A/N: I uploaded chapters 42-61 tonight - if you're like me and you go directly to the last chapter when you see a story has updated, you're going to want to jump alllll the way back. See, I promised I'd be back! This story is now complete, with an epilogue to come soon.

(Elle)

I wake to the sounds of distant rumbling and crashing, and it takes me a minute to remember where I am. My hands automatically reach down to cradle my belly, as they've done every time I've awoken these past few months, and I have to remind myself that she's not there anymore, flipping and kicking at me, because she's here, with us. But not in the bassinet by my bed, though, a discovery that brings on a flash of panic before I look to the other side of the room and see Noah standing by the window. He's got Julia cradled in one arm and he's softly speaking words I can't quite make out.

I take a minute just to watch the two of them, Noah and Julia. Much of today has felt like an out of body experience, like I'm watching somebody else's life, like I can't believe that's our baby Noah is holding. Hell, sometimes I still have a hard time believing Noah is here, that we're actually together after everything, despite everything. At other times, though, it's exactly the opposite: I forget that we ever weren't this way. That there was ever a time before Julia, let alone a time without Noah.

Noah. All day I've been watching him fall in love with Julia, and falling in love with him in a whole new way. I'm sure the postpartum hormones are partly to blame for the dozen times I've burst into tears today, but so is the overwhelming awe of seeing the two of them together. The pure joy of seeing the way he holds her, looks at her, smiles at her.

I dreamed of a moment like this, last winter. The three of us, and that smile of Noah's no one else gets to see. But that vision was the least frequent of the dreams that haunted my nights back then. The longer I put off dealing with the reality of my pregnancy, the more relentless the dreams became. Dreams about telling Noah, about Noah finding out somehow, about every possible reaction he might have. Dreams where I went looking for Noah and he was nowhere to be found. And then, just a few times, dreams about the three of us, Noah and me and a baby whose face or name the dream never revealed. Dreams where we'd somehow made it through and ended up happy. In some ways, those dreams were the most painful, because I'd have to wake up and realize reality hadn't changed. That I still hadn't managed to tell Noah, still didn't know how, still felt trapped and terrified. Already knowing what I wanted, but still too afraid to let myself hope it was possible.

And now we're here. It's nothing like any of the dreams, and better than all of them.

I take another minute to quietly absorb this moment, and then I ease myself out of bed.

"What are you two doing over here?" I ask, padding over to the window.

"She wanted to see the show," Noah answers, his free arm wrapping around me.

The distant popping and crackling I've been hearing since waking make sense once I follow Noah's gaze out the window: fireworks. Between the wedding and Julia's arrival, I'd forgotten there are other celebrations going on this weekend.

"She wanted to? Julia told you this?" I tease Noah.

"You laugh, but she kept fussing until we got to the window, and now she gets mad if I turn away."

"You realize she can't focus on anything more than maybe ten inches away from her face, right?"

"Maybe regular babies can't, but she's very advanced."

Noah keeps his expression so sincere that I'm a little concerned he actually believes that.

"How long have the fireworks been going?" I have no idea what time it is or how long this most recent nap lasted. Definitely not long enough, though.

"Only a few minutes. You should sit. You're not supposed to overdo it."

The visitor bed below the window is currently folded into its couch configuration, but I'm happy where I am.

"I've been in bed most of the day. Standing feels good."

Noah just shakes his head and hands me Julia. "Fine. I've been walking and bouncing your unsurprisingly bossy daughter for the past hour so you could sleep, so I'm going to sit."

The couch suddenly looks a lot more appealing, and I try not to jostle Julia as I sit down next to Noah and lean back against him to keep watching the fireworks over his shoulder. Noah's arms wrap around me, and for a minute we just enjoy the fireworks.

I suddenly notice Noah's smirk. "Did you sit down just so I'd sit down too?" I realize.

Noah says nothing, but his soft laugh tells me all I need to know.

"The nurses think we might be discharged tomorrow afternoon," I comment, yawning a little.

"Ready to go home?"

"I don't know. It seems crazy, that they're just going to send us home with her. As if we had any idea what we're doing."

"We're doing okay so far," Noah points out.

"Yeah, with supervision. I mean, you can't get a driver's license without taking a class and passing a test. But sure, go ahead and take this brand new helpless human home and raise them."

"Are you actually worried?" Noah's arms tighten around me as he says it.

"No. And also yes. I know we can, but it's a little overwhelming."

"Sounds about right."

"Are you not worried?" I love Noah's steadiness, crave it, but sometimes I worry it's an act he puts on for me at his expense.

"I've been terrified since March," he admits with a half-smile. "But in a good way. Mostly."

"Yeah." Maybe it shouldn't make sense, but it does.

The fireworks keep crackling in the distance as I close my eyes and lean further into Noah's warmth, tucking myself into that familiar spot below his chin.

"I was debating whether to wake you, once I saw the fireworks starting," Noah comments after another minute. "But you looked like you needed the sleep."

"I did. I still do. But I'm glad I woke up anyway."

The show must be close to ending now, as the explosions are coming in rapid clusters, and I open my eyes to enjoy the last of them.

"Where did you watch the fireworks from, last year?" Noah asks, yawning.

"I didn't. Brad wanted to go to a concert with his friends, and Dad asked me to chaperone."

"Babysitting thirteen year olds... sounds awesome."

I laugh. "I guess you'd know, now. I still can't believe there were parents out there trusting the likes of you and Adam to supervise their teenagers."

"Hey, you can't properly keep teens out of trouble if you don't have experience in all the best ways to cause trouble."

I try to glare at Noah, but I just can't. "I guess. Brad and his friends aren't much trouble yet, though. Just loud and annoying. And with terrible taste in music."

"I can't believe you sacrificed fireworks for Brad. You always insisted we stake out the best viewing spot first thing in the morning and then camp out there all day."

Noah's laughing, probably remembering some of those sweltering summer days spent waiting for the fireworks, and I'm not sure whether to correct him.

"It wasn't for Brad," I admit. "I mean, he did really want to go to that concert, and Dad wasn't going to let him go on his own. But I hadn't been planning on seeing the fireworks anyway."

I think Noah can tell there's more to the story, and he waits while I debate my next words.

"I haven't been since Boston," I finally add.

We'd snuck onto the roof of my dorm to watch Boston's fireworks, that last summer together. It wasn't the best view, but it's my favorite fireworks memory anyway.

We're both quiet after that, watching the smoke from the last fireworks waft and dissipate in the distance.

"I haven't either," Noah eventually admits.

The lump in my throat catches me off-guard, but I take a long breath and blink back the tears. I don't feel like dwelling on the last two years right now.

"Well, this one probably won't let us miss them ever again," I point out, shifting us back to lighter topics. "She's going to be so spoiled, getting fireworks right after all of her birthdays."

"You say that like you wouldn't be dragging us down there anyway. You'll just have an extra excuse now."

"Keep complaining about it and I'll make you chaperone Brad to whatever terrible concert he wants to see next summer, while Julia and I enjoy the fireworks."

"Brad's not going to require chaperoning much longer. Or even if he still needs it, he's not going to let us." Noah points out.

"Don't remind me," I sigh. "I'm pretty sure one of his friends was hitting on him at that concert. Ruby, I think her name was. It was disturbing to witness."

Noah looks far too amused. "And was Ruby... successful?"

"They both did a lot of blushing and awkward giggling. But I never heard about her again, so I guess not. I'm hoping that means I have some time before dealing with the idea of my baby brother dating."

"Maybe not as much time as you think."

"What?" Noah's chuckle has me staring him down suspiciously. "Please tell me Brad doesn't have a girlfriend. And please tell me he hasn't been going to you for dating advice. You are not allowed to talk to Brad about girls. At all. Ever. But maybe I should ask Lee to talk to him."

"And yet you married me." He's not even bothering to pretend to look offended.

"Yeah, and I have terrible judgment. We've discussed this."

"Sounds like you'll never find out what Brad told me, then."

"Tell me." I glare at Noah.

"Nope."

"Ugh, fine. You're allowed to talk to Brad about girls, but you have to tell me what he tells you."

"Brotherly confidentiality, Elle."

"Seriously?"

Noah looks endearingly sincere. "A little seriously, yeah. But you can relax for now, I don't think he's figured out he has a crush on Nina."

"Wait—Nina from school? She's just his friend."

"For now." Noah's smirk has only grown wider. "But trust me on this. Anyway, Brad was telling me how much babysitting Nina does, so I told him to bring her over so we could meet her."

"Clever. And thank you. But I'm feeling really old now."

"The wedding ring and the baby didn't do the trick?" Noah laughs.

"Not the same way, no."

Noah may call Lee his baby brother to piss him off, but Brad actually is my baby brother. It was bad enough when he got taller than me, but the idea of him dating is just weird. Yeah, I had crushes at fourteen. I'd even gladly have kissed some of them if they'd ever tried, or if I'd gotten up the courage. But Brad can't possibly be that old already.

Except he is. He'll be a freshman this fall, and if I'm being honest every time I've gone home this past year he's seemed a little bit older, taller, more mature than the previous week. I'm grateful Dad made me live on campus for my last year, because I did need that push back into the world, but I also really did miss seeing Brad every day.

"I'm glad I got the extra years at home with Brad. I mean, obviously not why it happened... or all the rest, but..." I trail off awkwardly as I realize how it sounds. It feels wrong to admit that anything good came out of that disaster.

But maybe Noah gets it, because he just holds me a little tighter and kisses the top of my head. "It's okay to find silver linings, Shell. I remember how much you missed him when you were in Boston. And you'd never have met Mickey if you'd stayed at BU."

"Yeah. And my advisor—she's been a better mentor than the lab I was in at BU."

"And I know you didn't miss the Boston winters."

I have to smile at that one. "Definitely not."

Of course, I'd give up all those silver linings—even Mickey, even the time with Brad—in a heartbeat if it meant not almost losing Dad. And Noah.

But I also hate the idea of silver linings. These weren't package deals. Mickey and UCLA weren't consolation prizes the universe threw at me to apologize for letting a distracted driver slam into Dad's car. If that were how things worked, I'd be owed a mountain of silver linings for Mom, and I've yet to find one. And I wouldn't want the powerlessness of a world like that, anyway. We can't control everything that happens to us, but we can control what we do afterward. The time with Brad, the new friends, making the most of UCLA—I did that. I made it happen.

But if I'm going to claim those victories, I also need to own the failures. Noah and I didn't break up because of Dad's accident. We could have been braver, more patient, less stubborn, more trusting, less proud, more forgiving; a hundred ways we could have done better. But maybe also a hundred ways we could have made things even worse. And our current bliss isn't some karmic reward handed to us by the universe—we're here because we fought our way here, because we learned from our mistakes. Learned from our mistakes, but also forgave each other and ourselves for those mistakes.

So all of this—Noah, his arms wrapped around me; Julia, asleep in my arms; the rings on our fingers—we did this. We earned this. And next? Well, next we go home, and then we figure it out from there.

We end up being discharged on Tuesday morning, and by then I'm sick enough of the hospital that escaping its noises and disruptions and horrible food almost makes up for the terror of being truly on our own with Julia. You'd think the drive home from the hospital would be a lot more pleasant than the drive to the hospital, what with not being in labor this time, but Julia spends the first half of the drive wailing angrily no matter what I try to calm her. She eventually settles down and falls asleep, but now instead of stressing out about the crying I'm worrying about whether we've got her seat installed right and whether her head is tipping too far forward. It doesn't help that traffic is terrible and I'm starving and everything hurts and I haven't slept more than a couple hours at a stretch since Saturday morning.

Noah refuses to let me carry anything when we finally get home, so after making a first trip up to the apartment with us he heads back to the car for the last of the bags, leaving me alone with Julia, still asleep in her car seat. I feel strangely disoriented. The apartment looks just the same, minus some tidying and a floral arrangement we probably have June to thank for, but I feel lost, somehow. I should probably be doing... something. Putting our things away. Or making myself lunch. Or responding to the million messages I've received since we announced Julia's arrival. Or calling the pediatrician to schedule Julia's first checkup. Or maybe I should be waking Julia to change her, or to feed her; I can't remember how long it's been. There's so much I should be doing, but I can't figure out where to start.

So, instead of doing any of that, I just sit Julia's car seat on the coffee table and collapse on the couch across from her. The enormity of it all hits when I look at her. That she's this tiny helpless creature completely dependent on me for her survival. As if I had any idea what the hell I'm doing. Suddenly I'm sobbing, my heart racing, utterly unable to catch my breath. I know some of this is postpartum hormones. I know some of this is exhaustion. But not all of it. Some of this is real fear and panic, and I can't tell myself my reaction is entirely unreasonable. This really is huge. This really is overwhelming. This really is terrifying, and I just have to... get used to it. Keep on breathing and keep on going until all this becomes normal. Somehow. Because Julia can't wait for me to get my act together; she needs me now. And I know it'll happen, but I'm not quite there yet. Right now I'm on this couch, bawling my eyes out.

I hear the door open and the thud of Noah setting down our bags, and that's when I remember that I'm not alone in this. That Noah's probably just as freaked out as I am. It's a strangely comforting thought, realizing that. We're both terrified, but we can be terrified together. Of course, Noah has no idea these are the thoughts racing through my mind as I stare at him; he just sees my tears. Within seconds he's sitting down next to me, and I have to laugh at his alarmed expression. Except I'm also still crying, so the laugh comes out as a weird strangled sound that probably isn't at all reassuring.

"Elle?" Yeah, Noah's definitely concerned.

"I'm fine. I promise, I'm fine. It's just... all of it, you know? It's a lot. But now you're here. I think I forgot that for a second, that you're here too. And how glad I am that you're here."

I'm not sure how much sense I'm making as I babble all this while wrapping my arms around his neck and burying myself against his shoulder.

"Of course I'm here. I live here." Noah still sounds worried, but he's smiling and I can tell he's trying to lighten my mood.

"Yeah. You live here, and I live here." And now suddenly the situation is too hilarious for words and I'm cracking up laughing. These postpartum mood swings are no joke, but it really is hilarious. Noah does live here. We live here. Together. I moved in with Noah. That milestone alone should be huge, but it kind of gets lost in the background compared to this baby we had. This baby we had right after getting married all of three days ago. Another hugely massive development.

"Elle, is this another crazy mood swing?"

"Yeah. And also no. I mean, it's hilarious, right?"

"Us living here?" Noah sounds confused.

"We're living together. We got married. We had a baby." I giggle.

"Yeah, I kinda noticed." Now Noah sounds cautiously amused.

"For two years neither of us could manage to send a single stupid message. You hid out in San Francisco, and we both came up with a million excuses for ditching family events. And then in October I completely lost my shit at the idea you might move because of me. And now..." I trail off, sitting up enough to gesture wildly between us and around us. "It's all ridiculous."

Noah's smiling at me now. "No," he finally says. "But it is pretty awesome."

He's wrong, because this is definitely hilarious and ridiculous in addition to awesome, but I don't mind. I lean back again and just enjoy being here in Noah's arms. I still don't know exactly how we're going to manage all this, but I've got to trust we will.

"So, what now?" Noah eventually asks.

"Lunch. Or a shower. I'm dying for both but I can't decide which is more urgent." I'm still feeling weirdly giddy, but also too crushingly tired to make any decisions.

"Easy. You go take a shower, I'll make us lunch."

"But what about Julia?"

"What about her?"

"What if she wakes up?" I worry.

"Then I'll get her out of her seat and we'll hang out."

"But what if she's hungry?"

"Exactly how long were you planning to shower? We'll survive a little while without you. Seriously, Elle, go. I've got this."

The shower turns out to be the right plan, and I think my mind may have needed it as much as my body did. For the first few minutes I keep shutting the water off, convinced I hear Julia crying, but slowly I let the warm water and familiar surroundings relax me. The comforting smells of my favorite shampoo and the same soap Noah's used forever, the sight of my belovedly ratty robe hanging on the door and Noah's workout clothes still puddled on the floor from Friday morning, the countertop cluttered with a jumble of his stuff and mine. After three disorienting days at the hospital, it's a relief to settle back into the routines of normal life.

It's not that I've forgotten any of the overwhelming realities that had me panicking when we got home, but I've relaxed enough to breathe a little more freely, think a little more clearly. All of this is still a lot, but it's also... doable, especially when I force myself not to think too far ahead. I've had my shower. Next we'll have lunch. At some point Julia will wake up, and she'll need changing and feeding. We'll let the family know they're welcome to drop by, and we'll take Dad up on his offer to bring us dinner. If I get really ambitious, we'll go sit in the courtyard for a bit. Maybe we'll get lucky and Julia will take another nap, and we can briefly pass out too. All that seems like more than enough of an agenda for today.

There's no crying to be heard when I finish showering, and I make myself slow down and enjoy these extra few minutes to myself as I get dressed. I'm a lot calmer now, my heartrate back to normal, my mind no longer racing. I pull on my softest pair of maternity leggings and a loose tank top, compromising between the competing urges to wear only my baggiest, most comfortable clothes and my desire to feel like an actual human that might even leave the apartment at some point today.

I still haven't heard any cries, but when I walk back into the living room I realize it's not because Julia's stayed asleep all this time. Instead, I see bread and sandwich ingredients abandoned on the kitchen counter, the car seat empty, and Noah stretched out on the couch with Julia on his chest. For a second I think both of them are asleep, but then Noah opens his eyes and smiles at me.

"See? We survived."

His tone is teasing and I know he's referring to my anxiety about leaving Julia while I showered, but the relief behind my own answering smile runs far deeper.

Because that's when it finally all feels real. Right. Possible. This is home. A new home, one that isn't yet entirely familiar, but a home we've created, are creating, will continue to create. Some parts of this life I've pictured forever, and some I never expected, but all of it feels right.

And I don't know exactly what the future holds; the only thing I know for sure is that change will come. There will be other homes, other jobs, other cities, maybe even other countries. Maybe there'll be other babies, or maybe it'll be the three of us. There will be new adventures, and new challenges, and we'll find a way to deal.

But right now we're here, in this new beginning to a story we've been writing all our lives, and right now that's all I need. So I ignore the half-made lunch and the bags to unpack and everything else, and instead I carve out space for myself on the couch, careful not to wake Julia as I reclaim my own spot against Noah's shoulder.

"Yeah, we did. We survived." I finally echo.

And in that moment, I know we can do this. Together.

A/N: epilogue coming... but holy wow, I can't believe this story is finally complete. If anyone out there is still reading this, thank you!