After five months of "if it happens it happens," Leslie misses her period. She drives halfway across town to buy a pregnancy test where they don't know her face, and when the little pink line shows up just like the picture on the box, she goes still. Her mind is racing, but she sits still on the couch and waits for Jake to get home because she needs Jake.
When he walks in the door, she hands him the test and he looks up and starts to smile and ugly, gut-wrenching sobs tear out of her. The test drops from his hand as he steps forward to wrap himself around her, and she sobs into his shoulder as he holds her. When it doesn't show signs of abating, he scoops her up in his arms and carries her over to the couch, sitting down and cradling her in his lap. He rocks slightly and doesn't say a word, just waiting.
She curls her fingers in his shirt and sobs out, "They're going to put me on a desk. They might as well take my gun and lock me in a storage room. My career is over and I'm not sure I'm ready for it." Then she stops and thumps her hand on his chest, meeting his eyes with tears streaming down her face. "And I'm so happy," she sobs.
Jake smiles a little, over her head, and says, "Well I'm glad you're happy, or we'd really be in trouble," and she laughs against her will and starts to calm down. When she sniffles and snuffles and settles against him, he sets her back a bit, keeping one arm around her back and wiping her face with his other hand.
Seriously, looking into her eyes, he says, "You know you own that bullpen. Being on a desk doesn't mean you're benched. You'll be thinking and plotting and holding everything together for everyone in the field. When you have the baby, you're going to be too busy having a tiny human to miss your job, and it will all be waiting for you when you go back. This is not an ending." As she listens, her face morphs from distressed to sad to curious to excited, and Jake can't help his face from stretching out into a grin.
She says what he's thinking, whispering, "We're having a baby," and he presses his forehead to hers as they grin uncontrollably. She slips her hands around to his back and asks, "Aren't you scared, Jake?"
"Of course. Of course I am. But I have you. You know, Mal always said you'd be a good mom."
"He did not!" she says, retracting one of her hands to smack him on the shoulder.
"Did too. His exact words were, I believe, that the way you've put up with me shows you'd clearly be great with kids." Jake smirks and Leslie shakes her head slightly.
"You know I love Mal, but you are never going to talk to our baby like that."
"Not a chance," he says, and tilts his head to kiss her. Then he leans back, resting his head on the couch cushion, and she wraps her arms around his torso, laying her head on his chest. "Dad did his best with what he had, and he gave us a home we could always come back to… obviously," he adds dryly, and Leslie laughs. "But no, I wouldn't want to talk to my—our kids," and he squeezes her a little, "the way he's always talked to me."
"I guess neither of us had what you would call terrific parenting role models."
"Not for long enough, anyway," Jake says quietly, and Leslie knows he's thinking of his mom. She closes her eyes and pushes up a little, pressing her face into his neck.
"We know things, though," she says, her voice slowing as her body continues to relax. "We know right from wrong. We know how to love." She yawns. "We know the important stuff."
Stroking her hair, Jake says, "Yeah, we do," even and low, knowing she's drifting off to sleep.
They wait on tenterhooks for Leslie's doctor's appointment, and in the waiting room she clutches Jake's hand like it's the only thing keeping her afloat. Of course, everything is fine—she is fine—and she asks for reassurance more than anything else, "Do you agree? That I should be on a desk?"
The doctor looks up, his pen still scratching across the paper, and nods slowly. "Yes. I think that would be wise." He points the pen in her direction. "We can't erase risk, but we can minimize it. An RNC job carries a lot of risk; best to minimize it."
In the car as they drive home, Leslie draws her legs up beneath her on the bench seat and says, "Jake?" He looks across, curious, and she says, "I think I should talk to someone."
He looks again but doesn't say anything.
"I think when I tell the Inspector to assign me to desk, I'll ask for a referral as well. I need… something."
Reaching over with one hand, he strokes her hair behind her ear and brushes her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "Whatever you need, Leslie. I'm here for you." He drops his hand and she catches it in hers, wrapping her hands around his. He smiles then and she smiles back, squeezing his hand and resting her head against the window.
At work, Leslie puts up walls upon walls upon defenses upon walls, and so when she goes to talk to the Inspector she pauses for a long minute, just out of sight. She shores up her courage, as much as she can, and then she steps into the doorway and raps her knuckles on the open door.
The Inspector looks up from her work and waves her in, saying, "Sergeant Bennett, what can I do for you?"
Leslie shuts the door gingerly behind her and takes a seat in one of the guest chairs. "May I speak in confidence?"
"Certainly," the Inspector replies, leaning back in her chair and folding her hands.
After crossing and uncrossing her legs, Leslie presses her feet flat on the floor and leans forward slightly. "I'm here to ask to be assigned to desk."
Her eyebrows go up, and the Inspector motions for Leslie to go on.
Taking a deep breath and then letting it out slowly, Leslie says, "You're one of the first people to hear this, so I'd really appreciate it if it could stay between the two of us. I'm pregnant." The Inspector opens her mouth to reply but Leslie has more to say. "I know some officers stay in the field as long as possible, but I'm not interested in that. I need to know I'm doing everything I can to stay safe. However, I believe I can be extremely valuable from within the station, developing theories, planning field work, and so on. It will be a shift in responsibility, but I assure you I will—"
The Inspector waves her hand and Leslie stops talking, face locked on determination.
"Leslie, I have no doubt in your abilities inside or outside of the station. You have a measure of control over your constables that speaks well of you, and I'm sure you'll maintain that throughout your pregnancy. I have no reason at all to deny you desk duty—and congratulations, by the way."
Relaxing for a moment, Leslie takes a relieved breath and then remembers what else she has to ask. "Also, I'd, um. I'd like for you to refer me to the police psychologist. It's nothing that will impact my work, of course, but, um…"
Waving her hand again, the Inspector sits up and pulls a post-it pad toward her. "That's all between you and him. You met Michael, didn't you, for your return-to-service eval?" Leslie nods and the Inspector jots something down. "I'll have him call you—on your cell?" Leslie nods again. "And he'll set something up for you. Again, Leslie, I have no doubts about your performance. You've proven yourself tenfold since returning to work. Just keep doing your job, and we're good."
"Thank you, Inspector."
"And pass my congratulations on to that husband of yours, would you?" The Inspector smirks and Leslie tries to bite back her smile but is entirely unable.
"I will. Thank you."
That night, as every night, Jake sets their dinner in the oven—Once a week, Rose sends home a casserole. Between leftovers, sandwiches, and scrambled eggs, they do just fine.—and they snuggle up on the couch to talk about their days.
"She probably has a little crush on you," Leslie says after filling him in on her conversation with the Inspector.
"Well, who doesn't?" Jake says, blasé. "She can get in line."
Leslie pokes him in the side with her elbow. "That's a line that won't be moving anytime soon."
"Surely not," he agrees, wrapping his arms around her arms and a hand around each wrist so she can't move.
She squirms and laughs and says, "Truce, truce," and he slips his hands under her arms to wrap around her waist instead. One palm he lays flat on her belly, level as it is now.
"Six weeks, right?"
"Mmhmm."
"I… downloaded an app," he confesses, rushed and mumbled. She doesn't respond right away and he bites down on his bottom lip, but then she twists in his arms and presses her cheek to his chest so he can see her smile.
"I did too," she says, like it's a secret, and she tips her head up to meet his eyes. He smiles back and dips his chin, so she pushes off and kisses him, smile upon smile. The buzzer goes off in the kitchen and he holds her in place for a moment when she starts to pull away. She swats at him and he lets go. Getting up, she says, "You know charcoal isn't exactly on the list of recommended foods for a pregnant lady."
He makes an offended sound, climbing to his feet. "As if I would ever serve my girl burnt food."
"Oh yeah, that's never happened, right?"
"Umm…" He scratches the back of his neck and then catches her around the waist. "Not according to official record and you wouldn't blacken my name, no pun intended?"
She doesn't fight, just lays her hands on his chest and rolls her eyes. "Regardless, pregnant lady is hungry. Don't get between me and my dinner."
He just kisses her once more and then lets her run off to the kitchen. He watches her until she reaches the stove and then says, "Hey, wait, I'll get that."
"Oh, now with the chivalry?" she tosses over her shoulder. "I've got it, Jake. I'll say it again: Don't get between a pregnant woman and her dinner."
Laughing, he strolls over and enjoys the view as she bends to remove the plates from the oven. She sets them on the placemats and Jake collects the cutlery from the drawer. Leslie reaches up to the cupboard—bottom shelf—for the glasses and Jake pours the water. They smile and kiss and then sit down to eat.
Routine. It's what's for dinner.
Leslie goes to see the police psych for the first time the next week. She sees him once a week to start with, and once every second week when she gets into a groove. When she comes home at night, they huddle up on the couch and talk about their days, and Leslie tells Jake what she learned that day like it's storytime for the kindergartners. Hand gestures, voices, the whole shebang. She's excited about it and Jake loves to see that more than anything else.
For the most part, she learns coping strategies—she's been a cop for a while now, she's figured a lot of things out, but this anxiety is new and, she knows, irrational. So it's kind of like going back to school, just on how to get through the day and fall asleep at night.
She learns how to breathe—to meditate—to try yoga, even if it makes her feel silly—aromatherapy—mantras—gratitudes—and to talk about the things that scare her, if only with the psych. She doesn't like to say them out loud, otherwise; in case that brings them true.
"Words don't create reality, Leslie. Actions do. Your words will not, cannot change the reality of a situation. Your actions, or someone else's actions, have consequences. People can act based on words, but the fabric of the universe will not change based on the utterance of speech."
Still, she'd rather not share the most irrational of them with Jake. She starts a journal, though sometimes she has to tear out pages and shred them up.
Time passes, and the day-to-day gets easier. Sometimes, when she gets home, instead of putting dinner straight in the oven, she draws a very hot bath, sprinkles some lavender oil, and lights some candles. Jake lies on the bed, using some of the tricks she's taught him, the little noises from the bath a serenade that soothes his frayed nerves. They both put so much into their jobs; this has been a sorely needed reminder to actually take time for themselves, treat themselves right. Because they need it.
The last time she sees the psych, she's just about run out of loose and empire-waist tops and her belly is starting to show no matter what she wears. She says to him, "Once I tell everyone, it will be really real. I'm scared of that transition."
"Why is that?"
"Well… everyone will know if something goes wrong. It will be, essentially, public knowledge."
"Your first assumption, Leslie, is still that something is going to go wrong. You know that isn't productive thinking. That just makes you worry, right?"
"I know. I've gotten better. But telling everyone…"
"You've told Jake's family, though, haven't you?"
Leslie fidgets, bites her cheek, looks anywhere but at his face.
"You haven't?"
"I… I asked him to wait until I was ready. I know it's been hard for him, it's not fair on him. I wanted it to really settle in, to be… I guess I wanted it to be real. Which kind of contradicts what I said before. I want it to be real but I don't want it to be real."
"That's perfectly normal. You're ambivalent. You can see both sides of the situation. But you're still looking at it through anxiety goggles. I've said it before, but there's this superstition—in every culture, every religion, it isn't unique to you at all—that saying something aloud invites trouble. It's simply not true. The very act of speaking it will not change anything other than the fact that other people will know. It will not, in any way, shape, or form, make it more likely that something bad will happen. Remember, words do not create reality. You do."
Leslie shuts her eyes and takes a deep, slow breath, then nods.
"Now, are you sure you want to end our sessions here? You know the department will support you…"
"I know. And I might be back. But I think for now I need to move forward on my own. You've been such a tremendous help to me, I can't say it enough. Thank you."
"I wish you nothing but the best, Leslie."
They hug, and walking out of his office, Leslie feels like she is crossing a bridge. She doesn't know quite what she'll find on the other side, but she knows she's taken a step toward the future she most wants.
The next day, she leaves the blazers at home, dressing in a collared shirt with a form-fitting sweater over top. Everyone who sees her walking in does a double-take, but Hood is the first to nab her at her desk.
"Bennett! There were a lot of theories floating around, you know, about why you would take to desk. I'm glad this one won out. Congratulations. And tell your Doyle, let him know that I'll be after him if he's ever any form of arse to you."
"Oh, Hood." She stands and hugs him, regrets it as soon as she does, will blame it on the pregnancy hormones. "You're a good partner, Hood."
"Yeah, well." He blushes and shuffles his feet and mumbles an excuse to get away.
There's a steady parade of handshakes and congratulations from the rest of the department. She smiles genuinely for each one because they all come from such a good place. She doesn't know if she's the first pregnant sergeant this office has seen, or maybe the first in recent days, but everyone is excited and pleased for her.
And then Tinny appears, somehow having managed to acquire a tasteful flower arrangement, and Leslie grabs her arm, pulling her in close. "Tinny, I'm sorry we didn't tell you sooner. Mal and Rose, they haven't…?"
"No, ma'am. I won't peep a word of it, either. After all this time, the least you can do is tell them in person, and no way am I getting in the middle of that!"
She hugs Tinny too, though that's significantly less out of character. "Thank you, Tinny."
"That's quite a hug you're developing there. How exactly did you keep it from us all these months?"
Leslie sighs and hangs her head. "It wasn't easy, I promise you that."
Of course, they go straight to dinner at Rose and Mal's, who are torn between absolute euphoria and the need to scold both Leslie and Jake for keeping such a pivotal secret from them.
As they sit down, Leslie speaks honestly. "Rose, Mal, I'm sorry we didn't tell you sooner. I know that, by all rights, we should have. But the truth is, I've been having some trouble… mentally and emotionally, with this, and I wanted to wait until it was as real as it was ever going to be, and I think now qualifies. We have three months left, and if you'd like to sit in on ultrasounds, if you want 3D printouts, anything at all, you're welcome."
Rose is crying and Mal is misty-eyed, so to speak, and they both hold their hands out for Leslie to grasp.
"Honey, as long as you're happy and healthy, we couldn't ask for anything more. We are so, so happy for you both." Rose wipes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and then goes on, "But now, you know I have to feed you. It's my grandmotherly duty, even though I'm far too young to be a grandmother—again."
"Well, you have to give Jake some credit, I'm certainly not wasting away," and Leslie pushes her belly out, wrapping her hands around the prominent bump.
"Don't tell me Jake's cooking," Mal says incredulously.
"Well." Leslie tilts her hand back and forth. "We aren't going hungry, I'll put it that way."
Mal leans back in his chair, watching them both for a moment, and then says, "Wouldja look at that? My thirty-five-year-old son is just about all grown up. I never thought I'd see the day." To Leslie, as if in confidence, "I never thought I'd see the day, Leslie. You should be very proud."
"Eh," she says, shrugging. "I was just in the right place in the right time."
When she looks to Jake, he's just shaking his head back and forth, back and forth, a stupid smile on his face. He leans forward to press his forehead to her cheek. "If that's true, I'm the luckiest guy alive to have been in that right place at that right time. And the luckiest guy alive that you continue to put up with me after all this time."
She turns into him, wrapping an arm around his back, and says, "I wouldn't do it if you hadn't made me love you so much."
They still feel giddy, like their honeymoon never quite ended. It's a good thing they're such professionals when it comes to work, since this behaviour would be completely inappropria—But who are we kidding. Jake still comes to the station and Leslie is still stern and businesslike in the bullpen but there's always a closet or a disabled toilet for them to sneak into and a little making out never hurt anyone.
Anyway, who's going to take to task the pregnant lady who just got locked in a box and buried alive a year ago?
No one. That's who.
There's a one year anniversary in there somewhere—they don't keep track of the date but what with the hospital stay and all, it kind of sticks in the memory—and they celebrate by curling up on the couch and eating ice cream. Neither of them really needs a reminder, a reason to appreciate what they have and hold each other tight at night.
They remember. They'll never be able to forget.
After the six month checkup, they start looking for a house. They never intended to stay in Leslie's house so long—it's such a girl's house, which Jake can't abide, and of course there's no room for a baby. St. John's is a small city, and despite their wants being relatively simple (short drive from family, two stories, three bedrooms), there just aren't that many houses on the market and they do a lot of waiting.
As the due date approaches and Leslie goes off work, they're preparing to have to move with a baby. They are slowly packing up, with Leslie mostly directing and Jake filling boxes (not always with his shirt on, and yes that does result in some hanky panky).
It's emotional for Leslie—well, she's pregnant, but also she's lived in this house about as long as she's worked for the RNC, and that's a lot of life and a lot of memories.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, she sorts through her closet and cries over blouses she hasn't worn since she was a constable; sorts through her bedside drawers and cries over three-year-old phone numbers and notes-to-self. When Jake is passing through and sees her sobbing into her hand he stops and sits beside her on the bed, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and kissing her cheek, murmuring, "Okay, sweetheart" in her ear. She laughs through her tears and says, "I'm ridiculous" and he says back, "You're allowed to be ridiculous" and she loves him all the more for it.
On days when Jake goes to work and Leslie is home, she likes to pick one of the volumes of poetry she inherited from her father and read them aloud, one hand on her belly. She talks to the baby, explains archaic language and tries to summarize the gist of the poem. She talks to the baby a lot, actually, which she hears is normal. She doesn't talk about her anxieties. Not out loud. Not anywhere the baby can hear. Anyway, most of them have taken the backseat to the intense love that is burning her heart lava-red. All she can think about is the little life inside her, how alive and active it is, and how much life it brings her.
In the process of packing, it isn't long before all the charm and sentiment is leeched out of the house; if she needed it to still feel like home she could easily have left a touchstone but she has Jake and that's all she really needs.
So when they make love for the last time in that house, it is like a funeral rite; surrounded by nothing but bare walls and boxes, a ritual fare-thee-well and passing of the reins to the next inhabitants.
They find the new house three days before her due date, and it is sheer luck that the landlord needs them to move in as soon as possible. Jake enlists Tinny and Des, since he doesn't believe in paying anyone to do something he can do himself. The kids make sure the house is move-in ready—down and dirty, scrubbing and sweeping and washing, paint touch-ups—while Jake packs the truck. At the other end, they unpack the boxes and then Jake and the kids head back to carry out the furniture (leaving the bed and one couch to be moved at the very last minute).
Despite her admiration of Jake's many muscles, Leslie spends the day at Rose and Mal's to keep her blood pressure from rising. She and Rose camp out on the couch with snacks and blankets and watch the Food Network for four or five hours.
Leslie is, at this point, naturally, enormous. She shifts position thirty times before being able to settle, and then ten minutes later needs to shift again. It's not that she minds, really. She still loves wrapping her arms around her giant belly and she knows she's going to miss it when it's gone.
The night before her due date is one of the last nights they spend in Leslie's bed. Jake curls his body around hers, his hand almost reaching her belly button but falling about two inches short. He lays his hand there, palm down, and then slips it under her shirt instead. He just smoothes his hand over the curve of her belly, top to bottom and as far around as he can reach.
"Tomorrow..." he murmurs.
"Mmhmm."
"You ready?"
Leslie takes a breath to answer, pauses, then says, "No. Not at all. I've gotten used to this whole pregnancy thing, but... Wow, am I ever excited to meet our little guy."
Jake lifts his hand briefly to brush Leslie's hair away from her neck so he can kiss her there, then returns his hand to her belly. "I know. Me too. I can't wait to get to share him with you."
Laughing, Leslie puts her hand on top of Jake's and squeezes. "Sorry for being such a baby hog, God, so selfish of me."
"Darn right," he says, nose tucked behind her ear.
In bed, as on the couch, Leslie can't stay in one position for long. As much as she loves feeling Jake at her back she has to roll, and once she rolls they can barely even reach each other. Sometimes she can just reach out her toes to touch his leg. Maybe snuggling will be easier when the baby comes. Then again, people don't sleep much with a baby, do they?
For three days after Leslie's due date, Tinny and Des work frantically to make sure the new house is as ready as humanly possible while Jake stays with Leslie. He rubs her feet (the swelling, Lord God the swelling) and brings her ice cream (so hungry all the time) and basically treats her like a princess. Of course, Jake doesn't say no to Leslie; it's not like they needed a pregnancy to demonstrate that fact. Admittedly, she is not as appreciative as she may otherwise be, moaning and groaning about the pains in her body, bending her back over the arm of the couch and sometimes sitting upside down if only for a change of scenery.
On the third day, they're sitting and lying on the couch, Jake reading poetry to the little body in Leslie's belly, when her belly suddenly contracts and Leslie curls upward, groaning. She looks to Jake.
"I thought it was just back pains. This isn't back pains."
"Okay." Jake doesn't panic. He is not a man who panics. Des panics. Des is the one who panics. "Okay," he says again. "I need to time them. I'm going to start the stopwatch on my phone. I need—I need to write this stuff down. What time is it? I need to write down the time."
He's panting slightly and Leslie giggles while clutching at her belly.
"We're okay, Jake. My water hasn't broken yet. But we're moving!"
Kneeling on the floor beside the couch, he kisses her mouth and her forehead and her ear and says, "Yes we are."
Leslie reaches for his hand and kisses it, then says, "Let's watch a movie. We've got hours yet."
"A movie," Jake repeats, slightly incredulous. "Sure, I'll just sit here on the couch while my wife is in labour and watch some stupid idiotic movie on TV. That sounds best kind."
"Okay," she says, shoving and pulling herself up into a sitting position. "I'll watch a movie, and you can pace or punch a pillow or something."
"Oh God," he says. "Labour can last... like... a lot of hours. I'm going to have a heart attack."
Rolling her eyes, Leslie picks up the remote and flips to On Demand. "Yes, Jake. You're the one who's going to suffer through this."
He sits down next to her and picks up her free hand, holding it in his lap. "I'm sorry! But you'll be all distracted with the pain and I'll be the one pacing the waiting room or whatever it is dads do these days."
Leslie tilts her head to look sideways at him, smiling. "Dads."
As if he could resist that. "Yeah, dads," he says, grinning. "Okay," he concedes. "We'll watch a movie—your pick, obviously—but you have to tell me every time you have a contraction and I need to keep the lamp on so I can write it down."
Laughing again and crying a little, Leslie waves him on.
Six hours later, Leslie wakes up from a fitful sleep with a start. She's lying on the couch, her feet in Jake's lap, and he's asleep too. She knows that a contraction woke her up because she's doubled over—as much as her giant belly will allow—and the pain carries through. She checks the time on Jake's phone and waits for the next one.
She's at six minutes—barely—so she nudges Jake's thigh with her toe.
"'Ey," he says groggily, peering at her out of one slitted eye.
"Six minutes, Jake."
She can see the wheels turning in his head, and then he stretches his eyes wide and blinks hard in a bid to wake himself.
"Six minutes?"
"Mmhmm."
Then he's up, crossing the room for his notebook, saying, "Did you write it down?" on his way to the kitchen.
"Not yet. 4:37 and 4:43."
He comes back with a large glass of water and says, "You have to stay hydrated."
"So do you!" Leslie says. "March back in there and get yourself one of these. And while you're at it..." She blinks up at him and smiles angelically. "Make me a sandwich, love? And make yourself one, too. Please. I won't have you passing out in the birthing room."
"That might happen anyway," he tosses over his shoulder as he heads back to the kitchen. "I've never been good with the sight of blood."
"Ha!" Leslie replies. Curling up on the couch, she pulls the afghan off the back of the couch to wrap around her and turns on the TV. After skipping around a bit, she lands on a program about the hidden history of the Canada flag. Perfect for in utero TV watching: educational but not entirely about death, which most educational programs are these days.
She falls back asleep almost immediately, waking to another contraction and a sandwich on the table in front of her. She puts a finger up to get Jake's attention, then says, "Thanks, babe," once the wave has passed. She eats quickly, both starving and trying to outrun the next contraction.
After a bowl of ice cream (just don't ask what size bowl), her contractions have been five minutes apart for an hour and they decide to drive to the hospital.
The bag is by the door, packed for weeks, and Leslie reminds Jake several times to drive the limit. They even take her car since it has things like airbags and headrests. Still Leslie has to hold on to his arm and pet him like a puppy to try to keep him calm. She, for the record, has been feeling surprisingly zen about the whole thing. It feels like all she can do now is get to the hospital and then it will be out of her hands… for that tiny window, anyway, between the time her body takes over and the time that precious baby is placed into her arms.
She's got fairydust in her belly, and fairies too. She can feel them flying around, just waiting for the moment she gets to see her baby's face and this all will come to fruition.
The labour is not long, relatively: five hours. Despite his worries, Jake is there by her side the entire time, holding her hand and feeding her ice chips. Every movie stereotype come true, but he's too busy watching her face to care. It hurts him, because she's in so much pain, but he is so proud of her for pushing through it. All he can say is, "You're doing great, Leslie. I love you. You're doing so great."
She didn't decline an epidural for any sense of morality or superiority; it's just that she's spent so much time with the demons inside her head in the past year or so, physical pain has lost some of its mystique. It will hurt, and she will survive, and it will end.
So as she crushes Jake's hand and pushes as hard as she can, she thinks, You asked for it, girlie, and you got it. It is absolutely, obviously, naturally the worst pain she has ever felt in her life.
And then, all of a sudden, the doctor is saying, "Here he comes!" and the pressure lessens. And no one makes a sound. She turns to Jake with wide eyes, not breathing, and he stares back at her until there's a sharp squawk and the caterwauling begins, and Leslie immediately begins to weep. She follows the nurse with her eyes as she cleans and checks the baby, and then finally, finally, he is placed in her arms.
She can't stop crying, while the baby himself calms almost instantly. Jake sits up on the edge of the bed, one arm around her back and one arm under the baby with hers, and he whispers to her, "Shh, shh," not to stop her from crying but to comfort her some small amount.
"He's beautiful, isn't he?" she says, her voice watery. The baby stares straight up at her and she can't look away. The nurses bustle about, clearing things away, and then one nurse is left to pull the curtain all the way around and help Leslie settle the baby into kangaroo care. He sighs and goes limp against her chest and that lava in her heart just shot up about a hundred degrees.
Her whole body relaxes now, the soreness and exhaustion an afterthought with this precious being in her arms. She turns to Jake with a smile and kisses him, saying, "We did it," softly.
"Mostly you," he says back, holding her snugly.
"Does he look like a Frederick?" Leslie asks, referencing her grandfather's name and their first choice for a son.
"Little Freddy," Jake says, reaching to brush his finger across the baby's cheek. "Yeah, I see it."
"It has a certain dignity, Frederick."
"Sure, but good luck yelling it out ten times a day. Freddy's not so bad."
"Frederick," Leslie says, cooing it at the baby in her arms. "You're a very sweet baby, Frederick. What a delicious face you have."
Jake smiles and kisses her cheek, one hand resting on the baby and the other holding Leslie close to his side.
Their homecoming is a discovery, as Leslie hasn't been inside the new house since the move. Des and Tinny made a special effort to relocate the "homiest" aspects of her home, covering the same couch with the same afghan and hanging the same pictures in similar locations on the walls. Jake's belongings have less particular locations, considering the nomadic existence he's had in the last few years. There's a touch of him here, a touch there. Over the next weeks and months things will migrate to where they will be best used, where they will live.
Bringing the baby home, they go on a little tour; Frederick is in Leslie's arms and keeps his eyes on her face as she tells him about the different rooms, the places he will inhabit, the places they as a family will inhabit. In the nursery she starts to cry. The things she and Jake shopped for or were given over the last nine months have coalesced into a home for their child and it's so beautiful. She opens a drawer in the old-fashioned, cream coloured dresser and cries over the tiny onesies and separates.
Jake, who has been following them from room to room, wraps his arms around her waist from behind and kisses her neck. "Happy to be home?"
"So happy." She wipes her face on her sleeve and cuddles Frederick even closer. "This is where we belong," she says, not a single twinge of doubt in her.
A lump rises to Jake's throat and he just dips his head, pressing his cheek to hers and keeping his arms around her waist.
Home.