Hand Against The Glass
Summary: They chose to punish him. It should have been her.
x x x x x x x
They watched her in the chair, her body pale and her cheeks hollow. Her eyes seemed to glaze over as she stared into the middle distance, oblivious to the quiet conversations around her. She'd tuned out their words to concentrate on what really mattered. Him. He'd only been in her life for such a short amount of time, but he was a part of her. She couldn't think of a life without him.
She pressed her hand against the glass, her fingers curling against it. She could imagine his skin underneath her own. She could almost feel it. Her body felt heavy with grief, her eyes were red rimmed and watery with tears. Despite the fervent denials from everyone surrounding her, it was her fault. She knew it. It was a form of punishment for her, for finally allowing herself to live the life she wanted. But why was it him? Staring at his face, his body strapped with wires, she wished it upon herself, wished that her body bore the brunt of what the universe saw fit to punish her with.
A cacophony of beeps and buzzes echoed around her, and her eyes took a cursory glance around the small ward. Parents sat huddled around the incubators like herself, their tear stained faces mirroring her own. The door behind her swung open, and she instantly relaxed as she felt his presence near. She could smell the badly made coffee, and relished the scalding temperature that warmed her body. He sat down next to her, and gave a small nod to a cluster of nurses at the desk. His hand snaked over to hers, and he held it tight, wordlessly.
"I shouldn't have done this." She said, her voice croaky and hoarse, "We should have realised this wasn't supposed to be after all the trouble we had."
His hand squeezed her own, and she knew that had hit him hard. They had wanted their family complete, wanted to finally live the life they'd promised themselves with each other for so long, "The doctors said this could have happened to anyone."
"Yes, but it didn't did it?" She turned to look at him, finally noticing the dark and worn out expression he wore. It almost broke her, "It happened to us."
"That doesn't mean anything Sam." He told her, urging her head to rest on his shoulder, "We gave up so much to have this, but we did it the right way. We did our jobs and obeyed the rules. We deserve to have some happiness."
"We're too old for this Jack," She wiped a falling tear from her cheek, "I'm too old. We could have lived a perfectly happy life with two dogs and a cat."
Jack smiled grimly, "No offence, but I wouldn't give up Ben for the world." He paused, "This is what we were dealt and we can't go back and change anything. Think of the here and now, and the fact that you have a beautiful son."
She sniffled, "Yeah..." He sensed she was reassured, if only slightly, when the doctor approached. He made a move to rise from the seat but the doctor shook her head. Formalities in such a place were not needed; politeness was the last thing on the parents minds. She perched against the back of another chair, opening the file in front of her.
"As we told you this morning, we took Ben for some preliminary tests outside of the neonatal ward." The grip on Jack's hand increased, "I've got the results here."
"Is everything OK?" Sam asked, her voice whispery. Jack maintained rubbing the small of her back to distract him.
"From what I can see Mrs O'Neill, your son will be fine."
A breath of relief emanated from her lips as she sunk into the chair, a look of shock and happiness on her face, "You're sure?"
"We'll keep him in for another night and you'll be free to take him home tomorrow," The doctor smiled at the two worried parents sat before her, "From the scans, there seems to be no sign of brain damage or impairment of any sort."
"Thankyou," Jack managed to utter, standing up to shake the doctor's hand before she nodded them a goodbye, leaving the couple to each other and their three day old son. Jack sat back down, his body slumping into the chair with relief.
"I don't know what I would have done-" Sam began but Jack cut her off with a fierce hug.
"Don't think about it," He spoke into her hair, "We've got him, and he's going to be fine." As they pulled apart and Jack leaned over to touch the incubator, Sam surreptitiously glanced at his face, his still dark countenance reminding her of the grief he'd suffered already, a thousand times over. Did he see Charlie as he looked at their son? Was he reminded of the constant pain of losing his son?
Sam took in a shallow breath, and moved to grip his hand. Tightly.
The End