Drabble 87: Firstborn

Fitz threw open the front door and raced back to the car. Jemma was just opening the door of the backseat, reaching in for the carrier.

"Do you want me to get him?" Fitz asked, hovering around her.

"I can manage." Jemma said, pulling the carrier out of the car. Fitz held out his hands, in case she stumbled, and followed Jemma into the house. He waited until she set the carrier down before rushing to the door to close it. He went to stand next to Jemma and looked down at the carrier.

"He's so peaceful." Fitz said. "He's barely made a sound."

Jemma leaned her head against him, and he looked at her. She had to be exhausted, but she looked as strong as ever, smiling as she looked at her son. "We're so lucky, Fitz." She whispered.

"Yeah, we are."

Wailing split the night, jerking Fitz awake in an instant. He saw Jemma sitting up as well, running a hand over her face. The baby monitor kept up the wailing, a loud cry that was very high-pitched. "He's crying again." Jemma said, sounding close to crying again. "It's only been…" she looked at the clock. "Oh God, Fitz, it's only been half an hour!"

"I'll get him." He said, standing.

Jemma was next to him in a second. "We should both go, if we want Andrew to be equally comfortable with both of us."

"I think you have the advantage. He was in you for nine months."

She brushed his comment aside as they reached Andrew's crib, bending to pick him up. His breathing hitched, but the cry continued as Jemma brought him up to her chest, making shushing noises and rubbing his back, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet.

After five solid minutes of this Jemma looked at Fitz. He held out his hands and took Andrew from her, holding the little boy in front of him instead of over his shoulder. Maybe if he rocked him differently, he would go to sleep. He had to be tired. Fitz was tired, and he hadn't been crying for what seemed like a week straight. Though he'd felt like it a few times.

He rocked Andrew, looking down at him and murmuring a lullaby. The baby's crying didn't stop, but it slowed. Fitz looked at Jemma, who smiled at the progress. She moved closer and stroked the baby's head, adding her voice to Fitz's low song. It seemed to help. Andrew's cries faded, his eyelids drooping before slamming closed. They stopped singing, and Jemma took her hand away as Fitz started to lower their son back in his crib. He laid him down and started to take his hands away, and froze when Andrew moved.

"Jem, what do I do?" he asked in a low voice.

Andrew still had his eyes closed. "Try it again." She suggested, after Andrew breathed out again.

Fitz started to move his hands away again, his body tensed. He got his hands out of the crib and looked at Jemma, just starting to smile – and a gasping cry split the night. He closed his eyes for just a second, taking a deep breath to try to calm himself. He wasn't mad at the baby. But he was so tired. Why wouldn't Andrew sleep? They were doing everything the books said, and doing it together, so the baby grew closer to each of them. He picked Andrew up again and started rocking him the way he had before, murmuring that lullaby again. He started pacing a short line in front of the crib. Jemma watched him, her eyes anxious. About two minutes later Andrew closed his eyes again, falling silent.

"Should we try the crib again?" Jemma asked him, her voice quiet.

Fitz stopped his pacing. "I don't think I can take my arms away from him, or he'll start up again."

"Well you can't do this all night. Or what's left of it. Come and sit down." She led him to the rocking chair in the corner, placing him in it. Fitz leaned back and sighed. It did feel good to sit. "You can stop rocking him now." Jemma said gently, laying a hand on his arm. He realized he had still been moving Andrew in his arms, and consciously ended the motion. He'd thought he'd stopped a minute ago.

Jemma sat down on the floor next to him, leaning against his legs. "I guess this is our bedroom now." She joked half-heartedly. Fitz couldn't respond. He was asleep.

Andrew slept for two hours, in his parents' arms. When Fitz woke up, he saw that Jemma had moved herself to support Andrew as well, and fallen asleep in what had to be a horribly uncomfortable position. But her hand was still touching their little boy. He looked at their sleeping faces, his first child and the love of his life, and swallowed thickly at the surge of protectiveness that went through him. This was his family. Yes, he and Jemma were slowly being driven insane by lack of sleep and constant crying. Sometimes he heard it even when there was no crying.

He frequently found himself humming lullabies and childish tunes, even when he didn't have to. He'd physically had to stop Jemma once, when she was so tired she couldn't think to stop pacing with the baby. He knew she had done the same for him. It was odd, knowing you were slowly losing your mind. Because looking at Jemma and Andrew, he found he didn't care.

Though a little less crying would be nice. And sleep. Definitely more sleep. He and Jemma hadn't had a solid night's sleep since Andrew had been born. Two weeks ago. An idea occurred to him, and he almost cried when he realized how simple it was. There was a way to get a little sleep. It was called Grandma.

He would call his mum later, to see if she would come meet her grandson. Maybe after that Jemma could call her parents. He looked at Jemma, smiling softly. Yes, he would do anything to protect his little family. He wouldn't trade this for the world. But he would temporarily give his son to his mum, or Jemma's parents, so he and Jemma could have time to themselves. He was a loving father, but he didn't want to go completely insane. Not yet. Mostly was far enough.

He leaned his head back, closing his eyes again. Parenthood got easier after the first month or so, didn't it?