Pairing: Jacob/Bella, Jacob/Jess
Rating: T
Genre: Tragedy/Family
Word-count: 500
Prompt: [a picture of a baby sleeping on a man's shoulder that will be available to view in this same group on Tricky Raven]
A Month of Sundays
Jessica Stanley watched as Jacob finished expertly diapering the squirming bundle on the table. Bringing him up to cuddle in the curve of a shoulder, he dropped the diaper in the little trash contraption by the changing table.
She listened as he murmured to the baby, a story she herself had only heard months earlier when she'd come knocking to give her condolences one Sunday late in May, a Sunday that had changed her life.
Patting the baby's back and rocking gently with a shifting of his weight from foot to foot, Jacob began to speak, "Your mom told me she was having you on a Sunday, you know. The coppertop refused to believe she would do such a thing, demanded his family stay until you were born, insisted she must be wrong, that she'd fallen victim to some native magic." He snorted scornfully. "As if. Like she could be wrong about something like that. The whole pack could scent an Alpha pup from five miles off.
"The stress of ending things with him was tough on your mom. He harassed her constantly, called while she was trying to sleep. She never slept enough. She had a scare early on, around four or five months gone with you, one Sunday evening during a bonfire. We rushed over to the clinic. Sue checked her out, did an ultrasound and there you were, our little boy. Human and perfect, just the way we made you.
"You were born on a Sunday, too, in early May, when the rain is only annoying and not so cold. You were so eager to come into the world, there was no slowing you down. Your mom, Bells, held you and I wrapped my arms around both of you and it was perfect. Everything was perfect," his voice wavered.
"Your mom, she loved you so much, even though she only had you for a little while. She loved you," Jacob's voice shook as his eyes met Jess's for a second and caught the tears spilling over. Cupping one massive hand behind the baby's head, he nuzzled the soft, downy fuzz on top before carrying on. This was always the hardest part.
"Your mom died that Sunday. She just wasn't healing right. Her blood wouldn't clot. We never found out why. There was no time for a transfusion. By the time we realized what was happening, she was already gone. She held you close, kissed you, and that was that."
He wiped his eyes with his free hand.
"A week later, the mind reader came back, standing at the border, shouting as his freakish family tried to hold him back, demanding that we hand you over. He screamed in Sam's face that we owed him vengeance for the death of his mate. He threatened the whole Black family, swearing we would never know peace again as long as he lived.
"The pack gave him his wish. They took him out that Sunday. The Cullens promised to never return."