Two new members in the FBI (Rewritten)

Chapter 29

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Jackson's Pov

I nodded, closing my eyes as I let myself lean into him fully. The exhaustion from the past 24 hours was catching up to me, but the image of Boston—his tiny fingers curled around mine—played in my mind like a quiet promise.

"We're going to get through this," Stiles whispered again, as if he could read my thoughts. "Boston's strong. And you are, too, Jackson."

For the first time since this whole ordeal began, I allowed myself to believe it.

We were strong. And no matter how hard this journey was, we would face it together.

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Jackson's Pov

The hospital room was dim and quiet when I woke up the next morning, the pale light of dawn just beginning to filter through the blinds. My body ached in ways I hadn't expected—my muscles were stiff, my back throbbed, and my head felt like it was floating somewhere outside of my body. Labor had left me drained in every possible way, and the emotional weight of Boston being in the NICU hadn't let up for even a second. I hadn't realized how much I'd been holding on to all night until I woke up with that familiar knot in my chest, heavy and ever-present.

Stiles was still asleep in the chair beside my bed, his head tipped back against the wall and his arms crossed over his chest. He looked exhausted, the dark circles under his eyes even more pronounced in the morning light. I could tell he hadn't slept much, even though he'd insisted on staying with me the entire night. He refused to leave my side, not even to go home and rest.

I sat up carefully, wincing at the soreness in my body. The hospital gown hung loose around me, a reminder of how empty my stomach felt without Boston inside. I reached down, placing a hand on my abdomen instinctively, but the stillness there only made my chest ache more. I wasn't ready to let go of the connection I'd had with him, and now that he was out in the world—tiny, fragile, and fighting—I felt more helpless than ever.

The sound of footsteps in the hallway caught my attention, and a moment later, the door creaked open. A nurse entered, her smile soft and understanding as she carried a tray of breakfast.

"Good morning, Jackson," she said quietly, setting the tray on the bedside table. "How are you feeling?"

I managed a small smile, though it didn't quite reach my eyes. "Tired," I admitted. "And sore."

"That's to be expected," she said kindly, pulling a chair closer to the bed. "You've been through a lot. But you're doing amazing."

I nodded, though the compliment didn't quite sink in. I didn't feel amazing. I felt like I was barely holding it together. My thoughts were already drifting to Boston, wondering how his night had gone, if his breathing had improved, if the monitors were still beeping steadily like they had been the last time I saw him.

The nurse must have noticed my distracted expression because she reached out, resting a gentle hand on my arm. "Boston's doing well," she said softly, as if reading my mind. "The NICU team has been keeping a close eye on him, and his oxygen levels have improved overnight. He's a strong little guy."

Her words brought a wave of relief that was almost enough to make me cry again. "Thank you," I whispered, my voice catching.

She smiled and gave my arm a reassuring squeeze. "I'll check back in on you later, but if you need anything, just press the call button, okay?"