boston let out a soft cry from the bassinet, signaling the start of another new stretch of our day — another feed, another change, another series of tiny miracles stacked on top of each other.

Stiles and I sat up at the same time, smiling at each other like we'd been caught thinking the same thought.

"Back to it," Stiles said, yawning.

"Wouldn't have it any other way," I murmured, swinging my legs out of bed and heading toward our son.

Chapter Text

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Jackson's Pov

The weight of Stiles's hand brushing against mine under the blanket.

The feeling that, no matter how much the world shifted, I wouldn't have to face it alone.

At 5:00 p.m., Boston let out a soft cry from the bassinet, signaling the start of another new stretch of our day — another feed, another change, another series of tiny miracles stacked on top of each other.

Stiles and I sat up at the same time, smiling at each other like we'd been caught thinking the same thought.

"Back to it," Stiles said, yawning.

"Wouldn't have it any other way," I murmured, swinging my legs out of bed and heading toward our son.

Jackson's Pov

August 29, 2024

Boston is 6 weeks old today.

I don't know why that number feels so significant, but it does. Six weeks. A month and a half. It's still such a short time in the grand scheme of things, but when you've been running on broken sleep, quiet terror, and this overwhelming kind of love that wraps itself around your ribs and squeezes... it feels like a lifetime.

Boston is asleep in the sling against my chest as I stand at the window, watching the sky shift from gray to gold. It's early, not even seven yet. The house is still mostly dark except for the thin slant of morning light spilling through the blinds, catching dust motes in its glow. I haven't turned on any lights — didn't want to disturb the calm.

His breathing is slow and warm against me. I've grown so used to that little rhythm — the steady inhale and exhale of a baby whose lungs weren't ready when he came into the world, but who now breathes like he's got everything under control.

Six weeks ago, I didn't know if he'd cry when he came out. I didn't know if he'd breathe. Now, he makes this soft huffing sound when he's annoyed, kicks like he's swimming, and sometimes smiles in his sleep. Those little moments have stitched themselves into my memory in a way nothing else ever has.

I'm still healing too — physically, emotionally. Some days are good. Some aren't. I still feel strange in my body. Not broken, just unfamiliar. There's softness where there was once muscle, and aches that flare at the oddest times. I catch myself examining my scar in the mirror more often than I care to admit. I run my fingers across the raised edge and think about everything it represents. Pain. Strength. Rebirth.

Sometimes I wonder if my hybrid side — the wolf and the Kanima — will ever settle. They've been quiet lately, like they know this isn't the time to test me. But I can feel them just under the surface, watching. Waiting. Not in a threatening way. More like... protectiveness. Like they're on guard with me. For him.

Boston shifts slightly in the sling, and I place a gentle hand on his back. He's warm, solid. Real. I still have moments where I look at him and think, You're mine? You came from me? And the answer, every time, is yes. Yes, he's mine. Ours.

Stiles is still asleep upstairs. I heard him roll over around five, mumble something that sounded vaguely like "diaper apocalypse," and then go still again. He's been good about taking the late-night feedings when I needed sleep. We trade off, keep each other sane. I honestly don't know how we're doing it — this balance between exhaustion and grace — but we are.

I settle onto the couch, easing Boston out of the sling with practiced care. He stirs but doesn't wake. His little fists curl near his face, and his pacifier falls from his mouth with a wet sound, but he doesn't cry. I tuck a blanket around him and stroke a hand over his wispy hair.

"Happy six weeks, little guy," I whisper.

He makes a noise like a sneeze and shifts again, curling into a ball like he knows the world is still a little big for him.

I let my head fall back against the cushions. Today isn't a milestone in the traditional sense. No shots. No new doctor appointments. But it's something. A moment of pause. A breath between chapters.

And maybe that's what parenting is — not just the big days, but the quiet ones. The days when nothing changes dramatically, but everything feels different anyway.  Around 9:30 a.m., the sound of footsteps overhead told me that Stiles was awake. A moment later, I heard the creak of the stairs and then the familiar rustle of fabric as he padded into the living room, still in pajama pants and one of my old FBI training hoodies, the sleeves bunched at the wrists.

"You didn't wake me up," he said, yawning as he leaned over the back of the couch and kissed the top of my head.

"You needed the sleep," I said, tilting my face up to him. "I had him. He's been an angel all morning."

Stiles smiled sleepily and came around to sit beside me. "Still. I told you I'd take the early shift."

"And I told you I'm not made of glass," I said, giving him a sideways look.

He raised an eyebrow. "No, but you are still recovering from giving birth to a literal child, so maybe let me carry the weight sometimes?"

I rolled my eyes, but his hand found my thigh and gave it a firm squeeze, and I let myself lean into him a little. I wasn't great at accepting help — I never had been — but with Stiles, it wasn't about weakness. It was about trust. He knew my tells, and I'd learned not to fight him when he was right.

Boston stirred in his blanket, making that soft huffing sound again — the one that meant he was starting to wake. His tiny brows furrowed like he had opinions about something already, and then he let out a squeaky cry.

Stiles and I both moved in sync — the dance we'd perfected now. I reached for Boston while Stiles grabbed the burp cloth and the bottle from the warmer. Even though I usually nursed him when I could, sometimes we alternated with pumped milk, especially when I needed to rest or if my body was just too sore. Today felt like a bottle day.

"Hey, little bean," I whispered, cradling Boston against my chest and kissing his forehead. "You hungry?"

He answered with a wail, small but demanding. Stiles handed me the bottle, and I settled back into the cushions, coaxing Boston to latch onto the nipple. He suckled greedily, one hand clutching my hoodie like it was his personal lifeline.

Stiles watched us quietly, one arm draped behind me, his other hand gently stroking Boston's foot where it peeked out from the edge of the blanket.

"You know," he said after a minute, "I don't think I've ever loved anyone the way I love him."

I looked up at him, my heart catching. "Yeah?"

He nodded. "It's different. It's... raw. Scary. But so good. I thought loving you was the most intense thing I'd ever feel — and it still is — but this is... something else."

I knew what he meant. It wasn't more or less. Just different. There was something fierce and tender about the love I felt for Boston. A kind of love that made me feel both completely vulnerable and endlessly strong.

By the time Boston had finished eating and let out a remarkably adult-sounding burp, we were both laughing. I shifted him upright and leaned my cheek against his head, breathing in the scent of his shampoo — gentle, unscented, just him.

We spent the next half hour lying on the couch, Boston tucked between us, gurgling at the ceiling fan like it was performing a private show just for him.

Eventually, I turned to Stiles. "Wanna go for a walk today? Just around the block. It's cool out."

He nodded, already reaching for his phone. "I'll check the weather. And maybe later we can stop by the baby store? I want to pick up one of those crinkle books Lydia was talking about."

"You want Boston to play with it, right?" I teased.

Stiles shrugged. "I mean, if I test it first, that's not a crime."

I laughed, adjusting the blanket over Boston's legs. "You're such a dad."

"You love it," he said smugly.

And I did. I really, really did. We didn't rush the rest of the morning. After Boston's bottle and a fresh diaper, he fell asleep again while laying on my chest, and Stiles and I just sat there, the two of us quietly watching the world slow down. I'd never been the kind of person who liked silence — I used to fill every quiet moment with distraction. Music, noise, movement. But this was different. This silence had purpose. It was full of warmth.

Around 12:45 p.m., we finally got up, changed out of our pajama clothes, and prepped for the walk. Boston went into his little wrap carrier, snug and sleepy against my chest, his tiny hat pulled low to shield his face from the late summer sun. It was the kind of weather that felt like a soft exhale — warm but not suffocating, with just enough breeze to make being outside feel like a luxury.

The neighborhood around us was quiet. Most people were at work or indoors hiding from the heat. We stuck to the shaded side of the street, strolling at an easy pace. Boston stirred every now and then but didn't fuss. I could feel his small body shift with my every step, his weight grounding me. His presence always did.

Stiles reached out and took my hand, our fingers tangling together like they always had, easy and sure. It still amazed me, some days, how we'd gotten here. From Beacon Hills to Quantico, from chaos to quiet. From two boys who used to argue over lacrosse positions to two grown men, walking slowly with their son between them.

"This feels nice," I said softly, not needing to say more.

Stiles nodded. "I've been thinking... maybe when Boston's a bit older, we should bring him to Beacon Hills. Just for a visit."

My stomach twisted, but not in a bad way. Just... cautious. "You sure that's a good idea?"

He shrugged. "Not soon. Just... sometime. My dad wants to see him in person. And I think it might be good for us too. Revisit it all. With fresh eyes."

"I'll think about it," I said. "We'll see how things go."

He gave my hand a squeeze, no pressure, just understanding.

By the time we got back to the house, Boston had started to squirm again — not full-on crying, but definitely making the sort of sounds that said, Hey, I might lose it soon. We got inside, kicked off our shoes, and I handed him over to Stiles to give my back a break. My body still wasn't fully back to itself, and longer walks left me sore if I didn't pace myself.

Stiles took Boston to the nursery — not to sleep in, just to change him and give him a little tummy time under the mobile. I watched from the doorway, leaning against the frame. It hit me again how natural Stiles looked as a dad. He talked to Boston constantly — not baby talk, not nonsense. Real sentences. Like Boston could understand every word.

"And this," he was saying as he pointed to the stuffed wolf on the shelf, "is just decoration for now. But someday soon, I guarantee you're gonna start dragging this guy around by the ear. And we'll pretend we're not grossed out when he starts smelling like sour milk."

I grinned, arms crossed. "You realize you're narrating his entire future to a six-week-old?"

"Gotta start somewhere," he replied.

After a bottle and a little quiet time, we packed up again and drove into town. Our first stop was the baby store — one of those cozy little boutique places that sells everything at twice the price but makes you feel like you're a great parent just for walking in.

Boston stayed in his stroller this time, wide-eyed and unusually alert. He stared up at the overhead lights like they were the most fascinating things he'd ever seen. And maybe they were. I remembered reading that around six weeks, babies started to get better at tracking movement and light.

Stiles was already ten steps ahead of me, holding up a soft, crinkly book with high-contrast patterns.

"This is the one Lydia swore by," he said. "She said it was the only thing that bought her ten uninterrupted minutes when she used to babysit."

"Sold," I said.

We left the store with that, a new onesie that said "Little Howler," and a baby-safe teether shaped like a moon. I hadn't realized how much I'd started enjoying little errands like this. They used to feel like chores — now they felt like tiny adventures.

Back in the car, Boston started to fuss — hungry again. We parked under a tree in the quietest part of the lot, and I climbed into the backseat with him, nursing him while Stiles sat in the front scrolling through his phone.

"He's eating better," Stiles said, glancing back at us. "More efficient."

"He's learning," I said proudly, brushing my hand over Boston's hair. "He's figuring out how the world works, one meal at a time."

When we got home, we moved through our routine without needing to think about it. Boston got changed again, burped, rocked gently. Stiles went upstairs to toss the baby laundry in the wash while I sat with Boston in the glider, his head resting on my chest, one tiny fist tucked under his chin like he was deep in thought.

Six weeks.

He was six weeks old, and he'd already changed everything about how I saw the world. And myself. Dinner was quiet. Peaceful in the kind of way you don't notice until it's gone.

Stiles reheated leftover stir fry while I sat on the couch with Boston asleep in the crook of my arm, his little mouth slack with post-feed contentment. I could hear the hum of the microwave, the soft clatter of plates, and somewhere outside, the rhythmic chirp of late summer cicadas buzzing under the dusk sky.

The evening sun filtered in warm and golden across the living room floor. Everything felt dipped in honey — slow, rich, a little sticky with the kind of comfort that only comes at the end of a long day with nothing left to prove.

We ate on the couch, plates balanced on our knees. Boston remained snoozing between us, one arm flung up over his head like he was claiming his own stretch of territory. Stiles kept glancing at him, smiling like he couldn't believe he was real.

"Six weeks," Stiles murmured, echoing my own thoughts from earlier. "It's going too fast."

"Don't say that," I said, nudging him with my elbow. "We still have years before he's asking for a car and slamming doors."

"I just mean..." He trailed off for a moment, then shook his head. "I don't know. I still remember when we didn't know if he was going to make it. That tiny, quiet NICU crib. Now look at him."

I looked. And he was right.

Boston had filled out, even in just the last couple weeks. His cheeks had that soft roundness, his arms more substantial. He kicked with purpose now. He cooed when he recognized our voices. There was still so much ahead — but we were moving forward. Growing. Together.

By 7:45 p.m., we began Boston's bedtime routine. It had become its own kind of ritual — the softest version of muscle memory. Bath first, which he didn't always love but tolerated now. I handled that part, gently washing his tiny body with warm water while he gave me skeptical expressions like he wasn't sure if I was rescuing or punishing him.

Then lotion, a clean diaper, the warm zip-up sleeper with stars on it. We kept the lights low, music even lower — some instrumental lullaby playlist that played through the baby monitor. Stiles took over while I got into more comfortable clothes, rocking Boston in his arms and humming under his breath.

By 8:15, Boston was swaddled loosely and placed into the crib nestled between our beds. He fussed for a moment — a single, questioning cry — before his pacifier was tucked into place, and Stiles whispered something only meant for baby ears. It worked. Boston settled. Sleep took him easily tonight.

I stood there for a while, watching him. Just... watching. I didn't even realize I was holding my breath.

"You okay?" Stiles asked quietly from behind me.

I nodded. "Yeah. Just... taking him in."

He stepped beside me and wrapped his arm around my waist. We stood there like that for a little while, the glow of the nightlight casting a soft halo across Boston's face.

Later, in bed, I curled into Stiles, our limbs tangled under the sheets. The baby monitor glowed faintly on the nightstand beside us, displaying Boston's vitals in real time — his tiny breaths, his little heartbeat, everything steady and sure.

"You ever think about who we were before this?" I asked quietly into the dark.

Stiles let out a soft breath. "Yeah. All the time."

"Do you miss it?"

"No," he said, turning to face me, his hand slipping across my ribs. "Not even a little. I liked who we were, but I love who we are now."

I closed my eyes and let his words settle into the quiet spaces of my mind. It wasn't always easy. We'd been through more than most. But lying there — Boston safe and asleep, Stiles warm beside me — I felt... full. Not in the way exhaustion fills your bones or stress clogs your lungs. No, this was deeper. Real. I felt whole.

And as the night folded over us and the world quieted completely, I thought: We're doing it. This messy, beautiful, terrifying thing called parenthood. We're really doing it.

And we're not alone.

We have each other.

And we have him.

Boston.

Our son.

Our everything.

Stiles's Pov

The room is quiet. The kind of quiet that only exists at 2:00 a.m., when even the moon seems to be holding its breath. The only sounds are the soft whir of the fan in the corner, the faint hum of the baby monitor beside our bed, and the rhythmic, peaceful breathing of my husband beside me.

Jackson's arm is draped loosely across my waist, his face buried in the pillow, his body still curled instinctively toward where Boston's crib rests at the side of our bed. Even in his sleep, he's facing our son, as if he could protect him better that way. As if the instinct to guard and shield hasn't left him, even with rest so desperately earned.

I lie here, wide awake, watching both of them in the dim glow of the monitor light.

Boston is asleep too — curled on his side, his arms thrown up near his head in that ridiculous way that makes my heart feel too full for my chest. He's barely six weeks old, but he already owns every square inch of me. Every breath. Every beat.

And Jackson...

God. Jackson.

How did we get here?

Sometimes I can't wrap my head around it. Not because it doesn't make sense, but because if you had told seventeen-year-old me that I'd be lying here in bed next to Jackson Whittemore — my husband — while our six-week-old baby slept three feet away in a crib we picked out together after the most impossibly long year of our lives... I probably would've laughed. Or cried. Or both. Definitely both.

Back in high school, Jackson was the golden boy I hated because he reminded me of everything I didn't think I could be — confident, untouchable, wanted. He had everything I thought I didn't. What I didn't see back then was that he was just as scared as the rest of us — maybe more. Jackson was performing for the world, trying to prove he was worthy of being kept.

Now I know better.

I know the boy who fought so hard to hold everything together was the same one who broke down in my arms the night Boston was born too early, crying and apologizing like it was his fault, like he hadn't done everything he could to keep our son safe.

I know the man who sleeps beside me now has bled, and healed, and held me through my own nightmares. I know his strength, not in how hard he can hit or how fast he can run, but in how soft he becomes when he holds our baby like the most precious thing in the world — because he is.

We've come so far. From Beacon Hills to Quantico. From Kanima and Nogitsune to federal agents and fathers. From pretending we were fine to learning how to build something that actually is.

Now I was sitting in a dim bedroom in a small house in Quantico, with a baby monitor humming softly and a six-week-old son sleeping less than five feet away. And beside me was the man who had carried that child. The man who was shot, who flatlined in an OR, who bled into his chest and still came back fighting. The man who gave everything to bring our son into the world.

And I loved him so much it hurt.

He stirred in his sleep, murmuring something under his breath that I didn't catch. I reached out and brushed the hair back from his forehead, letting my fingers linger.

He looked peaceful now. At rest.

But I'd seen him during the worst. I'd watched him claw his way back from darkness, from coma, from almost dying — twice. And then I'd watched him lean into something even scarier: becoming a parent. Allowing himself to carry life, nurture it, protect it. He was fierce and soft and strong in ways I didn't know were possible. And I knew strength. I'd seen it. But Jackson... he redefined it for me.

Boston made a tiny hiccup sound, and I stood to check the monitor again, but it was normal. Just a baby being a baby. His mouth worked at the pacifier a little, but his body stayed relaxed. I laid a hand lightly on his belly, just to feel him breathe. He didn't stir.

"You're okay," I whispered. "You're doing great, little guy."

I stepped back and sat at the edge of the bed again.

The full moon had been a few nights ago. I'd worried. A lot. Jackson had too. Not just for himself, but for Boston. The idea that Boston might shift someday, that he might carry the supernatural in his blood before he even had teeth — it scared Jackson in a way that nothing else did. And I understood why.

But Boston had made it through his first full moon untouched. At least, as far as we could tell. No glowing eyes. No howls. No claws or fangs. Just a few fussy cries and a lot of cuddles.

Maybe the supernatural wasn't in him. Or maybe it was sleeping. Either way, we were okay. For now.

I turned back to Jackson. His breathing was steady. His hand twitched a little, like he was reaching for something in a dream.

I slid into bed beside him and took his hand in mine. He shifted just enough to roll toward me, still mostly asleep, but his body recognized mine like muscle memory.

"Stiles?" he mumbled.

"I'm here," I whispered.

His fingers curled around mine.

"I was dreaming about Boston," he said, his voice thick with sleep.

"Yeah?" I smiled. "What was he doing?"

"Flying."

I blinked. "Flying?"

Jackson nodded once against the pillow. "Had little wings. Like... angel wings."

I stared at him, something swelling in my chest I couldn't quite name.

"You think that means something?" he asked, half-asleep.

I pressed my lips to his knuckles. "I think it means you love him. That's all."

He murmured something I didn't catch and drifted off again, our hands still laced together.

I stared at the ceiling for a long while, listening to the steady sounds of my family breathing around me — Jackson's soft and deep, Boston's lighter, faster, rhythmic.

We were safe.

We were healing.

We were growing.

And somewhere, in the quietest part of me, I started to believe that we were going to be okay. All three of us.

No matter what came next.

Chapter Text

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Stiles's Pov

He murmured something I didn't catch and drifted off again, our hands still laced together.

I stared at the ceiling for a long while, listening to the steady sounds of my family breathing around me — Jackson's soft and deep, Boston's lighter, faster, rhythmic.

We were safe.

We were healing.

We were growing.

And somewhere, in the quietest part of me, I started to believe that we were going to be okay. All three of us.

No matter what came next.

Jackson's Pov

 September 2nd, 2024

There's a strange stillness to early September mornings. The kind where the air hasn't quite figured out if it wants to be summer or fall, and everything feels suspended in that quiet in-between. I'm standing barefoot in the kitchen, the hem of my pajama pants brushing the tops of my feet, Boston cradled securely in one arm while the other flips the switch on the coffee maker. The machine sputters to life with a low groan, steam rising in soft curls.

It's 6:17 a.m.

Boston is wide awake, of course.

He's been in that weird newborn pattern where he sleeps for long stretches one night, then barely two hours at a time the next. Last night was one of those two-hour nights. Stiles and I rotated, blurry-eyed and wordless, passing him back and forth like a sleepy, delicate relay baton.

I don't mind the exhaustion anymore. Or rather—I've learned to live with it. It's less like being drained now, and more like my body has recalibrated to operate on partial battery. Half-charged, always humming, always aware.

Boston squirms a little in my arms, his tiny hands flailing outward before they settle against my chest. His eyes are open, alert, dark blue like the sky before a storm. He looks up at me like I'm the only thing anchoring him to this unfamiliar planet. Maybe I am.

"Morning, buddy," I whisper.

He lets out a coo that sounds suspiciously like a complaint.

I rock him gently side to side. The coffee finishes brewing, the smell thick and comforting. I pour a cup one-handed, balancing Boston with practiced ease. Then I make my way to the living room where the morning light is just beginning to filter through the windows.

Stiles is still asleep upstairs. He took the last shift, somewhere around 3:30. I told him I'd cover the rest of the morning, and he barely got the words "thank you" out before collapsing face-first into the pillows.

I settle onto the couch, bringing Boston down with me, nestling him into the crook of my arm. He seems content to stare at nothing in particular—maybe the ceiling fan, maybe just the shape of light. I sip my coffee in silence.

Almost 7 weeks old

That's how long Boston has been in the world.

And I don't think I've fully processed it yet.

There are moments—quiet, fleeting ones—where I still feel like I'm standing in the NICU, my heart somewhere in my throat, waiting to hear if he was going to breathe on his own. Waiting to know if I would get to be his father outside of a hospital room. Those memories haven't faded. They're just layered now, buried under diapers and pacifiers and midnight feeds and the soft, heavy weight of my son asleep on my chest.

And I wouldn't trade any of it.

Around 7:00, I hear footsteps above—slow and uneven, the way Stiles always walks when he's half-asleep but trying to seem functional. A few minutes later, he appears in the doorway, hoodie zipped halfway up, hair going in six directions.

He doesn't speak right away. Just sees us on the couch, exhales, and makes his way over. He kisses the top of Boston's head first, then mine.

"You're already up," he murmurs, voice hoarse.

"Boston was ready for the day at 5:15."

"I was dreaming about waffles."

"Sorry to ruin that for you."

He snorts and drops down beside me, stretching his legs out and leaning heavily into my side.

"I'll make us waffles," I say. "Later."

Stiles mumbles something that sounds like "hero," then closes his eyes for a moment.

The morning moves in slow, predictable pieces. We trade Boston back and forth—burping, changing, soothing—until he's asleep again around 9:00, this time in his bouncer by the window. Stiles makes breakfast, and we eat in that calm, unhurried silence that's become our new rhythm.

After, we both shower—separately this time. It's a small thing, but I miss the days when we used to have time to take those slow, shared showers together. But right now, "shared" means one of us showers while the other guards the bathroom door with a pacifier, a bottle, and a baby-shaped time bomb that could explode at any moment.

Still, we've found our version of peace in this chaos. We've earned it.

Around 11:00 a.m., I take Boston upstairs for tummy time. He hates it. Passionately. But he needs it, and I've gotten good at bribing him through the ordeal with soft singing and a few silly faces.

Today's soundtrack is something low and melodic, just me humming half-remembered tunes from old lullabies. Boston lifts his head with great determination, then promptly faceplants into the blanket with a grunt.

"You got this," I tell him, rubbing circles into his back.

He whines a little but tries again, his legs kicking behind him like he's swimming through molasses.

"You're doing great," I whisper. "No rush."

By the time Stiles joins us, Boston is red-faced but victorious, his head lifted for a solid eight seconds before flopping down again.

"Champion," Stiles declares. "Gold medal in Baby Planking."

"He's gonna be doing push-ups before he can sit up," I reply.

Stiles lies down beside us on the floor, propping his head up with one hand.

"You doing okay?" he asks softly.

I nod. "Yeah. Just... tired. But good."

He reaches over, traces a gentle line down my arm.

"Thought maybe today we could start writing down some of the stuff we want to remember. Like a baby book. Or journal."

"That sounds like you."

"Organized sentimentality is kind of my brand."

I chuckle and lean down to kiss Boston's cheek. He's already falling asleep again, his entire body surrendering to gravity and exhaustion.

By the afternoon, the sky darkens with the threat of rain. Not a storm—just one of those lazy, late-summer showers that turns everything silver and slow. Boston naps in his bassinet beside the couch, and I let myself rest too, my head tipped back, eyes closed but not asleep.

Stiles reads quietly beside me. I can hear the occasional flick of a page turning, the soft intake of breath when something surprises him. It's comforting. Familiar. Like we're two chapters into a life that finally feels like it belongs to us.

Around 4:00 p.m., Boston wakes again—hungrier this time. I nurse him while Stiles makes tea. There's no big conversation, no heavy thoughts. Just quiet exchanges of smiles, small touches, and the occasional laugh when Boston makes one of those ridiculous baby faces like he's offended by the concept of air.

By 5:30, the rain starts to fall in earnest, tapping softly against the windows. Stiles lights one of the candles in the kitchen—something warm and cinnamon-scented. It makes the whole house smell like early autumn, even if the calendar says it's still summer.

We eat dinner on the couch again—Stiles made grilled cheese and tomato soup, which tastes like childhood and safety. Boston dozes on my chest the whole time, his pacifier making slow, contented movements with each breath.

After dinner, I settle into the rocker with Boston in my arms. Stiles does the dishes, humming under his breath.

This is our life now. And I love it.

It's not loud. It's not fast. It doesn't always feel exciting. But it feels right.

At 7:00 p.m., we start bedtime early. Boston is cranky and overtired, fighting sleep with every ounce of his tiny body. He screams through the bath, calms down during the lotion and pajamas, and finally settles when Stiles picks him up and walks slow loops around the bedroom, murmuring nonsense about taxes and federal procedure until Boston gives in and closes his eyes.

We place him in the bassinet at 7:45. He stays asleep.

A miracle.

By 8:15, Stiles and I are in bed. The baby monitor is on. The rain is still falling. I curl into him and let out a long, slow breath.

"Hey," he says softly, brushing a hand through my hair. "You're doing amazing."

I don't reply right away.

Then: "So are you."

And it's true.

We're not perfect. Some nights we bicker. Some days we forget how to speak gently. But we always come back to this—to the quiet, to the holding, to the remembering that this is ours.

Boston.

Each other.

This life.

And as I drift toward sleep, I think: We've made it this far. We can go farther.

Together.

 September 5th, 2024

Boston is seven weeks old today.

I don't know why that number sits so heavy on my chest. Maybe because it means we're closing in on three months, or maybe because seven weeks feels like a line in the sand—the start of something new. The early fog is lifting. The fragile, terrifying NICU days are further behind us than I ever imagined they could be.

And he's changing. Every day. Every minute.

I can see it in the way he moves now—less flailing, more intention. His legs still kick like he's trying to take off into orbit, but his arms? They've found their purpose. He bats at toys now. His little fingers curl around mine with more pressure. He's not just reacting anymore. He's reaching. Exploring.

This morning, he grabbed one of the soft hanging shapes from the activity mat and held on to it like he understood what he was doing. He stared at it, pulled it toward his face, let out a grunt, then dropped it like he was bored already.

I almost cried watching it.

Because it meant something. It meant his brain is connecting the dots. His vision is sharpening. His body is figuring out how to be in this world. And for a baby who came out too early, who had tubes in his nose and wires on his chest—every little thing feels like a mountain we've summited.

It's just past 8:00 a.m. now. I'm sitting on the floor in the nursery with my back against the wall, Boston swaddled loosely in my lap. He's just finished nursing, and his eyes are doing that slow blink, that not-quite-asleep but not-fully-awake hover. His cheek is warm against my forearm. He smells like baby lotion and formula and something that's just him. That faint sweetness I've come to associate with home.

Stiles is downstairs on the phone with Lydia. She's checking in about baby books and asking what we've decided on for Boston's pediatric neuro check. It's not urgent—Boston's development has been hitting every milestone so far—but Stiles likes to be ahead of the curve. We both do. I think it comes from that place of quiet panic we've learned to carry. When you've watched someone too small fight too hard to live, planning becomes survival.

Boston makes a soft noise and stretches—legs pushing out, back arching, arms flying. It's the stretch that comes right before a nap or a meltdown. I shift him carefully and start humming something under my breath, low and steady. That lullaby again. The one I still don't know the words to. Just the melody.

He settles.

His eyes close.

And I swear—just for a second—I see a smile flicker across his face.

By mid-morning, the three of us are in the living room again. Boston is in his bouncer, legs kicking furiously while the crinkly owl above him sways back and forth. He's not quite laughing yet, but the noises he makes—those sharp little exhale-coos—are getting closer to it.

Stiles leans over the bouncer and narrates everything like a sportscaster.

"And here comes the left leg, the powerhouse! Oh! And a double kick! We are witnessing pure baby athleticism, folks!"

I snort, sipping lukewarm coffee. "You're such a dork."

"You're just mad I'm funnier than you."

Boston lets out a high-pitched squeal, like he's cheering. Then he promptly spits up all over the side of the bouncer.

"...and the crowd goes wild," I mutter, setting my mug down and grabbing a burp cloth.

Cleanup is routine by now. We move around each other with practiced ease—Stiles handling the bouncer, me scooping Boston up for a quick change. He fusses through the shirt swap but calms quickly once I press him against my chest again, skin to skin.

Seven weeks.

He's heavier now. I can feel it in the way he settles against me, in the growing length of his legs, the solid strength in his neck when he lifts his head for more than a few seconds at a time. He tracks us with his eyes now, follows movement across the room, seems to listen when we speak. It's eerie sometimes—how alert he is. Like he's watching and learning more than we can imagine.

"He's gonna be smart," Stiles says as he tosses the soiled clothes into the hamper. "Too smart."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Not bad. Just dangerous."

I laugh, adjusting Boston on my shoulder. "He's got your eyes."

Stiles glances at us, something soft passing over his face. "He's got your mouth. Especially when he's mad."

"That's not fair. He's mad all the time."

"Exactly."

We both smile.

There's a peace in that moment I don't take for granted. The afternoon drifts by slowly. We take Boston for a short walk around the block—just enough to get out of the house before the humidity climbs too high. He rides in the wrap against my chest, eyes wide, fingers gripping the fabric like he's on a roller coaster. He stays quiet the whole time, just watching. Trees. Cars. Sunlight flashing through leaves. He's soaking it all in.

By the time we return home, he's asleep again, head tipped sideways, mouth open.

I don't put him down right away.

Instead, I sit on the edge of our bed, holding him, staring at his tiny face.

And I think about how much has changed in seven weeks.

How much I've changed.

There was a time I thought I'd never feel safe in my body again. That I'd never stop seeing it as something broken, something used. I hated the scars, the shifts in muscle and bone. Hated the softness. The vulnerability. But now? Now I look down at my chest, at the scar running just under my ribs, and I don't feel resentment. I feel pride.

Because this body carried him.

This body brought him here.

And that means something.

It means everything.

Later, while Boston naps and the laundry tumbles in the background, Stiles and I sit down with the journal Lydia sent. A leather-bound notebook with thick paper and a gold ribbon marker. It's blank. Clean. Untouched. And somehow that makes it harder to start.

"What do we even write?" I ask, flipping the first page.

"Anything," Stiles says. "Everything. Just... the little things. What he did today. What we want to remember."

So we write.

We jot down today's date. The milestone. Seven weeks.

We list what Boston can do now:

Tracks with his eyes

Lifts his head during tummy time

Recognizes our voices

Smiles in response (maybe?)

Grabs toys (with purpose)

Screams like a banshee when he's overtired

Then we write about what we feel. About how proud we are. About the weird little things—like the way his left eye crinkles when he yawns or how he calms when we sing, even if we're off-key.

Stiles adds a doodle in the corner of the page. A poorly drawn baby burrito in a swaddle.

"Art," he says proudly.

"Truly, you missed your calling."

We laugh.

And for the first time in a long time, it doesn't feel like we're holding our breath. Dinner is simple. Pasta and roasted veggies. Boston stays awake through most of it, tucked into his bouncer near the table, legs kicking while we eat. Every now and then, he lets out a noise like he's trying to participate in the conversation.

"He's gonna be loud," Stiles says, scooping more pasta onto my plate. "I can already tell."

"Good," I reply. "We're not raising someone who keeps quiet when something matters."

"God help the world," Stiles mutters, smiling.

Bath time is easier tonight. Boston still squirms, still complains, but it's less of a battle and more of a conversation. He makes these chirping noises now when the warm water hits his chest, like he's thinking about whether he wants to scream or not. Most nights, he doesn't.

We dry him, dress him, swaddle him tight.

He falls asleep in my arms, face relaxed, mouth slightly open.

Stiles stands beside me, arms crossed, watching.

"He looks so peaceful," he whispers.

"He is."

"You think it'll always be like this?"

I pause.

"No. But I think we'll always have moments like this."

Stiles nods. "That's enough."

We put Boston to bed and crawl under the covers ourselves. The baby monitor glows on the nightstand. Rain starts to fall again outside the window, soft and steady.

I reach for Stiles's hand.

He takes it.

And we sleep.

Together.

Whole.

Ready for whatever comes next.

 September 6th, 2024

It's still dark when I wake up. That blurry, in-between kind of dark where the world hasn't committed to morning yet. I glance at the baby monitor, heart already thudding with that ingrained reflex I haven't been able to shake since the NICU. But everything's fine. Boston is asleep, on his side, mouth open, one hand twitching every few seconds in some baby dream I wish I could see.

It's 5:32 a.m.

I close my eyes again but don't sleep. Not really.

Instead, I listen. I listen to Stiles's breathing beside me, low and even. To the whirr of the fan in the corner. To the occasional creak of the house settling, like it's trying to stretch before the day starts. I used to hate this kind of quiet—used to fill it with workouts or training drills or noise. Now? Now it feels like a privilege. A moment I don't want to rush.

Boston stirs at 5:47. Just one soft sound—his signature little warning hum that means Hey, I'm thinking about waking up, so get your act together. I roll out of bed, moving slowly so I don't wake Stiles. He needs the sleep. He was up with Boston at 1:00 and again at 3:15. His sleep cycle's wrecked.

I scoop Boston from the bassinet, and he grunts, opening one bleary eye, then the other. His lips purse, like he's considering being mad about being awake, but not quite committing.

"You and me, little guy," I whisper. "Let's not wake the whole house."

Downstairs, I sit with him in the rocker and get him latched quickly. He feeds with more focus now—less sleepy flutter, more deliberate pulls. His hands curl against my chest, fingers clenching and relaxing in rhythm. It's almost hypnotic.

He's growing so fast. Not just physically, though he's definitely gaining weight—cheeks rounder, limbs longer, body more solid against mine. But it's the awareness that's growing too. The alertness in his gaze. The curiosity.

He finishes, pulls off, and makes a pleased sigh like that'll do.

I burp him, rub small circles over his back while his head rests on my shoulder.

"You're almost two months old," I whisper. "How the hell did that happen?"

He lets out a soft snort and promptly drools down my shoulder.

Fair enough.

By 8:15, the house is fully awake. Stiles is in the kitchen, hair wild, yawning into a mug of tea. Boston's kicking on the activity mat, gurgling at the fox plush like they're having a serious conversation. I'm sitting cross-legged beside him, watching him push himself slightly onto one elbow before collapsing again.

"Is it weird that I'm already proud of him?" I ask.

Stiles looks over. "No. You made a whole human. Every time he kicks, it's basically a standing ovation."

"He kicked the fox."

"Deserved."

We both laugh. Mid-morning, we do tummy time again. Boston lasts almost a full minute before the groaning protest noises start—little huffing whines and faceplants into the mat. I encourage him softly, rubbing his back.

"You've got it, Boston. Just a little longer."

He growls.

Like, actually growls.

Stiles pops his head in from the hallway and grins. "Was that...?"

"I don't know," I say slowly, eyes narrowing.

We both freeze, watching him.

But Boston just blinks up at us, then sneezes. Once. Twice. Then flops onto his side, clearly done.

"Okay, dramatic exit," Stiles mutters.

I lift him into my arms and check everything—his skin, his eyes, his scent.

No signs. No shifts. Just... a vocal baby learning how to use his lungs.

Still. I feel the Kanima part of me stir just a little. Not from fear—just attention. Alertness.

"Let me know if that wasn't normal," I whisper to him.

He burps in reply.

Cool.

By noon, we're on the back patio with Boston bundled up in a light blanket in his bassinet. It's cooler today—clouds rolling in, soft wind brushing over the yard. I've got one leg bouncing gently while I read the same paragraph of a book for the third time, and Stiles is eating peanut butter from a jar like it's a personality trait.

"He's sleeping longer between feeds," he says, licking the spoon.

"He was awake for over two hours this morning. I think he's actually developing a schedule."

Stiles blinks like I've just offered him immortality. "Don't say that out loud. You'll jinx it."

"He's asleep right now. We're on borrowed time."

We stay out until Boston starts to stir again, the beginning of a whimper building behind his breath. I lift him before it escalates and hold him close, his body molding perfectly into mine.

He fits so perfectly now.

And I know—soon, he won't.

He'll grow. He'll stretch. He'll run.

But today, he fits.

And I want to remember that.

The rest of the afternoon drifts by in snapshots.

Boston rolls partially from back to side on the mat—once. Then stares at us like did you see that?

He coos louder than we expect when we show him the new crinkle book.

He stares at the mirror on the mat and seems deeply offended by his own reflection again.

Stiles starts calling him "Baby Boss" after he refuses to nap and screams with the power of an air horn.

I manage to get him to sleep on my chest while Stiles showers, and we sit together in the rocker, the house wrapped in late-day stillness.

It's not flashy. Not dramatic.

But it's real.

And it's ours.

Dinner is slow. Boston sits in his bouncer near the table again, more awake than usual, his eyes tracking the movement of our forks. He won't eat solid food for months, but already, he watches us like he's trying to decode the secret language of grownups.

"I think he recognizes when we're eating," Stiles says, chewing a bite of rice.

"He's planning his attack," I reply, deadpan.

Boston lets out a squeaky noise like he agrees.

We both smile.

Boston was down again for what we were cautiously calling his "evening nap," even though we both knew it could either last twenty minutes or turn into his full stretch for the night. It was barely 7:30 p.m., and the baby monitor was turned up just loud enough to catch the smallest shuffle or sigh. I stood in the kitchen rinsing out his last bottle while Stiles leaned against the doorway, arms folded, watching me with that expression he gets when something's sitting heavy on his mind.

I didn't speak. I could feel the weight of it coming before he even opened his mouth. Something in the air between us had shifted—barely, but enough.

I capped the bottle, set it in the drying rack, and grabbed a dishtowel to wipe my hands. Stiles didn't move. Just watched.

"What?" I finally asked.

He shrugged, but it was that fake shrug he uses when he's trying not to say something too fast. His jaw tightened, eyes darting toward the monitor, then back to me.

"We need to talk about work," he said.

There it was.

I leaned back against the counter, bracing my palms on the edge. "Yeah. I figured."

"They called," he said. "Hotch did."

"When?"

"Yesterday. I let it go to voicemail. Called him back today while you were out with Boston."

I nodded, the weight settling deeper into my chest. "What did he say?"

"They're keeping my slot open. Said the team could use me again. He asked when I'd be ready to come back."

I swallowed, nodding again. "And?"

"I told him we'd talk. That it'd be soon."

He stepped into the kitchen then, closer, but not too close. Respecting the space. Knowing this wasn't just about logistics or timelines or paternity leave. This was something deeper, heavier.

"I can go back first," he said. "Just part-time. Couple of consults a week. I told him I wouldn't leave Quantico unless it was critical. He agreed."

"And you're okay with that?" I asked quietly.

Stiles met my gaze. "No. I hate the idea of not being home every day with you and Boston. But I also know I can't stay away forever. And part of me... I don't know. I miss it. I miss helping people. I miss the team."

He wasn't wrong. We both joined the Bureau to do something that mattered. Something real. Stiles working under Hotch's team gave him a constant window into some of the darkest human behavior on the planet, and he was good at it. His brain worked in ways that cracked codes no one else could see.

And me? I worked with Fornell's unit — a quieter task force, heavy on inter-agency work, embedded agents, and special operations cases that didn't always go to the BAU. It was slower, sometimes, but it was still dangerous. Still important.

Still not something I was ready for.

I pushed away from the counter and moved to the table, sitting down slowly. Stiles followed but stayed standing.

"I don't think I can go back," I said after a long pause.

His eyes softened. "Okay."

I looked up at him sharply. "That's it?"

"That's it," he said simply. "You're not ready. That's valid."

"I don't know if I'll ever be ready," I admitted, voice low. "I thought I would be. I thought by now, I'd be back in shape, back on a timeline, mentally running drills. But I'm not. I think about going back and all I feel is—" I stopped, gripping the edge of the table. "Terror. Not just fear. Not just nerves. Terror. Like my body's trying to throw the brakes before I even step near it."

Stiles sat in the chair across from me, elbows resting on his knees. "Is it about the field? Or the Bureau in general?"

I shook my head slowly. "It's everything. The field. The uniform. The way my badge felt in my hand. The meetings, the briefings, the missions... All of it. It's like I left it all behind in that OR, and now the thought of picking it up again makes me feel like I'm standing at the edge of something I can't come back from."

I saw the pain flicker in his eyes.

"Jackson," he said quietly. "You don't owe anyone your return. Not the Bureau. Not Fornell. Not me. You don't have to prove anything."

"I know. I do know that. But I also—" My throat tightened. "I don't want to be afraid of the thing I used to be good at."

"You're not afraid of the job," Stiles said softly. "You're afraid of what it cost you."

He was right. Of course he was.

The job had taken blood. My blood. Had taken months of recovery. It had nearly taken Boston. It had stolen parts of me I wasn't sure I'd ever get back.

"Fornell said my slot's still open too," I said after a beat. "But he hasn't called. Just texted. Said he'd wait until I reached out."

"He will," Stiles said. "He gets it."

I rubbed a hand over my face, jaw clenched. "I don't want to feel like I'm giving up."

"You're not," Stiles said firmly. "You're recalibrating. That's different."

I laughed once, bitter and short. "You always know the right words."

"No," he said. "I just know you."

We sat there for a while, listening to the hum of the monitor, the distant creak of the house, the silence that came with truths too big to ignore.

"I'm scared that if I don't go back soon," I said eventually, "I never will."

"And what if that's okay?"

I looked at him, startled.

"What if you don't go back?" Stiles continued. "What if we make something else? Something that fits who you are now?"

I opened my mouth, closed it again. "Like what?"

"I don't know. Teaching? Consulting? Training new recruits? Writing protocols? You've got field experience most people only dream of. Maybe it's not about getting back out there. Maybe it's about showing the next generation how to survive it better than we did."

I stared at him.

That idea... hadn't occurred to me. Not in a real way. Not in a way that didn't feel like settling.

But the more he said it, the more it felt like... a shift. A possibility.

"I don't want to lose that part of myself," I whispered.

"You're not," he said. "You're just redirecting it. Look at you, Jackson. Look at everything you've done. You carried our son. You fought through trauma and surgery and months of healing. You didn't give up. You changed. You adapted. That's not failure. That's power."

Something cracked open in my chest. Something raw and quiet.

I reached across the table, and he took my hand immediately.

"Whatever we do," I said, voice low, "I don't want to miss this. I don't want to miss Boston growing up. I don't want to wake up one day and realize I missed the little things because I was chasing ghosts."

"Then don't," Stiles said. "Stay home. Stay with us. At least for now."

"And you'll go back?" I asked.

He hesitated. "Part-time. Remote for a while. Hotch said he'll work with me. I told him you're not ready and that our priority is Boston."

I exhaled slowly, shoulders dropping.

"You sure?" I asked. "I don't want to hold you back."

"You're not holding me back," he said, leaning forward, eyes locked on mine. "You're holding me together."

I felt that. Deep.

The monitor crackled softly, and a faint sigh came through. Boston shifted but didn't wake.

"He's going to grow up watching us make choices," I said.

"Yeah," Stiles replied. "And I want him to see that the hardest ones are the ones worth making."

We sat there until the monitor quieted again, both of us listening for that next sound, that next breath, that reminder of everything we'd built. Later that night, once Boston was down for real and the house was dark again, I stood at the window in our bedroom, staring out at the quiet street. Stiles came up behind me, arms sliding around my waist, chin resting on my shoulder.

"Do you remember the first day at the Academy?" I asked.

"Yeah," he murmured. "You looked like you were about to punch someone."

"I was. You, mostly."

He laughed, warm against my back. "Fair. You were tense."

"I didn't think I belonged."

"You did."

"I thought I had to prove it. Every second. Every test. Every mile we ran."

"You didn't," he whispered.

"I know that now."

He turned me gently, guided me toward the bed.

"You don't have to run anymore, Jackson," he said. "You made it. You are it. The best version. Right here. With us."

I believed him.

For the first time in a long time, I really, truly did.

And as we climbed into bed, our son asleep between us, the night wrapped around the house like a promise.

Whatever the future looked like — fieldwork, training, something entirely new — I'd face it on my terms.

I wasn't who I used to be.

But I was still here.

Still whole.

Still Jackson.

And that was enough.