Hi, so, this year has honestly started off really tough for me, and I'm very stressed, sad, and anxious, and I'm so busy studying and trying to have a stable income... plus a bunch of other things...Anyway, I know it's not relevant for me to say this, but I'm not doing well emotionally and mentally, and honestly, reading and writing aren't helping at the moment. That doesn't mean I'm going to quit completely, no. But right now, I think the best thing for me is to step away from here for a while. I don't know when I'll be back, but I suppose you'll know.
So I won't be answering messages or anything. Not here, not on Discord. I need to focus on getting and feeling better.
summary: babygirl says some hurtful things to jack.
—
She’s tired, a little overstimulated, and he’s trying to get out the door for night shift without being late.
“Shoes on,” he says, grabbing his keys.
“I don’t want to,” she mutters, dragging her feet.
“You have to,” he replies, patient but firm. “We’re going right now so you and mommy can drop me off.”
“I don’t care.”
He glances at you, then back at her. “Hey. We’re not doing this tonight.”
That tone. She hears it and doesn’t like it.
“I said I don’t care!” she snaps, louder now.
“Okay,” he says, steady. “But you still have to listen.”
She huffs, arms crossing, face scrunched.
“You’re so annoying,” she says.
He lets that one go. But then it comes.
“I wish you weren’t here.”
Everything stills. You both freeze. She doesn’t even fully register it yet. It just comes out, sharp and fast, the biggest thing she can throw at him.
Jack goes quiet, keys still in his hand. Not angry. Just quiet. That hurts more.
“…hey,” you start, but he shakes his head slightly, stopping you.
He crouches down in front of her, calm but softer now. “That hurt my feelings, kid.”
Her face changes immediately. Just a flicker, because she didn’t expect that. Didn’t expect him to say it like that.
“I didn’t mean…” she starts, but she’s already unsure.
“It’s okay,” he says. “You don’t have to fix it right now. I just wanted you to know.”
He stands, grabs his jacket, and leaves. No raised voice, no argument. Letting you know softly that he will just drive himself to work.
She barely touches her dinner. Nods when you talk but doesn’t really listen. Keeps picking at her sleeves like she’s trying to work something out in her head.
When you tuck her in, she’s too still.
“You okay?” you ask softly.
You leave the door cracked, but you don’t go far. You can hear her shifting, little sniffles she’s trying to hide.
Eventually, it comes.
“Mommy?”
You’re there straight away. “Yeah, baby?”
“I can’t sleep.”
You sit on the edge of the bed, brushing her hair back. “What’s wrong?”
She tries to shake it off, but it spills out anyway.
“I hurt Jack.”
Your chest tightens. “Hey…”
“I didn’t mean it,” she says quickly, voice breaking. “I just said it because I was mad.”
“I know,” you say gently.
“I need to tell him,” she insists, sitting up now, urgent. “Right now.”
You glance at the clock. It’s late.
“He’s at work, baby…”
“I know,” she says, tears spilling now. “But I need to tell him. My heart hurts.”
“Your heart hurts?”
She nods hard, pressing her hand to her chest. “It feels bad.”
Guilt. Big, overwhelming, five-year-old guilt.
You exhale slowly. “…okay. Get your shoes.”
The ER is quieter than usual, but not empty. It never is.
Still, the second his head snaps up, you know someone’s told him you’re here.
“She’s here?” Jack’s voice cuts across the floor.
He’s already moving before anyone answers properly, because all he heard was her name.
He rounds the corner and drops straight to her level. “What happened?”
His hands are already checking her, scanning for injuries. “Are you hurt?”
She shakes her head, tears already falling again.
“I am hurt.”
His expression tightens. “Where?”
She presses her hand to her chest.
“My heart hurts.”
“Oh,” he murmurs.
She looks at him, crying properly now. “I didn’t mean it. I was just mad. I don’t want you to go away.”
He pulls her into him immediately, holding her tight. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I’m sorry,” she sobs into his shoulder. “I really, really love you.”
His hand comes up to the back of her head, steady and grounding. “I know. I know you do.”
“I didn’t mean it,” she repeats.
“I know you didn’t.”
“I was just upset,” she mumbles.
“Yeah,” he says. “That happens.”
He pulls back just enough to look at her, brushing her hair back from her face.
“But we don’t say things like that when we’re upset, okay?”
She nods quickly. “Okay.”
“You hurt my feelings,” he says gently.
Her face crumples again. “I know.”
“You still have to go to work?” she asks, quieter now.
He glances at you, then back at her. “…yeah.”
Her lip wobbles.
He presses a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll come home as soon as I can.”
She lets go slowly, still holding his hand for a second longer before stepping back.
“Okay.”
He watches you both leave, making sure she’s okay, that she’s calmer, that she’s breathing properly again.
“online fandom bestie that you once shared intense intimacies with but don’t really talk to anymore simply bc we drifted into new blorbo obsessions” is such a specific type of relationship that has to be impossible to explain to anyone who hasn’t experienced it
When you got married, you were certain you wouldn't be a statistic. I'm not going to be the woman who gets divorced. I love my husband. You were so convinced of this fact. Why would you get married to someone if you were just going to get divorced? It's stupid! You lived with Simon for a year and a half before you married him. You dated him for four years before you married him.
You were not going to get divorced.
You signed the divorce papers two years ago. After about three years of marriage, you couldn't take the loneliness anymore. Simon always told you that he wouldn't be a good husband. He always told you that he would be gone for work all the time. Hell, you got used to him being gone when you lived together pre-marriage. What you never would have predicted is... the drinking. He wasn't a mean drunk. No, he never laid a hand on you. But he was a sad drunk. Simon was miserable to be around.
Eventually, you found out it was because of Johnny's death. He didn't tell you Johnny was dead. No, that would be too easy. John Price told you about it when he invited you to the funeral. You stayed married to Simon another year after Johnny died. How could you leave him alone after such pain?
Things never got better. He only became more and more unhappy. He wouldn't cry or speak about his friend's death in a healthy way. He would drink, become more miserable, drink more, and pass out at the kitchen table. You hadn't kissed him for six months. You hadn't hugged him for eight. You hadn't made love for almost a year. Simon truly became his namesake: a Ghost.
So, you divorced him. Tears were on the papers when you served them to him, your signature smudged with ink. "I'm going to live with my mother for a while," you told him. You sniffled, wiping your eyes free of the tears that gathered while you spoke. "I want your things to be gone in six months... Hopefully that's enough time."
He signed them without argument, just muttering a gruff, "Alright."
You still wear the ring. You loved that man for seven years before the divorce. You love him still, two years later. The ring is beautiful. Sometimes, you still tell men you're taken. John checks on you from time to time.
Today... is your anniversary. It would be the fifth year of your marriage. You lie on your sofa, staring at the ceiling. God, you miss the man he was. He would have been a wonderful husband. You felt lonely when you were married to him. You feel lonely now. Maybe if you had just stayed married... maybe if you had just tried to help him more, or tried to be a better support-
You kiss your ring. "I love you, Simon."
You shouldn't have gotten divorced.
It shouldn't have ended this way.
A knock on your door startles you, pulling you from your thoughts. You stand up to answer it, despite the fact that you haven't fixed your hair, that you haven't had a shower, that you have been crying all day long. At your door is a sober young man, his blonde hair cut high and tight, his brown eyes clear and bright. You've not seen this man since Johnny died. "Hey, baby," Simon says, his voice gruff but not slurred. "I've been going to AA for two years."
You blink up at him. "Simon?"
"I needed to see you again," he whispers. "I understand- I-I-I know- I know you divorced me-" He glances down at your ring. "But I cleaned up. And- And I-I missed you."
You've never heard him stammer before. "You look good," you manage to say after a few moments of stunned silence.
"You look terrible," he chuckles, then catches himself. "Sorry, that was- that was rude."
"You're stammering. Like a normal person," you say.
"I'm quite nervous," he admits. "I'm not sure if... you love me anymore."
"I do." Your voice cracks. "Simon, I never stopped loving you. But after Johnny died, you became a - for lack of a better word - a ghost."
He huffs a breath through his nose at that. "I know. I didn't know what to do with the grief. And then you left me, and it got worse."
"Just- Just come here, and let me hug you," you blurt, holding your arms open for him. "I wish you'd done this when we were married."
Always second guessing yourself with Simon because he’s so big n’ strong. Meanwhile you’re his sweet civilian girlfriend who has to get all your clothes in an extra large.
Simon’s lying on top of you one day, TV on but the sound is off and you’re running your fingers through his blond locks. Just getting long enough to curl— meaning he has to go in for a haircut soon.
“Do you want to go to the gym with me tomorrow?”
You paused everything. Stopped scrolling on your phone, your hand ceasing its soothing pets in his hair with your heart sputtering. Does he think you need to go to the gym? Get into shape more, is that why he’s asking?
Now that you realize it, he’s thumbing over that one part of your waist where it dips. Your bare skin touching his hand suddenly feels sickening.
“Why?”
You ask self-consciously. You haven’t mentioned anything about getting in shape, so did he see something that just made him want you a little thinner?
“Just because?”
His answer only soothes your nerves the tiniest bit. He doesn’t speak like there’s an ulterior motive. But that could just be how Simon always sounds.
“No thank you.”
You whisper as chipper as you can. Simon makes a little noise and fuck, you knew you disappointed him. Now taking your phone and searching up diets that aren’t too noticeable right away.
Meanwhile, it’s just been a little while since you commented on Simon’s muscles and he thought asking you to go with him to the gym would be a sure fire way to hear you compliment him.
inexperienced!simon riley who panics the first time you decide to have sex without a condom, forgets you're on the pill, ends up pulling out after three thrusts and cumming on the small of your back whilst leaning over you and whimpering apologies into your ear.
When you break up with John Price but you didn’t break up with his mom.
You’re still over Mary Price’s (yes that’s her name) house for noon day tea, right after mass and she always goes all out for you because you were the favorite daughter in law that got away. A tray full of Macaroons, biscuits, little cheese cakes, croissants and taking out the China set that probably cost a shit ton, passed down from her mother, just to have a good catch up with you.
You coupon together, review cookbooks together, dinner dates at your favorite restaurant. You’re even bundled up under the same blanket on the living room couch during your once a month movie night, whispering and giggling like little girls while her husband (Charles) shushes you two from the recliner for disturbing his favorite movie. You bring her youth back, and besides your break up with John, she loves you like her own.
Now, John already is a little irritated that you and his mom— hell— the whole damn family still likes you. John knows you still baby sit his nieces and nephews, still out partying with his cousin, still playing Mario cart with his older sister and older brother— everyone loved you. He tries so desperately to get you off his mind, he goes on dates, he goes out with his friends, works himself to the bone, but when he has to drop something off at his parents, coincidentally you’re getting out your car. Still gorgeous as ever, stray curls that were supposed to be in a high bun blowing in the wind, taking in that cold sea air. And you freeze once you see him on the front steps of his parents house, watching you with your own bag of groceries his parents asked for.
And he huffs, “Just come on then. Can’t stop you two from seein each other now, can I?”
Does John hate when he hears from his sister that you brought over a new man to meet his parents? Something in his brain ticks.
Well that just won’t do. You can’t go deciding you’d be with another man when you’ve spent half the year since you’d broken up galavanting with his own mother. You were a Price.
That’s final.
He waits till the family dinner on Friday, he knows you’ll attend, body growing more and more tense with irritation as he waits for you to enter through the front door right behind his older brother just as you always do.
“Let’s have a chat [+].” His voice tight, lips in a thin line. You gulp as John guide you upstairs to his old bedroom, his hand firm on your lower back. Locking you both in as soon as you get there. And you’re so sure this is when John wants you to break up with his mother. You were sweet to the woman, but you admittedly were pushed the boundaries farther than anyone who was genuinely trying to get over a breakup should. But before you could even stifle out some random scrambled words, Johns fucking railing his veiny cock into you poor cunt against his childhood desk.
“The audacity,” he breaths through his nose, hand pressing on your lower back, forcing an arch to get more of your greedy pussy onto him. “For you to bring another man here? As if you’d move on- Jesus- from me? Don’t think you were thinking sweetheart.”
“Jooooohn, w-we can’t- your parents!“ you’re a mewling mess, toes curling in their socks as you try to knock some sense into the bearded man.
“—what about them?” He’s ignoring you, letting his tip kiss your g-spot with every thrust. Admittedly, ignoring your concerns was part of the reason you two broke up. When John didn’t want to hear what her deemed as nonsensical chatter, he’d close his mind off from you.
“That fuckin muppet wouldn’t understand you swee’art, wouldn’t understand what we have. You ‘nd me-“
“—At least he listens!” You bite and there’s just enough behind it because John knows it’s true. Knows he isn’t the perfect man and he knows he’s fucked up along the way, fighting off demons constantly. But he’d do it ten times over just to get to you, to be with you, become the perfect man for you.
“You don’t think I listen?” He curses, slapping a hand over your mouth and pulling up for your back to meet his chest. John grunts, his other hand finding your perfect tit and groping it, getting a loud moan out of you.
“Shhhh, baby you have to listen too.”
It’s fucking heinous, the sounds you two are making together the squelching of your mixed fluids while John slowly drags himself out of you before ramming back in, the thunk, thunk, thunk of the desk meeting the wall with every thrust.
“Can’t help but need to listen to you baby. Haaa, is that what you want? A good husband that listens? Talk it it out? Tell you everything that’s on my mind? Then I’ll just have to be that man, huh?”
John curses, resting his hand on your shoulder and kissing it. So sweet, simply devine, his baby, his lover- his future spouse. Your ears are ringing when you cum, pretty cunt sucking the daylights out of his aching tip. The man whimpers, snatching your lips onto his, slipping his tongue in your agape mouth, pumping you full with every bit of cum that’s been stuck in his balls since your two broke up. Waiting to give it to you.
You two are a panting mess, John pulls out and quickly pulls your panties up. The idea of you being around his family while stuffed full makes his heart and his dick swell.
“John- this- I don’t want this to be a one off thing.” And you’re looking at him with those pretty brown eyes, bottom lip that was painted dark red trembling.
“Lovie, of course this isn’t a one time thing. I want to be back together with you. Always.” His words are stern but so soft, he’s handing you the gun. If he were to ever mess up again, you’d be the one to pull the trigger to his heart.
Till death till you part.
John doesn’t have to say another word, wrapping you in his arms. Oh, how you missed him. He almost can’t let you go, smothering your face in kisses, making you giggle, “John, your family!” You whisper yell, smacking at his back.
“Right, them. We should tell them later, okay? Not have them yelling and squealing all night.”
Mary grins as you two reemerge from upstairs, just as dinner hit the table, her hands clasped, and blushing — along with half of the other adults at the table.
“So,” she breaths, a knowing look on her face, “when will the wedding be?”
a/n: this has been sitting since forever. Cheers to you and John getting back together!!!
this is literally younggf!reader and jack abbot after he picks you up at the end of your work day, only a few hours before the beginning of his night shift, so you two can do your routines together.
doing your post-work, his pre-work shower together (it takes longer than any other shower because he’s still dealing with “morning” wood and you’ve been salivating since the car ride when he showed up with sleep-messy hair and plaid pajama pants) brushing your teeth in the mirror besides each other. taking off your makeup and doing your skincare, forcing him to stand still as you apply it to him too, even as he grumbles about his face feeling sticky. putting on sleepwear while he lounges in his boxers because he doesn’t have to get dressed for at least another 45 minutes. him putting his old man reading glasses on as he lays beside you in bed, playing solitaire on his phone with only his pointer finger, all while you eat whatever he picked up for you on the way home and watch a tv show he swears is stupid but lowkey is so invested in that when he readies to leave, he says, “tell me what i missed in the morning”
he doesnt even realise hes doing it. the money in his bank account is practically infinite and everybody knows it, he is an ex veteran and doctor after all.
it starts with him buying you coffee on his way to work. then when you guys started seeing eachother outside of work he would start buying you breakfast or dinner. you would always offer to pay, split the bill, but he would always say ‘dont worry about it’ andhand over his black amex like it was nothing.
then once you guys got serious he would start taking you to nicer places. places you never though you would be able to afford. you would feel bad, try ordering the cheapest thing on the menu, but he would notice immediately and ask the waiter to comeback in five.
then he started buying you clothes, jewellery. jack said he wanted you to be happy, and joked that you were ‘always complaining’ about having nothing to wear when he takes you out. you tell him you feel bad, you dont like draining his bank account. ‘baby this is nothing, i just want you to feel good. i like making you feel good.’ he would reply as his hand slid up your thigh. ‘if youre uncomfortable just tell me. ok?’ you climbed onto his lap and took his head into your hands. running your hands though his grey curls.
‘so what…are you my sugar daddy?’ you joked. a smirk grew on his face, ‘is that what you want, huh?’ he started pulling your shirt up over your head, ‘an excuse to call me daddy?’
Simon Riley is the kind of man who will be staring at his tray in the middle of the mess, poking at whatever slop they’ve been handed, and say something like “my wife used to make this. Hers was better” in this low, hollowed out voice that makes every man at the table go quiet and exchange a look.
Nobody says anything.
Oh, they’re all thinking. She’s gone, then.
He keeps a folded photo in his front breast pocket, worn soft at the creases from how many times he’s handled it. He doesn’t show anyone. He just takes it out sometimes and looks at it with this expression like he’s being slowly gutted and then puts it away again.
Half drunk at the pub between deployments, leaning heavy on the bar, he’ll say “I just miss her, s’all. Wish she was still here with me” and someone will quietly offer to get him another pint because what else do you say to a grieving man.
Whole time you’re at home perfectly fine, he just really fucking misses you.
i can imagine chubby baby tucking in jacks prosthetic for bed like its a doll
Jack just has to lie in his bed and survive being loved in places he still sometimes can’t look at for too long. Only sometimes. Even less with the kid.
“Sleepy,” he say it dead in the pan. “Control your child.”
You’re just watching it unfold. Literally, trying your hardest not to laugh, you’re only in bliss at your beautiful daughter throwing her baby blanket over Jack’s prosthetic, which she pulled from the nightstand and has laid in the bed.
“She’s your child too.”
“When did she learn to think my leg’s a toy?”
Chubby just looks at her father like he’s misunderstanding what she’s trying to do.
“Bedtime.”
Jesus Christ.
Chubby pats the prosthetic where it rests in between you and Jack, then pats the little blanket with her other hand.
He stares down at her.
“If you start kissing it, I’m leaving.”
“And how are you gonna do that?”
He only takes his eyes off her to glare at you. You got him there.
None of this makes sense, but this is his baby, she’s decided her dada’s leg needs care.
You might die with the fact that this is the cutest thing you’ve ever seen, and Jack might die from the fact you’re beaming at him in the lamplight.
“Leggy tired.”
…Leggy? Kill him.
Chubby drops to her knees beside it like she’s tending to a patient the way you do.
Yeah, this might be the thing to actually kill him. Pretty’s so serious. So careful.
Her tiny hands smooth the baby blanket over the metal and carbon fiber, the pink, fuzzy thing small, only really covering the lower half, but this does not bother her.
She tucks one edge around the side, pats it again, then leans back.
She’s assessing her work, you think.
Jack watches her routine in complete silence. You watch him watch her, and you realize this scene that started funnily has turned into something dangerous for his heart.
It still is fun, because she’s tucking Leggy in like it’s a doll, but she doesn’t know about the trauma, or loss, or how this can ruin Jack. She only knows that she wants—should tuck his prosthetic in.
“Good good night.”
Chubby leans forward and places a kiss to the top of the now covered prosthetic.
You snort. Jack closes his eyes. She pops up with her arms up.
“She go bed!”
Jack clears his throat.
“…She?”
Chubby climbs between his knees, obviously satisfied with her work, and lifts both arms in her toddler demand to be picked up.
Jack obeys, gathering her in his arms so she can settle onto his chest, her full cheek against his shoulder.
…He needs to drag the room back into humor, or else his heart will give out, and he’ll be as dead asleep as his leg. Leggy.
“You know, most kids tuck in teddy bears.”
Chubby yawns.
“Leggy tired. I tired.”
She thinks everything deserves taking care of, and Jack’s sure she learned that from you.
your chubby, perfect daughter can't help but copy the walk of her beloved dada.
1.1k wc // fic directory // why was the gif above the only one i could find of him walking, ik he's been filmed walking alone robby get out of here // leggy collection
anon submitted: Chubby picking up jacks slight limp because she loves her daddy and adores everything he does so she starts imitating his walk // i forgot to post it with the submission. sorry anon but here you go!
You’re sorting Chubby's toy food into a basket when Jack comes in from his garage gym with the familiar hitch in his walk from his prosthetic after having worked out too hard. The limp’s just a little more obvious than usual.
Definitely enough for you to glance up and notice with a tease ready.
“You overdid it this time.”
Jack shrugs, which is a yes in your book. He lowers himself onto the couch with a groan, and your baby, who’s been making her stuffed rabbit do backflips, lights up with the whole of her body when she sees him.
“Dada!”
Jack softens pretty immediately, because when hasn’t he for her? No matter how tired he is, you think he always will, and you smile at the thought as he leans forward.
“Hey, baby.”
Chubby gets up to her feet and toddles toward him, and you’re about to go back to organizing her play kitchen, but you pause at the first few steps she takes. Something about her toddle is wrong.
…She’s limping.
Or…trying to.
It’s not really that convincing of an attempt, she seems too little and too unused to it for that. Still, her small foot drags by a few inches as she makes her way to the couch.
You just have the question of why she’s doing it.
“Oh. Oh my God.”
But you look at who she’s walking to, and your heart swells with the answer.
“Hey, what—”
You guess Jack’s not as fast as you in catching on, because when he notices Chubby’s “limp”, he’s off the couch. All the softness in his face is gone.
It seems to have been replaced by his jaw-clenching fatherly fear that heartens you like crazy.
“What happened?”
Jack’s baby, your baby, stops in the middle of the floor, but only to blink up at him before taking another dramatically uneven step. He’s crouching now.
He says your name as its own question, and you have to press your palm to your mouth to stop yourself from smiling.
“I think she’s okay.”
“She’s limping.”
“I can see that.”
“Why are you smiling?”
Okay. So, you’ve failed, but only because you’re now trying not to laugh while Chubby starts the walk all over.
“Jackie, Dad, Dr. Abbot—take a closer look at her walk.”
Jack stares at the way she restarts by walking back with her usual, perfect toddle. She does it just to make her shoulder dip again, and her foot slide across the hardwood.
“...What the hell are you doing—”
He only looks away to eye his own stance. It takes him a moment to think about the last thirty seconds, the way he came into the room.
The slight drag in his step that came along with him.
He looks back at her proudly reproducing it.
…Jesus fucking Christ.
Chubby smiles all her teeth.
“Dada walk.”
You lose the laughing battle as well at that. Jack just kneels there, the way he had to relearn with a metal leg a long time ago, and felt fucking stupid for at the time.
Face it right now. Your kid’s not coping out of mockery, Abbot. Not even really out of curiosity, you think. Just…love.
Does that kill you?
“Is Dada’s walk so pretty that you just had to try it on for yourself?”
Chubby nods once and simply, like it’s common sense for her to do that, like it’s a right for her to turn Jack’s stomach inside-fucking-out with endearment and an aching and loving pain and the disbelief that he can be loved so perfectly and ten million other things.
Well. Ten million and one when she walks into his body with the same limp, her tiny brows furrowed.
He’s not proud of the way it takes him a while to find his voice.
“...Baby.”
His baby stops with her belly against his knee.
“She’s radiant with success. Are you radiant, pretty?”
“Dada walk.”
She says it again, but this time, she puts her hand on her hip and, God, Jack’s assuming that’s for emphasis.
"Well, you're radiant with Dada's walk too."
Demonstrating his scars like she’s happy to have learned a family skill. Pass on anything else.
“Mommy, Dada walk wifth me.”
“...I don’t think it’ll be as cute as when you do it.”
You wonder if, in all his attempt to keep his heart covered in the midst of this, Jack knows he’s not covering his face. You’re not sure if he’s about to cry, but that’s what it looks like to you. A painful bob of his beautiful throat and twitching brows—
“No, baby.”
He takes Chubby in his arms so quickly and kisses her cheek. She ‘mmmmms!!’ very loudly.
She rests her rounded hand on his.
“No?”
“No. You don’t need to do Dada’s walk.”
…You can never know what Jack’s thinking, but you watch the way his face presses briefly against your baby that you gave him, his head against her shoulder, and you can take a few guesses.
All of them make you want to love the insecurity out of him, because Jack Abbot, Dr. Abbot, Jackie, Dada—he deserves to think of himself as perfect as his daughter does.
“You don’t have to copy me.”
He’s carried the thing with the fact that it’s a part of him and that it’s sometimes a wound as much as it can be nothing but a part of him. He’s lived years feeling people look at the limp before they look at him. Enough damn years resisting pity, resisting becoming a symbol of the people who can be good at things despite the lack of limb.
But baby's noticed his walk as Dada.
How has his heart not fallen out of him yet? How are there more ways for his heart to be ruined after you?
Well. She’s your kid as much as she’s his. He should’ve fucking guessed.
Chubby wriggles in Jack’s arms.
“I same.”
He’s had to spend so much of his life trying not to let the limp or metal leg or lack of one made of flesh be the first thing about him. Now he has to survive a mini, even more of an oddball version of you, cherishing those things as Dada?
How could he even come close to deserving this life with you, kiddo?
Jack swallows.
“No, sweetheart. You do your walk.”
Chubby frowns.
“No Dada walk?”
“You don’t need Dada’s walk.”
Chubby blinks.
When she decides to listen to him, what she does is the only thing Jack finds humor in since she started to mimic him.
She wiggles away from him and takes off back to her rabbit in a perfectly normal toddler toddle.
You lower yourself beside him, watching her with him.
“She wasn’t making fun of you.”
He twitches his mouth into a pained half-smile.
“I know, kid.”
“She loves all of you. I assume that’s the whole problem.”
He laughs, finally. Because of the irony of you saying that, Sleepy? Hilarious.
