Two new members in the FBI (Rewritten)

Chapter 38

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Jackson's Pov

We went to bed with the monitor between us, just loud enough to hear every little sigh and shuffle.

Boston stirred once, at 11:52.

I was up before the sound was even clear.

By the time I reached the bassinet, he was already settling again. Just a sleep whimper. A dream.

I rested my hand lightly over his chest.

Still here.

Still okay.

And so, finally, I let myself sleep.

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Jackson's Pov

August 25th, 2024

5 weeks and 4 days old

The world was still gray when I woke up.

Not quite dark anymore, not fully morning either. That strange, muted hour where even the house itself seemed to hesitate, unsure whether to stay sleeping or start stretching awake. I rolled onto my side, careful not to jostle Stiles, who was still tangled in the blankets beside me, mouth slightly open, completely dead to the world.

The baby monitor on my nightstand glowed softly. No cries. No whimpers. Just the steady, low static that had somehow become the new background noise of my life.

I sat up slowly, swinging my legs over the side of the bed, and ran a hand through my hair. My body was stiff in that familiar, heavy way — the kind of exhaustion that no amount of sleep could erase. But there was something else too, a buzz just under my skin. Restlessness. A quiet hum that told me, even without checking, that Boston would be stirring soon.

I pulled on a hoodie — one of Stiles's, soft and worn thin — and padded barefoot across the hardwood to Boston's bassinet in the corner of our room.

He was awake.

Not crying yet, but fidgeting. His hands flexed in the swaddle, legs kicking tiny protests against the confines of the blanket. His face was scrunched up like he was working through a very important decision, and I smiled despite how tired I was.

"Hey, buddy," I whispered, crouching down so he could see me. His eyes blinked open at the sound of my voice, unfocused but searching. "Morning. You thinking about starting trouble already?"

He let out a tiny grunt, the kind that meant yes, obviously, and I chuckled softly.

I scooped him up, one arm curling automatically under his head, the other cradling his body against my chest. His warmth soaked into me instantly, grounding me in the way nothing else ever had. His scent — soft, clean, uniquely him — wrapped around me like armor against the creeping grayness outside.

Boston shifted, pressing his face into my hoodie, his small body relaxing now that he was being held. His hand broke free of the swaddle and latched onto the fabric near my collarbone with surprising strength.

I kissed the top of his head and whispered, "Okay, okay. Let's get your day started."

Downstairs, the house was even quieter. The wood floor creaked under my steps, familiar and worn. I didn't bother turning on the lights. The soft blue-gray glow filtering in through the windows was enough to see by, and honestly, I didn't want to break the fragile peace hanging in the air.