Chapter 67

Author's note: There are two parts of this chapter and the second one (below the ellipsis) gets a little bit sexy. Nothing explicit, but similar to the couple of chapters after the wedding, if you catch my drift. Basically, it's in here because Jack and Katherine have some major crap they need to work out regarding intimacy post-miscarriage. So it's important to their story, but feel free to skip the latter half if you're not into that. Also, if you're still reading, please do comment! I love to hear from you :)

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Jack never thought the city hall would be so quiet. He expected it to be grand, of course, no doubt about that, had done from the minute they walked up to it in the bright May sunshine, and he certainly hadn't been disappointed, what with the enormous sweeping staircase and mountains of marble. But he hadn't expected the quiet. There's a sort of hush that falls over the halls here, broken only by the quiet tapping of footsteps down one distant corridor or another.

They sit on chairs against the wall of the circular mezzanine, the two of them, Katherine on his right, her hand resting on his knee to keep it from bouncing as he stares down at the large brown envelope in his hands. He's seen one before, naturally, Katherine had brought him an identical one the last time she came here in search of his birth certificate, but that particular copy had burned up along with the rest of the contents of the Pulitzer mansion.

The envelope is the expensive kind; and so it ought to be, he thinks, given what they charged us to get it. Inside, he knows, will be a birth certificate written on heavy, expensive paper. Him, reduced to a single sheet. The brown envelope has turned darker where his hands are holding it, growing damp with sweat. He feels a little bit sick. He wonders if he would have to pay for a new floor if he was to be sick on it. He doesn't think they can afford to replace the city hall floor.

"You don't have to look at it, you know." Katherine tells him, squeezing his knee lightly.

He doesn't look at her. "I know."

"Because it doesn't matter. Your parents don't define you, Jack. You've got a proper family now – me and the newsies and Medda and the Jacobs. You don't need this. It was stupid of me to think that you did when I got it for you two years ago."

"I know. But I wanta know. Put it to rest, like." He nods. It takes him saying it out loud for him to believe it himself, honestly. Then he glances over at her, suddenly and inexplicably nervous. "'S that okay?"

"Of course." Katherine smiles, reaching up and brushing his dark curls off his forehead. "I just want you to be happy."

Jack nods again and returns his gaze to the envelope. The clerk hasn't bothered to seal it. The flap is open, quivering a little in the light breeze that is stealing in through the open window at the end of the hall. It waves to him. With trembling fingers, Jack accepts the greeting, producing a birth certificate written on textured, creamy paper from inside the envelope. He squints at it, trying to piece together the information on it.

"Florence Kelly, nee Walsh. Born eighteen-fifty-" Jack breaks off, tilting the paper towards Katherine and tapping at the mother's birthdate section, "-is that a six or a nine?"

"A six."

Jack nods and continues. "Born eighteen-fifty-six. Died eighteen-eighty."

When Jack doesn't say anything, Katherine strokes his hair back again. "Florence is a really nice name. Pretty."

"I wish…" Jack bites his lip, staring at the paper before him, "…I wish I'd had chance to know what she was like, y'know? Like, maybe she was nicer than my old man. And I don' s'pose I'll ever get to. She ain't the type o' person who goes to heaven, by all accounts." He swallows heavily. "Then again, maybe I won't neither."

"Don't say such things." Katherine frowns, dropping to crouch in front of him, looking up into his face. "You are going to heaven, Jack Kelly, because you're getting baptized in a couple of weeks and I am so proud of you for finding your faith. I'll drag you to heaven myself if I have to."

"And my mom?" Jack blinks.

"Who knows?" Katherine sighs, wishing she could give him more comfort than this, and reaches out to squeeze his hand. "But our God is not a vindictive one."

…

See, this had seemed like a good idea, when she first came up with it, in answer to the whole initiating something thing that she's discussed with Marge.

Try initiating something. She's done this before. Jack used to hardly be able to keep his hands off her. She can manage this again. Right? The problem is, when that was the case, she felt important, alluring. Right at this moment, Katherine has never felt less alluring in all of her life. Her stomach has gone back to how it was before now, a loss she both mourns and sings her gratitude for in equal measure, but stretch marks remain, pale lines threading their way across her skin, cobwebs. Her stitches have healed, though she remains nervous to try this again. But it will be worth it, right? Because Jack will enjoy it. Hopefully. Her body isn't broken because she had a miscarriage. Jack still loves her and thinks that she's beautiful; he tells her so every day before he leaves for a work, dropping a kiss on her lips as he does so, never forgetting to even when he's rushing, even when Race, back before he got his new job and his new place, ribbed him endlessly for it. This will be fine. She rubs her thumb across the band of her wedding ring as if to prove it to herself.

If nothing else, at least, he will have to be pleased with dinner. He was planning on making it tonight, but he's been working a bit of overtime recently, Ernest having been on holiday, and he'll be tired after a long day at work. Sure, Katherine's tired too after going over editorial draft after editorial draft, but working from home is different, somehow. And she's even managed not to burn it. (Admittedly, she has had three practice goes in Esther Jacobs' kitchen, but she is still counting this as a roaring success.) There's a lot of different things that she's managed not to burn, as well, all spread out on the table. Gammon, a proper cut of it, not the cheap stuff they normally get, and roast potatoes, and green beans and broccoli. She's even managed to procure some sliced pineapple for the occasion.

In short, she's somewhere between smug and scared out of her wits when she hears Jack come through the front door. Try initiating something. Right.

"Mm, hello." Jack certainly sounds gratified when she rushes out into the hall and kisses him with as much gusto as she can muster.

"Hello." She smiles, breaking away from him as his work bag hits the floor with a hollow thump.

She reaches out and twists the lock closed on the front door, then bolts it. Katherine loves their enormous family, she swears, but if tonight is going to work then she needs no interruptions. When she looks back at Jack, he has raised a confused eyebrow. Still smiling (because if she doesn't she might just burst into tears and she has a hunch that might ruin the mood a little – call it reporter's instinct), Katherine grabs his hand and pulls him toward the kitchen.

"I have a surprise for you. It's partly as a thank you-"

"For what?"

"For being you, you idiot – and partly because I just want to spend time with you."

They go through into the kitchen and Jack whistles low under his breath. "Woah."

"Good woah?" She looks up at him. Katherine knows the answer, of course, but she wants to hear him say it.

"Amazin' woah." He nods, turning and smiling down at her. "It smells fantastic. Who made it?"

"I did, you cheeky sod." She gives him a playful shove, but he just catches hold of her waist and draws her into his side, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"Seriously though, thanks, Ace. 'S great."

Dinner goes better than she planned. He asks about her writing for the suffrage magazine, steering clear of prying for any details regarding her novel. It's not that she doesn't want to share it with him – she does, more than anything – but she just wants it to be perfect before she does. She asks him about work and he tells some amusing story about Walter's children and a particularly irate donkey that the family had apparently encountered over the weekend. He even compliments dinner, saying that it's the best meal he's ever eaten. Honestly, Katherine doesn't care if he's just saying that to make her happy, because it's working.

"We're fine, aren't we?" She asks as Jack leans back in his chair, his plate scraped clean. Katherine is pretty sure he'd have licked it if he didn't know she'd tell him off for it, which gives her all sorts of smug feelings.

The words come out before she really thinks them through, but those smug feelings haven't quite managed to erase the horrible tension in the muscles of her stomach, as if she's been running for too long, and her body seems to think that asking this question would be a fantastic way to get rid of it.

"O' course." Jack blinks at her, worry in his eyes. He's no longer leaning back in his chair, instead leaning forward, covering her hand with his own across the table. "What you talkin' 'bout?"

"I mean-" She falters. What does she mean? "Would you change anything about us? If you could do it over again?"

"No, no question." Jack shakes his head and the immediacy of the negative answer is just what her stomach apparently needed, because the tension flows right out of her. He squeezes her hand. "Don' matter what happens, 's you an' me. We's got through this together, Kath. We can get through anythin'."

Her husband isn't one for big speeches. Jack's always said that he used all of his up during the strike. This, though, seems to come from somewhere deep down inside of him that he was only before aware of in his subconscious, because around three seconds after he's finished speaking he pulls his hand back off the table and scratches at the back of his neck.

"You'd better say you wouldn't change nothin' too, else I's goin' to sound a right idiot." He mumbles to the floor, half laughing.

"Of course I wouldn't." Katherine replies, getting up from her seat and reaching across the table to pull his hand away from his neck and back to hold hers. "I love you. I'm always going to love you."

Jack looks at her, then at their entwined hands. "Bloody hell, c'mere."

She doesn't need telling twice, going around the table and letting him pull her into his lap, his arms, his embrace. He doesn't kiss her, not yet, but pulls her into this fierce hug just like the one they shared that night on the rooftop. From right here, everything suddenly seems much less scary to Katherine.

Eventually, they break away, Jack telling her: "Go pick a book, I'll do the washin' up."

So, Katherine steals upstairs. This is part two of the plan, the hard part. And considering the lengths Katherine's had to go to in order to ensure that their dinner wasn't burned, it really is hard.

She considers her options. She still has the chemise she wore on their wedding night. The lace got a little roughed about, but it's still wearable. But she isn't a virgin anymore, and the tiny bloodstain on it doesn't remind her of a joining anymore, but a parting. In the end, she puts on one of his shirts. Jack definitely has a thing about it and she wears them around the house generally often enough, just because they're comfortable. Either he'll find it alluring, or, when he's (more likely) repulsed by her, she can just pretend that she's wearing it purely for comfort. She grabs a book and it's only as she goes back downstairs that she realises what she's picked up. The Count of Monte Cristo. Her French language edition. Well, at least that's extra incentive to make sure they end tonight rather differently than by reading. She really, really doesn't want to have to translate it for Jack as she reads, especially since the last time she spoke French was three years ago at finishing school with the loathsome Miss Bussiere.

When she walks back into the kitchen, Jack is elbow-deep in soapy water at the sink, whistling a low tune under his breath, his back to her. That gives her a little respite at least, before he looks at her. She wanders over, sliding her arms around his middle and pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

"I's comin', I's comin', I's been busy." He chuckles, reaching for a tea towel to dry his hands. She just hums, unsure what to say as she disentangles herself from him and takes a step back, allowing him to turn around. The very minute he does, a low groan escapes from his throat, his eyes roving up and down her form before he tilts his head back to look at the ceiling. "Ace, angel." He breathes.

Katherine isn't entirely sure what that reaction means and, as a result, is left with absolutely no idea how to play this. "Surprise?"

"Yeah," Jack coughs out a laugh, rolling his shoulders and looking anywhere but at her, his hand coming up to scratch at the back of his neck, "y'could call it that."

She's made him uncomfortable. He doesn't want her. Katherine wants to cry with the humiliation of it all. Why had she ever thought he would? Who wants to lie with a woman whose womb can't even produce a child? She's about to turn and run, really, she is, but her eyes light on her husband again, despairing as she sees him shifting uncomfortably, and then realises exactly what it is that is causing his discomfort. Yes, that is a definite bulge in his trousers. Katherine has been married long enough to know what that means. She doesn't know why he's holding back, but it's clearly not a lack of arousal, so she steps forward and yanks his lips down to her own.

And, bless him, Jack sure knows how to take initiative, catching her up and turning around to set her on the kitchen sideboard, stepping in between her spread legs, never breaking their kiss. Katherine, however, does. She needs to, to breathe. And then she promptly bursts into tears.

Jack's expression immediately turns from one of pure lust to complete terror. "Kath? What did I do? Where does it hurt?"

"I'm not hurt, I just, I don't know how to do this anymore." She sobs, pulling him close, burying her face in his shoulder so that she doesn't have to look at him, so that she can muffle her words. "I just want you to want me again."

"What?"

Jack isn't stupid. Why is he torturing her like this? He doesn't need her to spell this out for him. "Don't make me say it."

"Katherine, I don' understand." He steps away from her. She tastes the rejection of that on her tongue even as he hooks two fingers under her chin and lifts her head to look him in the eye. "Help me understand."

Come on, Katherine, you're a big girl, you can say it. "I want to have sex with you again."

"Okay…" Jack blinks, his eyes intense, searching.

Hell. Katherine squeezes her eyes shut. "And you don't."

And then, the absolute bastard, he laughs. "Where on earth didja get that idea from?"

"You!" Katherine's eyes snap open. "You haven't tried anything for months, not since –"

"Because you was goin' on 'bout how you felt dirty an' didn't understand how I could stand to touch you!" Jack cries, gesticulating wildly with that stupid grin still plastered on his face, like he's uncovered some buried treasure. "An' then, I dunno what it feels like, I didn't wanta hurt you!"

"Wait." Katherine holds up a hand. "You wanted to?"

"Whaddaya think?" Jack laughs, disbelieving. "I's twenty, I loves you, an' you look like…" he pauses, eyes drinking her in, lips swollen, in his shirt, on their kitchen counter, "…well, you." He brings his eyes back up to her face, shaking his head. "We's idiots, ain't we?"

Katherine nods eagerly, pulling him back towards her to mumble her response against his lips. "Complete and utter."

It takes them a couple of tries to get things right. It's not amazing and it hurts a bit – more than Katherine lets Jack know. But she's missed this. Her and Jack have weathered this storm together, and she knows that the wind isn't going to drop anytime soon, but there's something about having him here, inside her, around her, a shelter of his body, that makes it somehow easier to bear. The closeness of it, of him. She falls asleep cradled against him, no barriers between them.

When she wakes up, Jack is already awake, something that's quite unusual as of late, what with how hard he's been working and everything that's been going on. But he is awake, coaxing her out of slumber to join him with feathery kisses along the contours of her, her cheekbone and her jaw and her collarbone.

"I should have known it wouldn't take you long to get back on track." She laughs, tucking her face into his shoulder to escape the rasp of his unshaven cheek on her skin.

"Can y'blame me?" He murmurs against her shoulder and his voice, the vibrations of it run through her, making her toes curl. "Lord, Ace, I could lie abed an' do nothin' but draw you all day. I's married to the most perfect woman in New York."

"That's funny." She hums, running her hands over the broad, muscled expanse of his back and up to tangle in his hair, tugging on the dark curls just a little in the way that makes him melt into her. Oh no, she hasn't lost it. "I'm married to the most wonderful man in the world."

"Oh really?" Jack groans into her neck, grazing his hands down her sides and marvelling at her, that she's here, that she's his. "What's his name?"

"Strange." She teases, a playful smile on her lips. "I think I've rather forgotten."

"Hm. I think I can help you remember." Jack mumbles, mouthing at her neck.

Katherine tilts her head to the side, giving him better access – something that he takes full advantage of. "Why the hell did we wait so long to do this?"

"No idea. It won't happen again, I promise." Jack replies emphatically as he slides down her body, before propping his chin on her hipbone, eyes flicking up to meet hers. "You ain't hurtin'?"

"I'll hurt you if you don't get on with it."

Jack grins up at her. Then he gets on with it.