Two new members in the FBI (Rewritten)

Chapter 30

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Jackson's Pov

Boston was strong. And so were we. Together, we would get through this—one step at a time.

The next few days passed in a blur of visitors, updates from the NICU team, and the steady progress Boston made. Every small improvement—his oxygen levels, his ability to regulate his temperature, the strength of his heart—was a victory, a glimmer of hope in the storm of uncertainty we were navigating.

Stiles continued to text our friends and family, keeping them updated, but I noticed a shift in him. He was no longer just comforting me. He was comforting himself, too, finding peace in the idea that we were doing everything we could, that we were a team, and that Boston would be okay.

And with each passing day, as I held Boston's tiny hand or brushed my fingers against his soft skin, I began to believe it too. Together, we would get through this.

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Jackson's Pov

Five days had passed since Boston was born. In those five days, everything had changed, and yet, so much still felt the same. The NICU had become our second home, a place where we spent hours watching over him, waiting for signs of improvement, and anxiously checking the monitors that surrounded him. It felt like every second was filled with anticipation, with both fear and hope holding equal weight in the air. I could still feel the tightness in my chest whenever I looked at him in the incubator, the tight, gnawing fear that clung to me. Was he going to be okay? Was he strong enough? Was he going to make it?

But each day that passed, I saw a little more strength in him. Boston was, without a doubt, a fighter. He had proved that from the moment he entered this world far too early. With every passing hour, every adjustment in his oxygen levels, every steady beep of the heart monitor, he was proving it even more. And with each day that passed, I allowed myself to breathe a little easier.

I sat beside him now, my hand resting gently on the side of the incubator, my fingers lightly brushing against the cool plastic. The nurse had just finished checking his vitals, confirming that everything was stable. He had been doing well—his oxygen levels had improved even more, and they had started reducing the amount of assistance he needed. I still couldn't believe how tiny he was, barely the size of my forearm, but he was strong, and he was alive. That was all that mattered.

Stiles was sitting next to me, his hand firmly wrapped around mine. He hadn't left my side in these five days, and I knew he wouldn't. We were in this together, every step of the way. I glanced over at him, catching his tired eyes. He hadn't slept much, and neither had I. The stress of the past five days had worn us both down, but there was something about Boston, about him being here, about his tiny breaths and small movements that kept us going. We couldn't stop now, not when we were so close to seeing him get stronger, closer to being the healthy little boy we knew he could be.

"How are you holding up?" Stiles asked, his voice soft but full of concern. He squeezed my hand lightly, his thumb running over my knuckles.

I didn't answer right away. I could feel the weight of the question sitting on my chest. How was I holding up? There were moments when it felt like I was doing fine, when I could sit beside Boston and watch him, and everything would feel manageable. But then there were moments like this—moments when I was alone with my thoughts, moments when I had to confront the fear I had been shoving down.

"I'm doing okay," I said, the words coming out more quietly than I intended. "It's just... hard. Seeing him like this, knowing how small he is, how fragile. I'm scared, Stiles."