gmybw 3- midnights and new days
listen. listen, i love writing this, and i don't even care if i'm releasing it into the void. jack kelly deserves a mother that loves him and this au is healing parts of me that you wouldn't understandddd
read the other parts here! part one and part two!
Rough. That was the word to describe Jack’s first three months living with the Larkins. Rough.
Things were not easy. Medda hadn’t been expecting paradise, of course; she’d browsed Foster Parent groups on Facebook and read a few articles about the turbulent emotions these kiddos experienced. Still, she wasn’t expecting just how angry Jack would be.
There were times when she thought he hated her. Periods where he wouldn’t speak for days and would hide behind closed doors, occasions where he’d snap and break into fits of fury at the smallest things. He snuck out often, cursed like a sailor and bit at Medda like he was trying to make it hurt, and she didn’t understand but she never turned that anger back on him. There were countless detentions, one too many meetings with guidance counselors and so, so many evenings when she felt exhaustion tugging her down, because it just felt like they were moving in circles.
Hannah took a backseat, because her preferred method of parenting wasn’t helping and both she and Medda could acknowledge that. She didn’t like Jack but she understood his importance to her loved one, so she supported Medda through it all, while Medda supported Jack in her own way. She absorbed all of his stabs and strikes, shouldered through his rage with a passive expression, and provided a routine of stability that he hadn’t ever experienced before. Someone who was on time for carpool every day. Breakfast, a packed lunch, and dinner every evening without fail. Someone who let his friends come over, someone that bought him new clothes and art supplies and decorations from his room, someone that finally gave him a cell phone of his own, and all the little frivolous things he wanted.
Sometimes it seemed like her generosity frustrated him even more. It would rile him up when she didn’t get angry. Sometimes he’d shout himself hoarse and Medda would sit through it in utter silence, wanting to wrap her hands around Alex Snyder’s neck and throttle him to death for putting this boy through so much hell.
He refused to celebrate his early October birthday when he turned fifteen and shut himself in his room as a means of protest. He didn’t even call any of his friends over, and refused to speak about the subject with Medda and Hannah. Twice, Jack came home with split knuckles and fresh bruises. Only then did she speak firmly, because her worry for his well being trumped any soft approach she was going for. Jack never explained his fights– just told her they were off of school grounds and then made himself scarce again.
At least he’s safe, she told herself over and over again, at least he’s fed and clothed.
Medda knew all of this was necessary. Living with them was a huge adjustment for Jack, and he wasn’t mentally prepared for it. She knew this, and she was prepared to live like this for years if she had to, but that didn’t make it any less exhausting.
She wasn’t sleeping well. Normally those cool October evenings did her right, with the gentle chill in the house that made curling up under blankets all the more enticing. Instead, her mind was constantly racing, trying to find solutions and ways to help Jack. She’d been sleeping lightly. Anxiously. Maybe that was why she shot up nearly immediately when she heard a hoarse shout ring through the house, coming from exactly where Jack’s bedroom sat.
Hannah shifted sleepily beside her, rubbing at her eyes with one hand and feeling around the nightstand blindly with the other. “Hmmph– whas’at?”
“I dunno, love.” Medda swung her feet over the edge of the bed, one hand pressed to her chest to calm her racing heart. “I’m gonna go check. You just go back to sleep, alright?”
She grumbled something and rolled over, her bun a messy nest of tangled ginger strands. Medda pressed a kiss to the shell of Hannah’s ear out of sheer nervousness and practically sprinted down the hall, throwing open Jack’s bedroom door without knowing what to expect.
He was sitting up straight in his bed, chest heaving, covered in a sheen of sweat. A warm glow spilled from his open blinds, striping him with color and staining the whites of his eyes orange. She’d never seen him look more terrified, and he lurched into action when he saw her figure, scrambling back to press himself against the wall. Somehow, Jack made himself even smaller than he already was, curling up and begging her ‘please no’ in a jumble of barely intelligible speech.
He must’ve had a nightmare, and Medda realized that with her bathed in darkness wearing pajama pants and a button-up pajama top to match, she might’ve passed as some sort of shadowy male aggressor.
She retreated and flicked the bedroom light on. As the room came into view, she noticed his pillows, tossed onto the floor and his sheets and comforter, tangled up and hanging off of the bed. Jack's plain white shirt was drenched with sweat and he had his knees hugged to his chest, forehead pressed against them. The room looked much more welcoming in the light (it’d previously been an office space that neither she nor Hannah used, since they preferred to share each other’s company in the living room), but Medda noted right away that the cream-colored walls needed to go. The color was too jarring.
Carefully, she stepped forward, hands held up in a placating gesture. “Jack, it’s me. It’s Medda.”
He stared at her with wide eyes, gripping his own legs so tight that his hands shook. “Don’t– don’t come any closer.”
“Alright. I won’t.” She didn’t want to keep hovering ominously in the middle of the room, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to let him suffer alone. After doing a quick glance around the room, Medda took notice of the desk and chair they’d cleaned off for him to paint on. A half-finished desert landscape sat on its surface, all of his paints carefully closed despite being strewn haphazardly across the desk. She grabbed the back of the chair. “It okay if I sit here?”
After a moment, Jack managed a small nod. Medda exhaled softly and sat, leaning back against the wood and keeping a careful eye on Jack as he calmed down. The sleekly designed clock on the wall behind them seemed to tick into oblivion.
She watched him regulate himself with a sad sort of fascination, starting with evening out his breathing and then calming down his tense muscles, one by one. A fourteen year old child shouldn’t have had practice forcing himself into false security, but Jack was doing it right in front of her. She wondered, with a deep sadness in her heart, what forced him to learn such a skill.
As her mind began to wander, he spoke gruffly. “You didn’t leave.”
“No, honey, I’m still here.” She assured gently, offering him a smile. “Just making sure you’re alright. My Ma always made us cheese and crackers after a nightmare, if you’re interested.”
He blinked slowly, his disbelief more than obvious. “Wh– I guess so.”
“You wanna come down and fix a plate with me?” Medda stood, grunting softly as she stretched the soreness out of her bones. Sitting still for such a long time was never any good for her joints.
Jack hesitated again, eyeing her with what she could only describe as suspicion, before he gave one of those awkward shrugs of his and begrudgingly followed her downstairs. They ran into Hannah in the doorway of the master bedroom, glasses perched on her nose, looking ready for battle. Medda explained that everything was perfectly alright as Jack stood sheepishly behind her, looking unnecessarily guilty. Hannah sighed a long-suffering sigh and pressed a kiss to Medda’s cheek, then told both of them to ‘try and get some sleep eventually’.
Then Medda found herself in the kitchen slicing up some of the good gouda Jack had taken a liking to, layering it carefully over Ritz crackers. She poured him a glass of water and carefully sat everything in front of him, where he sat curled up on one of the chairs at the dining table. Medda took the seat across from him, careful to keep her distance and keep her hands off of him, too.
He paused with a cracker halfway to his mouth and eyed her warily. “You aren’t gonna ask me what that was about?”
“Nope.” She answered simply, leaning back in her chair. “Not unless you want to tell me.”
He blinked at her again, wearing that same look of shocked disbelief that he’d worn in the bedroom. She’d seen it multiple times before, and she would’ve given anything just to know what was going on in that head of his. “Oh. Um… I guess I don’t want to.”
“That’s perfectly alright.”
Jack gave a minute, comically shocked little shake of his head, before he tucked into the snack she’d provided him with. He ate in silence and Medda waited patiently through it all, wondering when the next bubble of anger was going to rise up and pop. Strangely, that anger never came. When Jack finished, he leaned back in his chair, and they looked at each other. The kitchen was quiet.
After a moment of silence, he spoke. “I… I’m sorry, Medda.”
“What, for waking me up?” She laughed easily, because he really and truly didn’t need to be sorry. She hadn’t been sleeping, she'd been laying there worrying about him. But he didn't need to know that. “No, honey, don’t be. I was up reading anyways.”
“Well, I didn’t mean… I mean, yeah, okay. Whatever.” He slumped down further in his seat, and part of her wanted to prod him into continuing that first attempt at a sentence, but she refrained. Instead she leaned forward, dropping her chin onto one hand and smiling at him.
“I never noticed how bleak that bedroom looks in the dark. You ever thought about painting a mural on one of your walls?”
His eyes widened and she watched his interest peak in real time. Medda mentally rewarded herself for the victory and fought back a giddy smile. “You’d actually let me do that?”
“Sure, baby. This is our forever home. Hannah and I would love a mural in there, especially if you paint it. You know, those landscapes you’ve been drawing are gorgeous. Spot was telling me about the city skyline you sketched for her…”
“Spot’s overdramatic.” Jack mumbled into the fabric of his t-shirt, glancing away like he always did when he received a compliment. The boy could make hard and heavy eye contact through the most difficult conversations– but face him with a compliment, and all of a sudden he’s Mr. Bashful. That was just one of the many quirks she’d come to know and love. “She’s just being nice ‘cause she wants me on set crew for A Christmas Carol.”
“Well, I want you on set crew too, but that’s not why I’m complimenting you.” She pointed out carefully, but didn’t want to break this careful new bond they were creating, so she changed the subject quickly. “So we’ll do a mural, and paint the other three walls something nice. Or we could do the mural on the ceiling. That’ll be a challenge.”
“Well, I was thinkin’ actually–” Surprised by his own excitement, he shrunk back awkwardly. Medda hated that he felt like he had to reign himself in. “Maybe we could do those glow stars on the ceiling instead? I… um… I sorta like constellations. Stars and stuff.”
“Oh, I love that.” Medda couldn’t help but smile. “Why don’t you come up with a design for how you want them, and then Hannah and I’ll help you put them up? During fall break we’ll have a big room renovation.”
“Okay.” Jack smiled, an even bigger victory, and his cheeks dimpled with it. Medda resisted the urge to leap out of her chair and pump her fist into the air as he stood, carefully collecting his dishes. “I… I think I’m ready to go back to bed. Thank you, though. For the snack. And… and for stayin’ up with me.”
She scoffed, rising from her seat as well. “Anytime, Jack. You know that.”
Dishes were washed, and they made their way upstairs. Medda could scarcely contain her excitement. The Jack she’d known so briefly, before all of the messy shit with Snyder and the trials of the custody battle, was glimpsing through. She wanted to keep it that way. Still, she walked him to his room in relative calm, and hid her surprise well when he stopped in front of the door.
Jack stared at her for just a moment before he lurched forward and hugged her, quick and awkward and fumbling. Just as quickly as he embraced her, he muttered: “I wasn’t havin’ a nightmare about you. Never you.”
“That– that’s good, honey.”
Before she could even pat his head or tell him goodnight, he darted off into his room, closing the door behind himself. The lights flickered off, and Medda was left in the hallway with a giddy sense of hope and the lingering thrill of chasing small victories.
For years after, Medda would be glad that something compelled her to open her eyes on that cold November evening. She was asleep, yes, but it was one of those sleeps that lingered between consciousness and dreamscapes, when the slightest stirring could rouse a person from slumber. Maybe she’d been about to drift off or maybe she’d already drifted, but the point was that softly creaking floorboards fluttered her eyes open and she squinted at a strange crack of light extending into her and Hannah’s bedroom.
Her wife was sound asleep, her breathing rhythmic and soft. Still, the bedroom door had been pushed open, and the light from the hallway spilled into the room. In the crack of the door stood Jack, looking apologetic and awkward and impossibly sweet. She still hadn’t quite gotten used to seeing Jack in clothes that fit him. A sweatshirt that cuffed his wrists just right and sweatpants with legs that closed properly around his ankles. Socks without holes, everything clean and unrumpled. It was a new look on him. He still didn’t seem quite comfortable, almost like he didn’t believe it.
“Hey, hon.” Medda croaked, still not-quite-awake.
“‘m sorry, Medda.” He whispered almost instantly, already shrinking back. “I didn’t mean t’wake you.”
“No, no. ‘S alright.” Quickly, desperate not to throw off the pleasant balance they’d been living in since the nightmare incident, she sat up and mentally forced her tired body to wake up. She stepped into her slippers and tugged her robe over her shoulders, careful not to jostle the bed too much and wake Hannah before making her way over to Jack. “What’s wrong?”
Jack, in a nervous habit she’d come to know well, rubbed the back of his neck. “Well… uh… nothing. I just– I’m hungry.”
“Oh, alright. That ain’t a problem, sweetheart.” Medda couldn’t help her own chuckle as she carefully shut the bedroom door behind herself. The maternal instincts in her worried he was up because of a nightmare or a budding panic attack, but hunger was something simple and easy to deal with. Also, the fact that Jack was there at 1:45 in the morning, trusting her enough to ask for food? She was almost too giddy to function. “I’ll fix you up something. What are we thinking? Snack, meal, breakfast at midnight?”
Jack smiled as he descended the stairs behind her, those bright eyes of his scanning the kitchen as if looking for ideas. “Is mac’n’cheese okay?”
“Great idea.” Medda glanced over the contents of the pantry with a soft hum. “I don’t have the right noodles. You good with the boxed stuff?”
“Boxed mac’n’cheese is great. When it’s hot.” Jack confirmed, climbing onto one of the stools sitting by the kitchen island. He dropped his arms onto the island itself and then placed his chin on his arms right after, eyes following Medda as she put a pot of water on to boil and started prepping the butter and milk. For some reason, she was fighting a smile, so she kept her back turned. “I really am sorry for waking you up."
“Jack, baby, if you need something, I will drop anything I’m doing. Be it sleeping or running a marathon.” She chimed, sending him a warm smile and leaning against the counter.
His cheeks dimpled with a bright grin. “You run marathons?”
“Hell no!” She tilted her head back with a laugh, quickly shaking her head. “Not me, no. Hannah does, but not me. I’ll walk a marathon, maybe, but I only said I’d run one because it sounded more dramatic. You’ll catch me dead before I run twenty-six miles– I’d rather dance nonstop for ten minutes.”
“I think the dancin’ would be just as hard.” He said easily, all of that natural brightness beginning to shine through as his lazy smile refused to fade. “I mean, I’ve seen some of the dancin’ Racer has to do and that shit– um, stuff, I mean– that stuff looks real hard.”
“Well, I’ve always thought that dancing is as much of a sport as anything else.” Medda agreed sagely, dumping the pasta into the boiling water. She ran a spoon through it to make sure nothing stuck to the bottom of the pot before continuing to speak. “But folks these days underestimate the value of art. It’s always been important to us. Always will be, too.”
Jack nodded, dropping his cheek onto his arm. They fell into a companionable silence as she bustled about the kitchen– nothing like the awkward, stilting silences that filled the apartment during the past four months. For once, the kid wasn’t tense or alert. He was practically slumped over the island, totally relaxed, eyes lazily following Medda’s path around the kitchen. The air seemed to hum with newfound familial ease, and Medda was giddy with it.
Soon she had a pot of steaming food cooling on an oven mit, and she spooned half of it out into a bowl before handing it over to the kid. Jack took it gratefully, and he really wasn’t lying about being hungry, because that boy started devouring the meal. Though she’d been taking care of him for upwards of four months, she still hadn’t gotten used to the starved manner in which he ate everything she put in front of him. It always made her heart ache to see Jack eating like his food might get taken at any moment, devouring anything she put in front of him like it might be his last meal. Jack hadn’t come across a single meal he hadn’t devoured (he’d even cleaned out all the leftovers of a casserole dish Hannah had tried that neither she nor Medda enjoyed) and he ate everything with an almost reverent appreciation. Medda had always believed that there was nothing more comforting than a home cooked meal, but Jack seemed to drive that theory right to home base.
The midnight macaroni wasn’t any different. He ate each bite with appreciation, ravenous and fast but somehow looking more grateful while eating than anyone Medda had ever laid eyes on.
She leaned against the counter as she kept a careful eye on him, suddenly seeing a new side of the guarded, broken child she’d come to care so much about. He was cleaning the last noodles out of the bottom of his bowl, a happy half-smile on his face, when Medda noticed this new Jack Kelly. He looked so damned comfortable, like he belonged right there at her kitchen island, in his properly sized clothes with his clean hair and bruise-free skin. His posture was confident and easy, free of any anxious or furious tension, and he looked like a fourteen year old boy should look. Jack looked happy. For some reason, Medda’s eyes were stinging, vision blurring with tears.
“Is there… uh— is there any left?” He asked carefully, honey-brown eyes lined with hope, and Medda wanted to tell him that she’d give him the world.
Instead she just smiled and tried not to show him that she was about to cry happy tears. “Yeah, baby, finish the rest of the pot.”
Jack grinned, bright and easy, and she had to turn around and pretend to start cleaning up because those stubborn tears were slipping out anyways. She’d really done something right. Something good. This child, kicked down and beaten by the world, injured by the adults he was supposed to trust, had learned how to trust her. He was comfortable and happy in her home, and all of her patience and love had paid off.
It was small and silly and maybe a little stupid, but the fact that he was feeling safe enough to eat right out of the pot made her want to cry a little harder. Hannah was right– Medda was a huge sap.
She discreetly passed a hand over her eyes as she put the milk and butter back in the fridge, wiping off the counter and tossing the pepper and paprika she’d used back into Hannah’s well-organized spice cabinet.
Jack finished up with expert timing, just as Medda reached into the freezer to pull out a tub of chocolate ice cream. “There’s no better midnight snack than a bowl of ice cream.”
“Awesome.” He laughed, hopping down from his barstool perch to rinse his dishes, as Medda fixed them both a bowl of ice cream. She knew her stomach would probably regret it in the morning– eating ice cream at ungodly hours of the morning was a young person’s work and Medda knew it– but she wouldn’t sacrifice this time with her kid for anything. So, ice cream it was, damn the consequences.
They found themselves on the couch, catching up on yet another series Snyder hadn’t let Jack watch. It seemed like every day there was a new thing he’d deprived Jack of, and each new thing made Medda want to see that man behind bars even more. She knew, distantly, that such an outcome wasn’t possible. He had too many state connections. Too many ways to weasel himself out of trouble. She should’ve just been grateful to have Jack safe and happy and hers, but there would always be a part of her that wanted justice, and she supposed she’d just have to shoulder that burden.
“I can’t believe Racer likes this crap.” Jack muttered from his seat at the end of the couch, curled up with his legs folded beneath him.
Medda hummed in agreement. The show wasn’t exactly her cup of tea, either. “Well, he’s a strange boy, but we love him.”
“Speak for yourself. Racer drives me crazy.” Jack stated firmly, wearing a smile all the while. He gulped down his last bite of ice cream and set his bowl aside as Medda chuckled, knowing good and well that Race was one of Jack’s two closest friends, and offered her half-finished bowl to him. “Medda…”
“My eyes were bigger than my stomach.”
His expression softened into something she couldn’t quite read as he took the bowl and finished it much more slowly, something shifting in the air. Medda tried to keep her eyes on the television, but it was difficult with Jack practically burning holes into the side of her head with his intense gaze. If she’d learned anything about him, though, it was that he’d talk when he was ready and prodding him was not a good idea.
He did talk eventually, gently nudging her with his foot. “Medda?”
“Yeah, honey?” She glanced over, watching him carefully stack the bowls before inching closer on the couch. This seemed awfully important, so she made quick work of knocking the volume of the tv down a couple notches.
“Uh… thanks. For everythin’.” After a moment, he offered her a genuine little smile and ran his hand over his hair, stopping to cup the back of his neck. “I guess these past few months I haven’t seemed real grateful but I– I am. I just– sometimes it’s hard to– I dunno, believe that this is real? And believe that it’s going to last. If that makes sense at all…”
“Oh, Jack…” She breathed, taking in the sight of him, small and vulnerable with his unseen depths of sadness and mistrust. “Jack, I am here for good. I want you to know that. I’m looking you in the eyes right now and telling you that I ain’t going anywhere, alright?”
He nodded, eyes glossing over with tears. Medda drew in a deep breath and faced him fully, because everything else in the world suddenly seemed infinitely less important. “I’m here to make sure you feel safe and happy, Jack. That is all I want in this world, alright? Earlier, when I said I’d abandon anything for you, I meant it. If you need me, I’m there, honey. Always.”
“You… do you promise?” Jack’s voice came out thick and strained, as he was obviously fighting against the emotion he was surely feeling.
She found that she was dangerously close to tears as well. “On everything I love, baby. You deserve the world, Jack, and I want to give that to you.”
“See– you can say that all you want but how– I dunno how I’m s’posed to believe it.”
Medda had never been heartbroken before, but she was almost certain that this was how heartbreak felt. The child sitting before her, speaking so honestly and openly for the first time, had been through hell. He’d lived through everything the world had thrown at him and he had the cracks to show it– messy, bloody cracks that would take years to soothe, or maybe they’d never be fixed– and he had to shoulder his own burdens every day. She felt herself breaking for him, desperate to take some of his earthly loads into her own hands and free him from whatever hell he’d experienced.
She knew teenage minds were messy, complicated knots of string in most cases, but Jack was different. Medda didn’t quite know how to untangle his web of thoughts, but she was going to get there one day, and she was going to love Jack through it all. “Jack, I know it’s hard to look at yourself and see someone worth lovin’. I can’t say I understand what’s going through your head, but I sure as hell empathize with it, and I can tell you that those voices shouting at you about being undeserving are just plain wrong. Jack–”
A silent sort of sob shook his shoulders and she held her hand out. He stared at her open palm before lurching forward and wrapping his arms around her tightly, not unlike that first evening she’d met him back in May. Medda held him close, cradling his cheek against her chest. “Jack, when I look at you, I see a lot of goodness. I see someone who loves joking around with his friends, I see someone talented, I see someone full to bursting with love to be shared with the world. You give away a lot of love, Jack Kelly, and I’ve seen it. I’ve seen the way you take care of your friends and all of those boys you lived in the system with, and I’ve never met someone else that loves like you do. Did you know that?”
“No.” He sobbed, pressing his eyes and the bridge of his nose to the silk covering her shoulder.
“Well, that don’t make it any less true.” She ran a careful hand over his hair and dropped it on his back, rubbing slow circles to the tempo of her own breathing. “I think someone who loves so much deserves a little bit of love in return, yeah? You’ve been surviving for eight long years, Jack. It’s time to let yourself live. But in order to do that, you might have to let someone else in, you know? Let someone else look out for you.”
Jack spoke around a hiccup, his tears beginning to wane. “That– that’s– it’s not as easy as people say it is.”
“I know. Trust me, I do. I spent a long time thinking I had to fight the world on my own, but then I found my people and I realized that all my battles were so much easier with others by my side. Sometimes God gives us heavy things to carry. Unfair things. Things that don’t make sense. You get mad at Him, wanna ask Him why… but then He brings people into our lives, and they ask to help carry those things, and suddenly they ain’t so heavy. You’ve been through a lot, baby. Nothing’s been easy for you. But this– this house, my family– I think this is where you finally get to drop some of those burdens you’ve been shouldering.”
He nodded weakly as he sat up, passing his sleeve over his eyes and cheeks. Their knees bumped together and the divot between the cushions she sat on was beginning to grow uncomfortable, but Medda didn’t dare move as he looked at her. “I get that, it’s just– sometimes I wake up and I think I’m b– I think I’m back at Snyder’s again, or Weisel’s, or one of those other homes and I think that you’re gone and this was just a dream, because I dunno what I did to deserve all of this.”
Jack’s shoulders crumpled and he rapidly wiped his eyes one or two more times. The fire in Medda’s chest had never burned more brightly. She cupped his cheeks in painstakingly careful hands and met those honey-brown eyes with firm intent. “Jack. Look at me. I am not going anywhere.”
She watched the tears bead up at his waterline as he nodded, desperate young hands wrapping around her wrists and holding tight.
“You have got me now and forever, honey, and you deserve all of the love Hannah and I throw your way. You deserve it because you are good, Jack Kelly, you are a good human. I’ll say it again: I am not going anywhere. I will not leave you.”
Jack sobbed. She was probably crying too as he crumpled forward and hugged her again, but something felt different and Medda cradled that shift to her heart as she kissed his temple once or twice. He probably hadn’t cried like this in ages, loud and unrestrained, maybe in relief or maybe just the onslaught of emotions he’d been suppressing under all of that anger. But Jack cried, hard, and Medda sat there through it all. She whispered little words of comfort into his dark hair and let the storm rage, knowing deep down that this was exactly where she was meant to be.
They didn’t talk much after that. Neither really remembered how long they spent on the couch, but when Medda checked the clock later, she decided that Jack was going to get a day off from school, because they were meant to be awake in an hour or two. He laughed wetly and hugged her tight before disappearing into his room, and Medda watched him retreat with a motherly sort of pride. That’s my son, she thought for the first time, but certainly not the last.
Jack, with all of his imperfections and all of the progress he’d been making. Maybe he was meant to end up here, too. She liked to think that was true– she liked to think that they’d both been walking paths that were meant to converge. True or not, that thought earned her the first good sleep she’d had since May.
