A/N: Some things you should know: I've been working on another Shamy-as-parents universe. In this one, they have a set of fraternal twins named Gregory and Sage. This story is about their new child. I've written a lot of Greg and Sage stories, but I haven't published any of them. I just couldn't resist posting this one out of order because I needed to release some angst.

Sheldon was there for the entire birth of his second son. In fact, he didn't let Amy out of his sight for five weeks before her due date out of fear that he would have a repeat of the twins' birth fiasco. But he was there this time. He ran to get ice chips and let her crush his hand and coached her through all those ridiculous breathing exercises. He was there.

Nathan Joseph Cooper was born on February 26th, 2023 - exactly forty-three years after his father. Not only did they have the same eyes, but they also shared the same hatred for birthdays. Or rather, birthdays hated them. Nathan spent his day of birth in a little glass box, being poked and prodded at by men and women in white coats. Of course, Sheldon and Amy blamed themselves. "We knew we were too old to be having kids." "It's a miracle there were no complications with Greg and Sage." And the most popular: a simple "Why?"

They spent the night in a hospital bed, clinging to each other and pretending that they were asleep. At around midnight, Sheldon realized that it was no use containing his emotions. Whether he cried or not made no difference as to whether his son would live or die. And so he cried. He cried for over an hour. And it wasn't just single tears gently streaming down his face; he was bawling. He was audibly sobbing and blowing snot into Amy's hair and he felt like he was drowning. Amy was assuring him that everything would be okay, but it was hard to believe that when she was clearly drowning, as well. Their son couldn't support himself - and it was their faults.

They spent two weeks heading to and from that hospital, missing work and begging Leonard to pick up Greg and Sage from preschool on multiple occasions. They were allowed to take Nathan home on March 12th. The doctors assured them that he was fine - but that didn't stop Sheldon and Amy from never letting him out of their sights. If he was taking a nap, he was taking a nap on Sheldon's chest. If either parent had to go to work, Nathan was put in a sling and taken with them. There were times when Nathan would so much as look like he was about to cry, and Sheldon would drop everything and rush to the hospital. The worst part was when the doctors would laugh. "That's just dried baby food on his chin, not a growth." "Babies are supposed to have soft spots on their heads." Or the most popular: "It's just colic."

As time progressed, it became clear that Nathan was perfectly healthy. But that didn't stop them from having him sleep in their bed with them at night, or watching Sage and Greg like hawks when they played with their baby brother. The wakeup call for Sheldon and Amy was when they realized they hadn't so much as touched each other in weeks because they had devoted all their time to making sure Nate was alive. And so they began accompanying each other to work on occasion, and they decided to let Nate sleep in his crib at least once a week. Of course, that crib was less than two feet from their bed, but it was a start.

Sheldon was tempted to say that the feeling of Amy's lips on his after so much time apart was foreign, but that familiar feeling soon returned to him. They fit together like a mold. As they enjoyed each other's embrace, Sheldon found himself moving his hand to rest on her stomach. That is where it had been the last time they cuddled - when Nathan was still in there. Sheldon pulled his hand away in embarrassment. He had forgotten how to care for his wife. Amy placed a gentle kiss to his cheek and whispered, "It's okay." Sheldon pulled her closer to him in an attempt to reclaim what he had lost, but his hand found its way to the back of her head. He was cradling her like he cradled his children. He had truly forgotten how to care for his wife.

He broke away and fell onto his back in a fit of exasperation. How could they possibly go back to normal? How had they gone almost a month without touching each other after cuddling every night for seven years? He didn't realize he was crying until Amy leaned over him and wiped at his tears with her thumb.

"Hey," Amy said with a sad smile. "Do you remember how we used to sleep?"

Sheldon nodded.

"Would you like to try it again?" she asked.

He nodded once more and slowly moved to roll her onto her back before resting his head on her chest. He slung his arm over her torso and she ran her fingers through his graying hair.

"I remember this," he whispered.

Amy pressed her lips to the top of his head and rubbed circles on his back.

"I'm so sorry, Amy."

"Me too," she replied.

The couple became increasingly more affectionate as time wore on, eventually reaching the point they were at before Nate was born. They loved each other. They loved their children. They were the perfect family again.

And then Nate got sick.

And really sick this time, not just he-drooled-on-himself-call-an-ambulance sick. Only 150 infants are diagnosed with leukemia each year in America. Nate was one of them.

Sheldon and Amy returned their affections to the little boy, and they didn't try to fight it. Their son had less than a 50% chance of survival. They weren't going to worry about cuddling.

"Mommy, what's wrong with Nate?" Greg asked as the four of them sat in a hospital waiting room.

Amy scooped the boy into her lap and stroked his thin brown hair. "Nate is very sick, baby."

"What kind of sick?" he questioned further.

Sheldon clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. He was angry. At the doctors for not making Nate better. At Greg for not understanding. At Sage for showing a complete lack of emotion.

"Nate is dying, Gregory," Sheldon said suddenly, surprising himself.

Amy's eyes widened as she registered the bluntness in his voice. "Sheldon."

He couldn't stop even if he wanted to. "Nate is dying for no goddamn reason."

"Sheldon," Amy scolded as she weakly moved her hands over Greg's ears.

"Some unidentified source is playing a dirty joke on us and there's nothing we can do about it. And it couldn't go after me or you or even our other children, who would have at least had a 30% better chance of survival. No. It went after my newborn son. Our infant child." He bit down on his fist as he tried to hold it together in front of all the strangers. "So to answer your question, Greg, your brother is dying. And he'll probably be gone soon enough."

With that, he stood up and headed for the exit. He felt horrible doing it, make no mistake. But he needed to be alone. He knew Amy would understand. Greg wouldn't understand. Sage wouldn't care. Why didn't she care about anything? He spent his entire life before Amy wishing that he could master apathy. But now that he saw it in his own daughter, it made him ill. Did she even have emotions? He reached into his pocket for his phone and quickly unlocked it. He was met with a background image from months ago. It was the day they were allowed to bring Nate home. Greg and Sage were smiling. Nate was sleeping. Sheldon and Amy were smiling, but the tiredness and apprehension was so visible. He would kill for that feeling of apprehension again, no matter how miserable he was. Anything to replace the absolute dread that filled him now.

With trembling hands, he dialed a familiar number from memory. He held the phone to his ear and pressed his back against the wall.

"Shelly?"

"Mom?" he replied, his voice and body shaking.

"Shelly, what's wrong?" she asked with clear concern.

"Mom, why does your God do this?" he cried.

"Sheldon, please calm down and tell me what's wrong," she begged.

Sheldon pulled on a fistful of his hair and inhaled a shaky breath. "I need answers. Why is your God allowing my son to die?" he interrogated.

Mary paused as she considered how to reply. She had the answer to his question, but she also knew the answer he wanted. "Your son's still kickin', baby."

"Just barely," he retorted.

"But he is," she said. "Shelly, do you remember all those times you got sick when you were little?"

"I never had cancer, mother."

"But you always pulled through. Nathan will, too," she assured him. Sheldon didn't respond. She couldn't even hear him breathing, but she knew he was there. "Would you like to pray with me?"

"I don't believe in God," he answered quickly.

"He hears it anyway," she replied.

She prayed for Sheldon's soul. She prayed for Nathan's health. She prayed for strength and patience. As much as he tried, Sheldon couldn't imagine some supreme deity hearing her requests. She was just throwing her wants and wishes into the void.

But it made him feel better.

He made his way back to the hospital chair to find Greg asleep in Amy's arms and Sage playing with those disgusting, sticky toys in the corner. He had long ago given up on avoiding the chairs in the hospital. He had to be there all too frequently and he was too old to stand for long periods of time.

"You okay?" Amy asked with a small, forgiving smile.

He pecked her on the lips and took her hand in his. He brought her knuckles to his mouth and kissed each one softy. Any strength he had left, he found it in her. His thoughts were interrupted when he noticed Sage had approached them and was holding out her arms. Sheldon picked her up and hugged her to his chest. As she wrapped his arms around his neck, he wondered how he could have possibly been angry at her just moments ago. He was upset that she didn't talk. But it was psychological. He didn't have any right to be mad at her.

"I love you, baby," he whispered and kissed her on the cheek.

She rested her head on his shoulder. "I love you, too."

Hearing Sage's voice for the first time in a while was just what he needed. It wasn't enough to cancel the fact that they were sitting in a room waiting to hear the fate of one-fifth of their family unit, but it was something.

"Dr. and Dr. Cooper?" a woman called from the door.

The two stood and tried to gauge the emotions on the woman's face. It was a guessing game they played now. It was awful.

"The blood transfusion went well," the doctor said.

She didn't say it with a smile, and Sheldon became worried. "But?"

"No buts," she assured him. "We'll start chemotherapy on Monday."

Sheldon and Amy looked at each other in shock. When was the last time something truly good happened to them?

"Can we take him home?" Amy asked, readjusting the sleeping three-year-old in her arms. She knew it was unlikely the answer would be yes; it was a blood transfusion, after all. But she still wanted to be with him.

"We're going to keep him overnight," the doctor replied.

The parents nodded solemnly.

The doctor sighed and crossed her arms. "My advice? Go home. Get some rest. Come back tomorrow and take him home."

"What, just so we can take him back here the next day?" Sheldon quipped.

"Sheldon," Amy warned. Her eyes said to save it until he got home.

So he did.

It was 10 at night when they got home. Sheldon collapsed on his bed as soon as the kids were asleep. He didn't even bother to take off his shoes. What was the point? In a minute, he'd probably get a phone call saying "We lied, your son has two minutes to live." And then he'd be off again. He buried his head in his pillow and cried. He cried like he did when Nate was sick the first time. Except now Amy wasn't holding him and telling him it would be okay. Now she was sleeping on the couch, avoiding him.

He slid off of the mattress and entered the bathroom. He didn't recognize the face of the tear-stained man looking back at him in the mirror. When had he gotten so old? When had his hair turned so gray? When had he become so pale? Since when was his brow permanently furrowed? He splashed cold water on his face, but to no avail. He was still the tired, broken man he was three seconds ago.

But not emotionless. He looked at his cold, empty bed fit with wrinkly, unwashed sheets and a crumpled up comforter. He didn't want to sleep alone. He made his way to the living room and found Amy underneath a surplus of blankets. She looked anything but serene, which made it easier for him to grab her by the shoulder and gently shake her awake.

She sat up, startled. "Is Nate okay?"

"Nate is fine," he lied. "Come to bed with me."

He wrapped his arm around her waist and escorted her to their room. Amy made no attempt to pull her hand away when Sheldon reached for it under the covers. He was still wearing his uncomfortable pants and t-shirts, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. Maybe he had become more immune to emotions without realizing it. That proved not to be the case when he heard Amy softly crying next to him and his heart shattered into a million pieces. He wrapped his arms around her waist and hers found their way around his neck. Their legs intertwined the same way they did when they were honeymooners. As Amy continued to cry on his shoulder, Sheldon began to wonder if maybe while he was drawing his strength from her, she was being left empty.

"It'll be okay," he whispered.

Sheldon was the optimist from that day onward.

Sheldon sat on the edge of his side of the bed and slipped on his black dress shoes. They matched his black slacks, black shirt, and black tie. A couple's outfit when Amy's black dress was added. He placed his elbows on his knees and held his head in his hands. He wouldn't cry in front of Amy. He wouldn't cry in front of Amy. He wouldn't cry in front of Amy.

She sat down and leaned against him, rubbing circles on his back. "There wasn't anything anybody could do, Sheldon," she said sadly.

He dug his palms into his cheeks and let out a strained sigh. "I know."

The church where the memorial took place was small. Everyone who attended wanted to talk to him. They wanted to see how he was doing, or how he was feeling. He would tell them all the same thing: poorly and terrible. The front row is a terrible place to be, at all times and in all places. This was no exception. Why would he want a front row seat so he could hear a eulogy clearly, or see a coffin up close and personal? He didn't want to be there.

Life was brought back to his blank stare when he heard a baby cry next to him.

Amy picked up the little boy and held him to her chest. "It's okay, Nathan," she whispered, adjusting the tiny black sweatervest he wore.

"We are gathered here today to remember the life of Margaret Elizabeth Anderson," the priest said. "Her daughter Mary, and grandkids George, Missy, and Sheldon would like to thank you all for coming."

Sheldon took the baby boy from Amy's arms when he continued to fuss and kissed him on the head. His thin brown hair was beginning to grow back, and his cheeks were much chubbier and pinker than they used to be.

The sermon topic was being grateful for family. Sheldon looked over at his wife and smiled. It wasn't hard to be grateful for her. She had supported him through every little thing, ranging from a stolen parking spot to a dying son. His eyes continued down the pew and he saw Greg and Sage. They weren't particularly paying attention to their surroundings, as they found more joy in kicking their little legs that hung a foot above the ground. It wasn't too hard to be grateful for them, either. They had made him so much more loving. More compassionate. More protecting. That left him to think of the tiny boy in his arms - little Nathan Joseph. He could hardly contain his gratefulness for Nate. He had given him patience, strength, bravery, everything. He was mostly grateful that Nate was still breathing.

The five of them spent their remaining time in Texas with Mary. Sheldon couldn't help but notice that she wasn't angry or hurt in the slightest. Au contraire, she was happy. She doted on her grandkids and baked cookies and gave her same warm hugs.

Sheldon couldn't help but question her as he helped wash the dishes. "Mom, why aren't you upset about meemaw dying?"

"Shelly, your meemaw lived a long, happy life. That's nothing to be upset about," she said casually. "And besides… well, you know."

Sheldon did know. He knew that she meant "it's because I have hope, and you don't."

He let it go.

Amy insisted that they take a plane, not wanting to spend an unnecessary time looking out a train window with three fussy children while Sheldon spewed facts at her. Greg and Sage sat on one side of the plane, taking turns sitting in the window seat. Amy and Sheldon sat on the other side. Sheldon had Nate in his lap, and he had no issue letting his wife take the window seat. She looked so beautiful as she watched countless cities pass by below her. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

Amy smiled and rested her head on his shoulder. "Everything all right?" she asked.

Sheldon let Nate hold his pointer finger in his hand and sighed contentedly. And then he put it in his mouth and bit down on it, but it was fine. For the first time in a long time, everything was fine. His family was healthy. He was sane. Amy was smiling again. It was more than fine.

"Everything is wonderful."

A/N: I didn't proofread this and I honestly probably don't deserve your reviews, but I'd still really like them.