#dunkirk series

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Complementary (Collins x OC) Chapter 39: Check

Summary: Babies. Adorable little nightmares, aren’t they? Or are they awful dreams?

AN: Happy Dunkirk Release Anniversary for yesterday! 

Took another while but I’m writing a new story to replace this one hopefully. It’s coming close to finishing Complementary now.

Triggers under “Read More”

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Trigger warning: Allusions to portpartum depression

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Unfortunately, that first day was the start of a staircase, the first step down. And Genevieve, with her leg, hated stairs.

It started like every other day the past couple of months: Stella crying at five in the morning after falling asleep at half one and waking up again at three. Genevieve was awakened from an unpleasant dream that was in fact a memory she cared not to remember. With a stretch to the sky, she began taking her turn to go check in with her baby. Her body felt like it weighed tons; heaving it out of bed was a trial she grew weary of more and more every time she had to do it. Feet dragging along the floor, she left behind Jack and followed the noise to the nursery.

That sound, it was not the screaming siren like it had been before. Just a simple cry that was as tired as Genevieve, who took up the child and held her close in her chest.

“Hello, darling,” She whispered against Stella’s head, “I’m here, shh.”

In a daze, she took the pair of them downstairs. Her hand gripped the banister tightly to keep her balance. Made the trip slower, but that was part of her newest daily task: ignoring her leg pain in favour of Stella’s care. This began as she sat on the sofa and tried to get Stella to have some breakfast.

“Come on,” She whispered as Stella’s head turned away, finding interest in looking everywhere but where she needed to get her feed. “Stella, love. This isn’t fun for me either.”

Both of them moaned at each other, their wants and needs repelling like the matching ends of magnets. Genevieve sank back into the sofa, still begging to a baby who couldn’t understand her until eventually Stella took to her. With a muttered thanks, Genevieve waited whilst her patience rebuilt itself brick by brick.

The burping was always a nightmare. Within a couple of pats, Stella was squirming to get away from her own spit-up with a strong grimace that her Da would be proud of.

“Ok, ok, ok,” Genevieve dabbed at her mouth while Stella made her displeasure known to all. A trial and a half, but then again Stella was too young to understand that it would be over a lot quicker if she just sat still.

Neither had expected to fall asleep. Coupled with the clock on the fireplace chiming eight o’clock, footsteps travelling down the stairs woke them up. Sitting up and carefully waking Stella, Genevieve spied Jack in the sitting room door frame, his work clothes clean from the wash yesterday. She didn’t know whether she loved or hated the moustache that he was “just trying out”. She was simply indifferent at the moment. Bigger worries at the moment.

Jack crossed over to her side, greeting her with a gentle “good morning” and a hand on her shoulder. A hum was the reply he got as Genevieve let him take Stella from her, falling back onto the couch with eyes closed as soon as she was gone.

Only a couple of minutes could be spared for Genevieve. She didn’t even think she actually went to sleep; sounds of Jack mumbling to his daughter filled her ears, even as she buried her head under the throw. But just resting her eyes, a soft space embracing her, felt glorious. Even her leg was giving her a break before the long day ahead; the pain had slipped off her thigh and been forgotten somewhere on the stairs. As a result, she prolonged her time on this sofa as long as she could, only removing the throw to let in the morning when she heard Jack stop in front of her.

“Stella, you be good for your Ma, alright?” Jack kissed Stella’s cheek then passed her back over to Genevieve, “Call me if you need anything, if the doctor says anything.”

And he kissed her on the crown of her head. It tilted to follow him as he pulled away. Genevieve’s mouth fell open, but she bit her tongue, holding back the desire to tell Jack her dream. It would help no one; he was already leaving the house, what could he do to help her in the seconds spare he had before driving away?

The lock in the front door twisted into place, and Genevieve began counting. Her thumb brushed across Stella’s cheek for each count, keep her quiet for just a moment. Genevieve reached the number twenty-three before she heard the car engine being switched on. It rumbled away from the house, shrinking into the distance until it disappeared. With a sigh, Genevieve lightly pinched Stella’s cheek and exhaled as she made a noise connoting a smile in return. Sure enough, when she looked, Stella was grinning up at her. Sort of. It was a wide-open mouth with the corners turned up ever so slightly.

From the floor, Genevieve collected the steaming cup of tea and a plate of buttered toast beside her cane – all of which Jack must have left for her. She wished she noticed sooner, to thank him. As she ate her breakfast, she kept Stella lying down in her lap.

“Ready for the doctor’s today, my lovely? We’re gonna do some house stuffs first though.”

Changing her nappy for a clean cloth did not go as planned. It never did. Stella’s legs kicked wildly and – like today – landed themselves in poo. Mock crying to the ceiling helped Genevieve cope as she wiped away the mess; holding her breath played its part too.

Even when clean, Stella continued to writhe. Mostly away from the arm holes, leg holes, head holes, in her clothes and she whined despite Genevieve’s assurances. Her aversion for cooperation was sated when Genevieve rested her head to Stella’s belly, curled up in front of her, and Stella thought this exhaustion was a game. Bit of a dick move, but Genevieve took advantage of Stella’s longing for play time to force her into an outfit. Stella seemed shocked at this, her eyes wide, her body stiff.

She remained that way as Genevieve lay her amongst pillows for protection – so that she could keep her eye on her while she cleaned the sitting room. It was slow work, the cleaning of clutter and the dusting and polishing, and slower now that Stella required seeing Genevieve every few seconds to stop her crying as much.

This was just killing time until lunch, which would be killing time until Stella’s nap was over, which was killing time until the doctor’s appointment. The whole day really was planned around the baby.

When lunch time arrived, Genevieve was glad to stop faffing around. None of her efforts seemed to show in the room. She put Stella down after rocking her to sleep for twenty minutes. Sat beside the crib, her hypothesis was proven: upon sitting down, she would be stuck and want to stay there for a nap. That was, until Stella drifted off and Genevieve had to perform a delicate act to place her down without disturbance.

No sooner was she in the kitchen, her forearms were drawn to the table like a moth to a flame, weariness flaring in her chest to reach up her spine. It wasn’t long before she was lying beside her poorly made sandwich instead of eating it. Not sleeping though. Somehow she didn’t have the energy and her longing to close her eyes swapped for opening them the second she gave into it.

Counting the minutes before Stella should be woken, a new hobby that Genevieve did not enjoy but partook in nevertheless. Always it was such an enticing opportunity to let Stella oversleep, just a little more peace. As much as she wanted to, it would be worse for her in the long run.

In no time at all, Genevieve was creeping back into the nursery. She knelt before the bars of the crib; she held them loosely. Stella lay there with her arms and body folded in a bundle. Her eyes were closed, face still. But her feet were moving beneath the blanket, snuffling softly between noises, so she was definitely awake. To prove it beyond doubt, Stella’s brow crinkled and her mouth was drawn open wide.

“Hello you,” Genevieve spoke under her breath as Stella blinked over at her. With care, she stood and reached into the crib. A grizzling accompanied the baby as she was lifted up and into her mother’s arms, the top of her swaddle unfolded to free her arms. Genevieve traced her fingers along Stella’s chubby chin, “Let’s go.”

As was with every outing, damage control was created with the blankets. Stella enjoyed wrapping her hand around a corner, chewing on it. Genevieve thought perhaps it brought her baby ease because she often moaned when they went outside, the bump of the pavement and bright weather unfamiliar to her. When the summer months would come, they would sit in the garden and Genevieve could work while Stella played, maybe she would be sitting by then.

With the pram taking both hands, Genevieve pushed them out the door. One last look at her cane hanging up with their coats and she left the house.

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A clinically quiet room greeted them. Stella ensured that whoever was in the building knew they were there with her grizzling. Too weary to shush her daughter, Genevieve checked in and sat right beside the desk in a stiff chair, avoiding the temptation to rest her head against the handle by looking instead at a pamphlet that discussed the merits of penicillin.

“Mrs Collins?”

Into another rigid chair she sat, this time in a smaller office. Taking Stella out of the pram, Genevieve discussed with the nurse from her first visit what Stella had been like in the last two months. Some questions were asked: “what are her nappies like?”, “how does she take to feeding?”, “how often does she cry?” etc. The answers were as follows: “she uh, doesn’t do solid poos. I’m sure she empties her body weight in slush”, “she started off ok, but now she struggles a little, won’t take for minutes”, “all the time, I hardly know how to stop her”.

The nurse then weighed her – Stella, not Genevieve – and checked her little body. Going against all that Genevieve had said about her behaviour, Stella smiled for the nurse and barely made a sound. Genevieve was almost angry about that, but channelled it into a sardonic request for the nurse to teach all she knew about keeping babies quiet.

Scribbling all this down, the nurse took the sheet of paper off her desk and placed it into a file, “Despite all that, she’s very healthy, already started teething. You’ll need some medication for that.”

Genevieve prepared to place Stella back in the pram, when the nurse pulled out another form and asked, “How are you coping?”

Stopping, Genevieve frowned slightly at the question. Obligation and honesty began a tug of war in her heart, pulling it painfully back and forth. She looked down at Stella, who was rubbing her cheek into her mother’s chest to bring her back.

“Honestly?” Genevieve looked up at the nurse.

“Honestly, Mrs Collins,” The nurse nodded.

Drawing in a deep breath, Genevieve felt honesty win and she allowed herself to unload onto the form: “I feel like I’m not good enough for her. I can’t do anything anymore. I don’t want to. I’m so, so tired, but I don’t even want to sleep. I love her so much but feeling like this all the time makes it hard. I can’t tell anyone either; I know what they say about mothers who aren’t always delighted by their bundle of joy.”

“That’s understandable, Mrs Collins. You’ll be surprised to hear that a lot of mothers feel the same as you, unsatisfied by life, questioning why they became mothers, fatigued all the time.”

“It’s not just that,” “I keep thinking about my… time in France.”

The nurse tapped her pen against the desk before gesturing to Genevieve, “You know, the hospital had developments made to it towards the end of the war, in the psychiatric ward.”

The last two words froze in Genevieve’s ears, burned her brain with cold. Her grip on Stella tightened just a touch, grounding her with the feel of the soft clothes and the funny smell that mixed with her soap.

“They’ve altered part of the ward to allow mothers and their young babies to stay together. It’s voluntary, and you can check yourself out whenever you like.”

“Thank you, but I don’t think I need that,” Genevieve said, eager to leave this office as soon as possible. Thankfully the nurse concluded the visit shortly after passing Genevieve a slip of paper detailing what would happen if she did need that.

Stella began crying again upon being returned to the pram; she grew louder when outside, likely missing the warmth of the office. Another reason to move quickly. Along with her leg aching, that was only allowing her to move so quickly, Genevieve was feeling rather overwhelmed by her discretion and felt the need to return to her bed.

“Genevieve!”

A familiar face parted from the crowd. Mariane waved to her eagerly; Genevieve immediately forced a smile that she really didn’t have the energy for.

“Oh, hey Mariane.”

“Hello!” She embraced Genevieve then let her go, too quickly for Genevieve to respond. Then Mariane peered into the pram where the crying Stella looked up at her, “Oh she’s getting big already!”

Pushing the pram back and forth to soothe Stella, Genevieve said, “How’ve you been? How’s work?”

“School’s still standing. And yourself?”

“Oh, tired, with this one,” Genevieve tried to laugh as if it were all joke, shake it off, “Sometimes I think I’ll take all those bratty privileged girls back. At least they sometimes quieten down.”

There was no doubt in Genevieve’s mind that her baby’s wailing was at the front of Mariane’s mind, as well as everyone walking past. Swallowing, she made her excuses and an empty promise to meet up when she could with the others from work before pressing on. For once, she was pleased Stella was crying. Home was where she needed to be now.

Fifteen minutes could be a long time or no time at all. Genevieve did not compare this to the longest fifteen minutes of her life. Thinking about her boat torpedoed was not going to be helpful to getting back to her house. Even though she knew this, and told herself many times not to think on when she was sinking into the Channel, she felt it. That anxiety, that chill, a memory of it at least still pressing on her body amongst the pressure of being a mother. From the debilitating enervation that now filled her life, it had lowered her defences and made her immune to thoughts of war.

Getting inside, Genevieve could barely put Stella to bed, before collapsing into her own.

It felt like only seconds later that she opened her eyes at the sound of Stella crying again. Genevieve did not go to her child though. She pulled herself deeper into the duvet, the pillow over her head, and she counted down from ten as slow as she could. But, even as Stella did not settle, Genevieve did not move for a long time. Her eyes stayed closed now, grown accustomed to their contradictory need to open. Feeling like this was familiar, oddly enough, but she couldn’t put her finger on where it came from.

Minutes dragged until Genevieve couldn’t take it anymore. She shoved away from the bed and found the nursery, looked down on the red face of her baby.

“Oh Stella, you’ll be alright,” and she hoisted her from the cot.

The afternoon mirrored the morning with Genevieve and Stella taking their places back in the sitting room. A book fell off the arm of the couch. Another attempt to calm her daughter, Genevieve collected the book from the floor and began to read aloud to Stella. It was a book of little importance, a how to do manual for calligraphy that had made it in the move from her old flat. She barely took in the words, eyes scanning over them without lingering for more than a stammer should she get a word wrong. Every paragraph or so, she would stop reading and look at Stella. But every time she stopped, Stella would begin to whimper again - a warning that anything could set her off.

Eventually Genevieve dropped the book back to the floor and held her face to Stella’s.

“Aren’t you beautiful?” She whispered, “My lovely baby. You hungry?”

It seemed they were both beat: Stella took to her feeding almost straight away.

“Thank you,” Genevieve said, falling back into the cushions and feeling like she hadn’t really achieved anything since she was in the same position hours ago. Her peace, however mediocre, was not meant to last.

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  The radio playing an unnaturally jaunty tune cut out with the engine. Jack was pleased to be home, only slightly worn out from work.

Upon entering the house, he heard the crying. His shoes were off, his bag was dumped. His brief sprint landed him in the kitchen where Genevieve was consoling the screaming Stella.

“Ginny?”

“She doesn’t stop,” Genevieve sniffed, “She just keeps crying and I don’t know how to help her. Oh!”

Her voice raised at the end, for Stella had thrown up. It missed the rag and splashed down Genevieve’s shoulder, splattering across her face when Stella coughed then continued to cry.

At her side, Jack spoke quick, “Ok, ok, love, get to bed, I’ll clean her up.” He collected Stella in his arms, “I’ll bring you some tea, Ginny, go clean yourself up.”

Insisting she go to bed, Jack watched Genevieve collect her cane and climb back to their room. She made it only to ball up a towel and scream into it. She hadn’t done that before. Lilly suggested it as therapeutic when she had James. It was not. Genevieve had gotten spit-up that had dribbled down her front onto the towel.

Once his wife was out of sight, Jack looked on his child to assess the situation. Stella was already in her pyjamas, so Jack wiped Stella’s mouth clean and then her clothes until only a faint stain was left. Then he spoke to her. Whatever thought his mind picked out of many, he said to his daughter: what happened at work today, what he was like as a tyke, what colours were around them. As he chatted, Stella soothed herself with his sentences stroking her into stillness. Upon the instant her serenity was achieved, Jack placed her in bed, kissed her head, and left the nursery with only the lamp on and the door closed.

Both parents let Stella cry for a little, Jack while he was making the tea, Genevieve while she washed her face. It was different to when she had been sick; there was less effort in it, just a soft moan. Stella had worn herself out to the point where she simply dropped off. Genevieve leant on the sink, deep breaths from the nurse’s office returning to calm herself. Using the flannel, she wiped away a tear that forced its way down her cheek.

On tiptoe, Jack ascended the stairs at a snail’s pace. Every creak of the staircase was amplified to tear across the house. Every tick of the clock downstairs was like a gun’s steady firing.

His tea was abandoned by Genevieve, who simply lay down in bed. Now she could define this feeling, drinking tea didn’t feel like a priority.

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The negative of sleeping early is waking early. For once, Genevieve opening her eyes before sun up was not caused by a wailing down the hall. The bedroom door was being closed and the click of the doorknob was what pulled her from her sleep that was lighter than a feather. She sat herself up to see Jack, holding a glass of water in one hand and rubbing his eyes with the other. Once again, she didn’t recall actually going to sleep.

And suddenly now seemed a good time to ask.

“Can I talk about something please?”

“Of course,” and Jack moved to her side of the bed. Genevieve looked down, pushing her hand back and forth on her thigh, across her scar.

“I had a dream about the plane the other night. The German one we saw on the way back to Dorset. The noise it made, and it just kept coming closer. It was like I was stuck in treacle. I couldn’t even scream; it just clogged up my throat and I couldn’t breathe.”

During her speech, cautiously, Jack had knelt in front of her. The couple flinched at the floorboards beneath the carpet making themselves known with a groan, harmonising with the clink of his glass on the bedside table. Once they had ceased their song, Jack leant closer between her legs, his forehead close to hers.

“It’s not coming back, you shot that plane down,” He whispered.

However, reality wasn’t comforting to Genevieve. It rather had the opposite effect on here, setting her stomach ablaze with anxiety. Her head ached at his words.

“I didn’t think. I just took your flare gun, made you stand so I could use you to kill someone, like that.”

“Would have killed us if you and Dawson hadn’t done anything.”

Shaking her head, Genevieve disregarded what he was saying, tried again to say what she wanted to say that morning, “I didn’t think then but it’s all I do now. Think about how many people I got killed. I missed on that one too, was aiming for the cockpit. Quick death. Just like the others, because that’s all I could offer. You praised me for it!”

Her rambling ceased before it could reach a volume that would the sleeping babe next door. It was in a tense ten seconds that she took deep breaths to calm herself and waited for Jack’s reply.

It came in the form of her face being held, her eyes held in a gentle stare with him as he spoke: “You did what you had to. We both killed people, but we had to. Or else we wouldn’t be here, and Stella would be going through that. She might not have existed. Or worse: she’d be under the Nazis’ rule.”

Genevieve pressed her hands against Jack’s, “The nurse thinks I should go to the hospital, with Stella.”

Jack stilled between her palms and her cheeks, his voice hoarse, “A hospital?”

“I feel worse than when I did before she came, when you found me in the garden,” and Genevieve felt such frustration that she was crying again, “I feel so helpless here on my own. I know I’m not, but I feel it so deeply.”

Her hand flapped against her chest, reaching for her heart where all the pain boiled up. It slapped against her thigh when the build up of crying

“I’ll be check on her,” Jack said, kissing her lips quick with a rough bristle of his moustache, “I’ll be back in a sec.”

Jack hated seeing both his loves in pain. So he resolved to help Stella quick to get back to Genevieve’s long term problem. Part of him felt she had spent too much time in a hospital to go back. That part went into the back of his mind as he flicked on the light to the nursery.

“Oh, Stella Cosmos Josie Blancmange Collins!” Jack yawned. Stella didn’t hear him over her crying, such a gut-wrenching noise to hear that Jack didn’t even laugh at his joke. Dropping to her side, he wiped each of her tears away, clicking his tongue. When she was soothed enough that she had stopped shaking, Jack autonomously lifted her up from the cot and sniffed her nappy. Though he was in the know about late night romps with his baby and her crying, he would never grow accustomed to how stiff she would be when he held her in these times.

“Hey, it’s ok,” He hummed, lowering her onto the changing mat already out on the floor, “What we’re gonna do is we’re gonna clean you up and then we’re gonna get you back to a comfy ole sleep.”

He started popping off her sleepwear. It wasn’t a marvellous smell and Jack had to hold her feet still as he undid the latches, for her thighs had smeared themselves in what was in the cloth. It was then that Stella started to cry again, and not just tears, with screams too.

“Please, stop crying,” Jack stroked her wobbling cheeks, “Please. Your Ma needs rest. Stella, my darlin’.” God, why couldn’t she understand him? Why couldn’t he understand her? He quickly wrapped her back up, nice and clean as promised, but still she screamed. Her face was red with effort. The downy hairs on her brow were damp.

“Your Ma’s not doing well either. I’m sure she’ll bounce back. She always does. Strongest woman ever, your ma.” He consoled, trying to stay positive but he could already feel how Genevieve felt all day, every day. “Come on, Stella, work with me here.”

As he spun on the spot to try and entertain his baby into a slumber, Jack found Genevieve had followed him to the nursery and was watching him.

“Hey, I got the night shift,” He quietly reminded her.

Still, Genevieve moved closer and offered to take her, “It’s too hot to do anything, even sleep alone in bed.” With that, she eased Stella from him, and into her arms, “Hello, love, let’s try to get you off to sleep.”

When she was lowered her back into the cot, Stella began to whimper again. Genevieve knelt beside it, her arm through the bars and her hand carefully landed on Stella’s tummy. Jack followed her to the floor, sitting behind her and leaning his head between her shoulder blades. One hand rubbed next to his head.

“You should go to bed,” Genevieve said as quietly as she could whilst still trying to be heard, “You have work.”

“As do you, with this one. Plus, I’ve been given the day off tomorrow.”

Not once did he budge in the hour that Stella cried before settling down. He didn’t even crack his overdone joke: that if they had named her Sunny, the irony would have killed them.

It was never white noise, her gasping for breath before bawling with all her might one of the most unsettling to hear. When she finally rested her lungs to sleep, she still whined. Genevieve almost joined her in sleep, her head against the bars, Jack in her back. Both slumped at the same time, catching each other just before colliding with the floor. Only then did they collect each other and take their leave of the room.

As they fell into bed, Jack turned to his wife, “Ginny, would you hold me please?”

And Genevieve kicked away their covers and embraced her husband. His body was like a furnace bundled in cotton pyjamas. Nuzzling into the back of his neck, she kissed on his hairline and breathed in the lingering aftershave smell from his neck. He must’ve shaved this morning.  

For both their sake, Genevieve whispered, “We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

Jack squeezed her hand, then he kissed it, “Of course. The team.”

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Everything Tag: @tomgcsglasses and @nasabeck

Dunkirk Tag:@lowdenglynnstyles, @kgcurtis30, @carneylowdenwhitehead, @theres-no-paradise, @blondeeee-e, @luleraina, @starryrevelations and @orphan-with-a-stutter

Jack Lowden Tag: @musicallisto, @adriennelenoir, @lowdensnose, @from-the-clouds, @johannalauraaa, and @lowdenfanpage

Complementary Tag: @you-are-the-first-dream, @disneydirectioner, @lavidademarimar, @sweetsugarhoneyfics, and @prettyboytgc

[from-the-clouds]

Somewhere Only We Know - Chapter 16

Chapter 15* Playlist * Masterlist

Word Count: 1,900

Warnings: n/a

Tag: @ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff, @maiden-of-gondor @crayonwriting @la-fille-en-aiguilles (let me know if you’d like to be tagged!)

A/N: Okay, so this isn’t a particularly eventful chapter but I had to do some characterization for Y/N and her mother. Ya know, I want to set some nice things up for the chapters to come! Sorry for the break between updates, life is wild sometimes.

April 1944

The guilt that consumed Y/N for the next few days was worse than she could have imagined, seeping from her mind into her body, coursing through her veins. She was sore and tired and regretting every choice she’d made since Collins left the few years before. Her life now was so different, and while she was frolicking around Europe, entertaining crowds, he was in pain, much to her ignorance. Had he told her earlier maybe she wouldn’t feel so bad. But this wasn’t his fault. She’d kept him in the dark, and as she penned draft after draft of what to write back to the man she loved, it became harder and harder for her to find the right words to make everything okay.

Would he be angry if she was honest? Most likely not. But it was her own mind that would make her regret what she’d done, and it already had begun to. Even if he did get upset she had kept her life from him, it was nothing compared to what she was currently doing for herself. Sleep evaded her, she nursed saltine crackers and black tea, as she had no appetite or motivation to prepare food for herself.

When she woke up one morning, her face pressed against a blank piece of paper, a pen loose in her grip as she surveyed the crumpled-up letters she’d attempted the night before, it was the rare sunlight streaming through the curtains in her living room that pulled her briefly out of the tent of self-hatred she’d set up for herself. At least for a moment, she needed to talk to someone else about this. But the only person available, who could possibly give her any proper advice, was the last person she wanted to go to.

Straightening her dress after she’d quickly showered and gotten ready for the day, she raised her hand and knocked on the door. Y/N hadn’t put any effort into making herself look nice, she hadn’t even dried her hair or put on makeup, so she knew she was quite the sight.

It didn’t take long for her to get an answer. Diana opened the door, donned in an apron, her hair impeccably styled away from her face, contrasting with her tired and frumpy-looking daughter. The house smelled amazing, which Y/N had become accustomed to growing up. Y/N wasn’t much of a chef herself, and her appetite suddenly came back with a vengeance at the smell of her mother’s cooking.

“Dear Lord, what the hell happened to you?” her mother asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Despite her initial instinct to fire back, she felt her shoulders slump in defeat under her mother’s disapproving gaze. “Can I just come in?” she asked. “I need to talk to you.”

Diana sensed her change in disposition and stepped to the side to allow her daughter entry.

“I’m surprised to see you at all after you blew off Stephen and I last week,” her mother quipped as Y/N followed her into the kitchen.

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t exactly in the mood to see him considering the circumstances.”

“That was rude,” her mother said, nodding at the breakfast nook in the kitchen. Y/N sat, dejected, staring out the tiny window.

“I know,” she said absentmindedly, unable to find the strength to argue.

Her mother pursed her lips, turning away from the stovetop. “Why are you here, then? I hope it’s to apologize.”

“Not exactly,” Y/N murmured, letting her chin rest on her hand as she leaned on the tabletop. “But if it makes you feel any better, I’m sorry.”

“That wasn’t very sincere,” Diane quipped, turning back around and flipping a page in her cookbook. “I shouldn’t have to ask for an apology.”

“Can you cut me some slack, mother?” Y/N straightened up, her patience waning as her voice cracked. “I need someone to talk to, and you sure as hell aren’t making this easy for me.”

Her mother didn’t respond, focused on chopping vegetables while Y/N sat at the breakfast nook twiddling her thumbs, trying to decide how much she wanted to reveal to her mother and how to even bring it up. A long bout of silence passed before her mother spoke again.

“Stephen was over yesterday.”

“He was?”

“Yes, he wanted me to talk to you about last week, see if I could get you to come around.”

Y/N huffed. “And?”

“I never liked him much to be honest, didn’t think your father did either,” her mother said, not turning around, tossing some chopped celery that hissed as it hit the hot pan. “But you seemed happy.”

“I was young, I knew nothing,” Y/N said flatly, slightly annoyed that their conversation had gone back to Stephen. It was pointless, and meant little to her now. But her mother either didn’t hear her, or chose not to respond, because she was forced to continue the conversation. “What did you say to him?”

“He wanted me to promise that I’d try to get you to call, to meet up with him.”

Y/N scoffed.

“So this is me…..trying,” Diane looked over her shoulder, quirking an eyebrow. This made Y/N smile, slightly, though she knew it resembled more of a pained

“Well, I’m not single,” Y/N responded. And that’s what I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

“Jesus, you’re not pregnant, are you?”

“No! God no.” Y/N scrunched her nose, shaking her head. “This is about Jack, mother. You’ve met him.”

He mother was quiet a moment, taking the information in. “You fancied him after all?” her mother asked, looking over his shoulder.

“I’m surprised you couldn’t tell.”

“I could, I was just trying to be polite,” Diane said.

Y/N rolled her eyes but knew better than to say anything. This was really trying her patience, but she had to stay focused on why she was here in the first place. “Well, he’s been away. And I may have ruined it.”

“Are you upset because he’s gone at war? You should have considered that before you got involved with him.”

Y/N’s composure snapped like a rubber band, despite the pep talk she’d been giving herself. “You think I didn’t consider that? It all happened so quickly.” Truth be told, she knew she would have loved Collins regardless, and she didn’t regret loving him now.

“What’s the issue?” her mother asked. “You’ve been here twenty minutes and you’ve yet to really explain why.”

Y/N sighed, tilting her head. “I haven’t been honest with Jack about everything going on in my life. I’ve told him nothing about the shows I’ve been playing or the opportunity in London. I wanted to, but it just felt so wrong, considering the fact that he’s miserable in the trenches somewhere, fighting for us all to go on like normal and I’m frolicking around here doing nothing of substance.”

“Anyways, he was injured again, and he can’t write me so one of his friends did. And now I feel awful because I’ve lied to him for so long about my life. I can’t explain why it makes me feel so guilty.” Y/N shook her head. “I imagined….if we both got out of this safely…I thought maybe he and I would….would get married.”

Y/N didn’t expect herself to start crying. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d opened up to her mother about something so personal and the vulnerability from that and the guilt that’d been eating her apart combined and resulted in tears…. again. It was surprising she hadn’t dehydrated herself from all the crying she’d done over the last few days.

It wasn’t hard to compose herself though, especially not under Diane’s condescending gaze.

“And you don’t need to chastise me, I know I’ve made a mistake,” Y/N spoke up before she could. “Believe me, I’m already insecure enough because of you.”

She feared the worst would come from her mother’s mouth as she finally seemed to stop meddling with her cooking, turning around to face her daughter. Biting the inside of her cheek, her mother appeared angry, ready to unleash everything all at once, but instead she sighed, walking towards Y/N and taking the empty seat at the breakfast nook across from her.

“I’ve always wanted the best for you, Y/N.” She said flatly. “I’ve pushed you hard and haven’t let you rest for that reason.”

“There are other ways to go about-“

“No,” her mother shook her head. “Being nice about doesn’t work.” She scoffed. “Not with you, at least.”

Y/N had to bit her tongue not to respond before her mother did.

“When you were a kid I remember you’d always come inside crying when the neighbor kids played too rough. You’d fall and scrape your knee and I’d comfort you, but you’d always keep wailing. Unless I told you that you were fine.”

“Because you were fine, you knew it. You looked down at the scab on your leg and went right back outside. I didn’t need to coddle you.”

“I knew after your dad passed away, and after Stephen left that you were devastated. But I wasn’t sure what would happen to you if I let you wallow around for years. You wouldn’t put your talent to good use, you’d stay here for the rest of your life and never come out of your shell.”

“When I met Jack, as desperately as you both tried to hide the fact that there was anything between you two it was written so clearly on your face it was almost funny. I didn’t know what to think of him. But he’s the reason you’ve started to play again, am I correct?”

Y/N nodded, swiping her eyes for the few residual tears that had collected on her skin.

“So why do you think this would make him angry? I think you know just as well, if not better, than I do, that if anything, he’d be proud. I don’t think there’s a violent bone in that man’s body.” Diane gave her daughter a weak smile. “In fact, he reminds me a bit of your father, don’t you think?”

Y/N nodded in agreement.

“I am proud of you, Y/N,” she reached out, squeezing her daughter’s hand from across the table. “When I saw you play at the bar the other night, I felt like I was seeing you again for the first time in years.”

Y/N didn’t have many words to say. This was certainly not how she’d expected the conversation to go, she thought, if anything, she would have stormed out in the middle of it. Her mother’s revelation, however, was a lot to process.

“Thank you, mum,” she said quietly, looking down. “That means more than you may think.”

She ended up spending the evening at her mother's, they had a nice meal and talked more before Y/N retired for the evening. Despite the fact that she could have gone to bed then and there, after the advice from her mother she knew what she had to do.

Y/N wrote it all down. Everything she’d been doing for the past year she poured into one letter than ended up being five pages long, even after drafting and cutting out entire paragraphs, it was nearly a novel. Her hand was cramping by the end, but she wanted to finish it so she could get it in the mail by the next day.

She only hoped Collins would have the chance to read it and forgive her, she didn’t know if she could go on without knowing everything between them would be okay.

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Complementary (Collins x OC) Chapter 38: New

Summary: It’s her baby’s first day in the world. Genevieve and Jack are too tired to celebrate it. For better or for worse, no one else is.

AN: This is for @itsmillartime who’s comments really pushed me to finishing this series. This is a looooong chapter. Those >1k word chapters seem like so long ago.

Thank you for bearing with me, uploads are real slow. But this story will be finished one way or another.

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Upon the midwives’ return, they found Genevieve in uneasiness. But that emotion was being tipped off the scales by the comfort she felt holding her baby. When she passed the child over to Jack, there was an emptiness in her chest that distracted her from listening to the midwife about passing a blood clot. Genevieve’s eyes stayed on him. He was still crying with a close-lipped smile as he cradled his daughter for the first time. What a feeling, that passed between the couple while they watched their baby interact with them. Years of waiting for such a moment.  

There were more tears to come when it came to injecting inoculations into the newborn. Leaning back into the pillows, Genevieve did not strain to watch for she was too tired. But she could hear the wailing perfectly well; it made her cower into her bed. Such a heart-breaking noise, the baby did not yet understand how to cry.

“Oh darling, I know, I know! It’s awful,” Jack spoke to the baby the entire time and held her hand while the midwife prepared the final injection, “It’ll be over soon, just one more.”

The moment it was over, he scooped her up into his arms and consoled her. She felt so tiny against him, his hand covering her back completely. Her frame shook, her face red until, back in Genevieve’s arms, her gulping came to a stop.

“There we go,” She kissed the baby’s head twice and the calm that washed over the pair would only ever be known by them.

And whilst both Baby Collins and Genevieve were declared healthy by the midwives, Jack dashed downstairs to ring everyone he could - without a care for the fact that it was the early hours of the morning. The Collins’, the Hastings’, Farrier’s landline, Jack was busy ringing all he knew. He had to be quick because, every time someone answered the phone, he would start to cry a little more, until only one phrase was uttered down the receiver:

“I’ve got a baby girl. We’ve got our baby girl.”

Once he’d dragged the crib into their room, a lot of Jack’s night was spent laid beside Genevieve as she slept. She had not wanted to sleep, but her eyes were drooping and body slouching as she protested against the idea of getting rest. The baby was taken to bed, and every ten minutes or so, Jack would stand and sit down next to the crib to keep an eye on the child in there. Somehow, she was still ready to sleep despite arriving a few hours ago mid-nap.

At some point in the night, he rested his head beside Genevieve’s hand and woke up with the shock that three hours had passed. Instantly he made to check on Genevieve (still asleep and fine). He peeked over the cot next in hopes of not disturbing the occupant. The tiny baby was awake now and carefully turned her head to look around. Her arms were enfolded into the blankets, so she couldn’t free herself. It was not a fight to stretch, more a test to learn about her body in this new world. Jack met her curious stare with a small smile.

“Hello,” He whispered, “Do you remember me? I was talking to you while you were in your Ma’s tummy. I gotta hold you after you got your nasty injections.”

The baby licked her lips then tilted her head back slightly, her eyes taking in the ceiling instead of her daddy’s face. She made little noises as she moved, her breathing blending with some gurgling.

With shaking arms, Jack lifted her against his chest. He beamed as she wriggled into him. She smelt delightful. It was not something he could put into words, but she just did. Jack then realised perhaps he should have put on a shirt first as he spied it strewn over the bed’s edge. Contemplating on what he should do now, he looked to the baby who had closed her eyes again but left her tongue poking out between her lips.

Eventually he decided to take her for a walk, showing off her new room, the presents that people had bought her, and the poster that was in it. He stroked the bear’s paw across her cheek then quietly described the time he took Genevieve to see the real Sunflowers. When her eyes were open, the baby looked mostly at Jack as he spoke. Very polite of her.

“You shoulda seen your Ma in that moment. I hope the paintings come back one day so we can show you too,” Jack said as they headed downstairs, his voice raising a little more once out of earshot of the bedroom. “You have lovely eyelashes. Didn’t think you’d have grown them yet but there they are.”

Once the lower floor had been explored with all its limited interest, Jack stepped into the garden with the baby held in one arm so that he could shield her eyes from the rising sun. A new day. It was a little chilly for him, but the baby seemed content in her blankets even as they loosened, with her fingers bending and straightening around her new blanket. Crisp spring air renewed his energy, the dewy grass soaking his slippers. The flowers were all thriving that year. Bending down slightly, he picked one taller cosmos and showed it to the baby.

“I told you about these. I bet I’ll have to tell you again,” He said with a smile. The flower bounced about on its stem and the early morning breeze, its petals caressing the baby’s nose. She stared at it, mouth open, after which she sneezed. Her arms flung out in front of her, her legs kicking forward with effort in the blanket.

“Oh dear! Bless you,” Jack beamed for it was such an adorable sound. But then the baby began coughing out her cries, her face contorting to screw up her delicate features.

“Darling, it’s ok,” Jack shushed, lifting her closer so that he could kiss her head, “It’s just a little flower, it won’t hurt you anymore.” He took a seat on the bench and cuddled her closer in his chest. Not that he realised, but he swayed in his seat as he continued to talk to her, to calm her down as her cries muffling into quiet against his shoulder.

“I know, oh I know, everything’s all new to you. God, you’ve never sneezed before. What must be going on in your little head?” Jack sighed, glancing behind him as if to see through the wall where Genevieve was. Then he looked back down at the baby, her arms hardly reaching above her head, blinking up at him with a crumpled pout. As gently as possible, he lowered her back into his lap, one hand under her head, and kept his face close so she could see him sniffing as he felt a tear slip past his notice:

“Sorry, love, I’m a bit emotional right now too.” The baby seemed to listen to him now and began to interrupt with a hum or two, her way of telling him it was ok: “I’m not gonna fill your mind with that kind of thing. God, you’re so small, I feel like I gotta beat everything off with a bat. I was never really great at cricket.”

Jack trimmed the stem of the accused flower to a significantly shorter length and tucked it over her left ear. “Maybe your Ma can teach us. She had the right idea, bowled me and Ethel into the ground last summer.” The infant didn’t complain at the flower or after her bare feet slipped out the end of the blanket. In fact, she seemed to find it enjoyable when Jack played with one of them, pinching lightly her toes.

“That was one hell of a tangent. But you’re really helping Da out here.”

The sun warmed them both. Jack carefully unfolded the blanket to rest on her tummy, her arms flapping weakly in front of her as she practised movement. Meanwhile, Jack ceased conversation to watch her, fascinated with her learning, and unconsciously he leaned even closer to her. Her hands reached up to his temples as he kissed her belly. Under his lips, she tensed and shifted. Jack sensed that she might want to cry again, and he felt for her; feeling her skin against his incited such an intimate feeling he was not prepared for. It made him tear up again.

“Shall we go see if Ginny is awake, your Ma?” He whispered, his nose lightly bumping hers as she tried to move her head. Rocking carefully as he ascended the stairs, Jack soothed the baby’s grizzling. Her face did not connote one of positivity.

“Hey. Hey, it’s me,” He whispered. Though her funny little expression remained, the baby quietened down (beside from an occasional noise), something Jack rewarded with a kiss on her head. “There we go, baby girl. Hey, guess what? I love you. You’re my little girl, and I love you. I’m always gonna be here for you. Your Ma too.”

At the door, Jack gently pushed into the room, looking for whether his wife was asleep. She was not. Genevieve was wide awake and sat up in bed, clutching her bed sheets in tight fists.

“I heard her crying,” She looked at the blanket with an expression of mild terror.

“It’s ok; she just got a little scared by her sneeze.” Jack passed her over and Genevieve carefully checked over her, eyes darting across every part of her baby to see if there was truly nothing wrong. Her hand moved aside the blankets and traced over the baby’s skin.  She spotted the flower still behind the baby’s ear then moved on. She found a splodge on the baby’s wrist that the midwives had informed her about then moved on. She landed on the baby’s tummy and stopped.

“She’s got a belly button,” was her conclusion.

“A cute belly button,” said Jack in agreement.

Genevieve thumbed over the baby’s cheekbone as she slowly moved her head to look around. It dislodged the cosmo, landing it beside Genevieve’s thigh. But she didn’t try to replace it. She was already occupied, taking in the weight in her arms.

“I never wanna let her go,” She whispered, not looking at Jack though she was speaking to him. Pulling her close, Genevieve took a deep breath and rubbed her cheek to the baby’s head.

When she let out a noise that sounded like she was about to cry, immediately Jack and Genevieve tensed, ready for action to do whatever they could to calm her. But the baby took matters into her own hands. Literally. She grabbed onto the baggy front of Genevieve’s nightshirt and whined.

“I think you might be hungry.”

Jack stayed at their sides as Genevieve fed their daughter for the first time. It was weirdly mesmerising to watch how quickly she adapted to becoming a mother. Even Genevieve was surprised by herself, the words of the midwife and instinct guiding her actions. Her eyes fixated on the baby’s wispy hair, her hand stroking it. Despite the minor discomfort, Genevieve felt her face softened with a smile as she clicked her tongue and spoke, the baby’s blinking slowed down and with a hand curled at her mother’s chest.

Forgetting that he was meant to get breakfast for his wife, Jack was completely in awe. Once reminded, he sped downstairs to make it and returned with a few minutes, not wanting to miss a moment. The tray rattled louder than he wanted as he placed it on the floor.

“Oh, finished already?” Genevieve whispered as she lifted up her daughter, “All full?”

“Can I burp her?” Jack asked, already reaching for the muslin rag. He just had to hold her again.

“You’re volunteering for her to be sick on you?” She joked, before nodding at him to come over.

Eagerly, Jack took a seat beside her on the bed and carefully arranged himself to hold his daughter. Genevieve did a little intervening, making sure he held her properly, before falling back into her pillows and watching them with half-closed eyes. The baby whimpered a little at the movement before she settled into regular breathing. Jack gently rubbed circles into her back then lightly patted between her tiny shoulders. He felt obligated to kiss her little head again after he held his nose to smell that freshness about her. Then he heard a wet sounding belch.

“There we go.” He patted her back once more then lifted her into his lap to wipe her mouth properly. The baby coughed, wincing away from the rag, and Jack anxiously sat her up in his chest to pat her back again. When she stopped, Jack looked at Genevieve, clearly grinning over the mug of tea.

“You’re so good with her,” and she sipped from the mug.  The novelty of the mint tea was wearing thin against her tongue, but she didn’t tell Jack just yet. Still feeling the fatigue, she replaced the mug beside her and adjusted her posture until she was almost flat on her back. Jack lowered the baby onto her chest, the head beneath Genevieve’s lips that grimaced at the sight of a splodge of sick on Jack’s shirt shoulder.

The doorbell was heard and thus began a steady flow of people coming in to visit Genevieve and make sure she was alright. First visitor was surprisingly Farrier. He arrived in the early morning with flowers, Westley, and a bottle of whiskey - to make up for being stood up the night before. Nervously he stood in the doorway of the bedroom as Genevieve waved weakly from her bed. A toast was made to the pair – although they opted to go for tea instead of alcohol at eight in the morning.

Farrier didn’t stay in the room for long, not even to get a closer look at the baby. But he did decide to stay to help out. While Jack assured him that it was fine for him to go if he had plans, Farrier was already prepping to do some chores downstairs.

“Besides, I haven’t been in your gaff before. Give me a chance to explore,” He winked before heading to the kitchen to do the washing up left from the previous day. Westley followed him, his tongue hanging out. It was with profusive thanks that Jack followed and shook Farrier’s hand. His help was going to be needed if he was to spend the day looking after his wife and his baby. 

His wife and his baby. 

It almost didn’t feel real. In a daze, he rung up his place of work and informed them of his newfound status as a father. Then he went to open the door which was already knocking again.

“LET ME SEE THE BAIRN!”

Breezing into the house, Cora had kissed both his cheeks briefly before bellowing this demand again, running past and up the stairs. Jack proceeded to greet the rest of his family a little more calmly and allowed them indoors.

Genevieve heard Cora from her room upstairs. She snorted pathetically as she climbed back under the covers, her eye on the cot still. The softness of the room was incongruous to when Cora appeared in the doorway, frenzied with wild hair until her eyes too landed on the cot. Then she eased up into grandmother mode and dropped at Genevieve’s side.

“I’m so glad you’re alright, Genevieve.” Back to the baby, she bent over to see the child sleeping peacefully despite the disruptions. Her entire face stretched in utter elation as she was overcome with her first grandchild.

“Oh, she’s the bonniest thing! Look at that nose, just like you when you were this size.” Cora patted Jack’s arm in recognition, but without tearing her eyes from the cot.

The rest of the Collins clan popped up in the doorway, trying not to overwhelm the family. Cora began to commandeer those with her, ordering everyone to the side of the room so that the new parents could awaken the baby in peace before providing the opportunity to hold her.

Karen and Ethel went up first, insisting no one would get a turn holding the baby if Cora went before anyone else. They took turns, with Toby and Jack leaning over their shoulders. The four siblings watched the baby breathe slowly, falling back to sleep in her auntie’s arms only to be woken when being passed to another person. She barely cried though, for she could hear Genevieve talking nearby to her in-laws. There was recognition there and in the smell of the blanket that the baby was wrapped in, the same blanket Genevieve had slept with it for the past few weeks. Familiarity filled the room and the baby was good as gold for the Collins.

When it came to Cora’s turn, she paced up and down the room whilst playing with one of the baby’s hands. Her husband followed her about with his body in a crooked position so that he could see his granddaughter. The siblings were downstairs with Jack and Farrier, though what they were up to Genevieve had no idea.

“When will she be able to wear those clothes, the ones she got for Christmas?” He asked as he took a break, Cora continuing to move about the room.

“Not for a long time,” Genevieve sighed into her mug of tea, “She’s got some growing to do first.”

It would take some time, but Cora would eventually stop her drill marches and settled on the end of the bed. She didn’t speak so much then, at least not until she and Genevieve were alone in the bedroom. Her husband had gone to check on his kids (”make sure they’re behavin’ themselves”).

That was when Cora said quietly, “We’re so glad you’re alright, you and the baby. After everything that happened. Might I suggest ‘Cora’?”

Appreciating the lack of focus on “what happened”, Genevieve wiped her nose on the corner of her blanket and answered, “You might, but I can’t guarantee it’ll be chosen for her name.” And the pair shared a smile, knowing full well that Cora was not to be the name of the bairn.

“Might as well throw my hat into the ring.”

With kisses on everyone’s cheeks, especially the baby’s, Jack waved his family goodbye at lunch time, which when Genevieve’s family arrived. A five-minute exchange, the Hastings’ appeared with more muted joy for the baby. Except for two people.

Beryl peeked at her granddaughter and had to take a moment outside the room, weeping into her handkerchief. James on the other hand leapt onto the bed to meet his cousin. Lilly followed, though with more control than her son. She climbed beside Genevieve on the bed, and the sisters sat together.

“You remember when James was just a baby?” Lilly touched her forefinger to the baby’s head.

With a slow nod, Genevieve said, “I was scared of him.”

James cocked his head in confusion, “Scared of me?” Then he began laughing uproariously at the idea. Contrary to popular belief, in James’ eyes, she wasn’t scared of anything. It wasn’t long before Genevieve joined in.

“Yeah, you were so tiny, I was scared to hurt you,” She explained through her laughter. Once settled, she finished: “And now look at you, big boy.”

When it came to his turn, Tony - Genevieve’s father - cradled the baby with such care, as if he were destined to hold her. 

“A strong and healthy little girl, just like her mother,” He said quietly, kneeling down so that James could see her too. It reminded Genevieve of one of the few photos in her family home: Tony sat in his ancient arm chair, holding a baby Genevieve with Lilly sat at his side, looking over with a screwed-up expression at her baby sister. He even kissed the baby’s fist that was enclosed about his finger.

Evidently the baby didn’t like the feel of his moustache and began to snivel, the start of a crying fit. Genevieve held out her hands and instantly the baby was placed back with her. Tucking her blanket back around her, Genevieve consoled her down to a whimper.

“That’s a good girl,” She said with a kiss. She liked kissing the baby; her hair felt all fuzzy.

When the baby was calmed, Genevieve looked to her fidgeting nephew. He was staring still at the bundle in her arms. His hands were wriggling his fingers together, his body bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Would you like to hold her, James?”

The question was barely out in the air, but James was already atop the bed again, with his arms outstretched for his cousin. The adults of the room were nervous. James himself assured that he was a big boy now, his legs swinging. Genevieve carefully helped him to carry his cousin with Lilly sat beside him to steady him.

“She’s heavy,” He said, though it was more of a statement rather than a complaint. But he was smiling, the whole time, and he didn’t stop. Not even as he passed back the baby, not even as he left with his parents.

More and more visitors came and went: friends from Genevieve’s workplace, Jack’s RAF mates, random cousins and the like. More to meet the new member of the Collins family but they brought gifts and they were quiet, so that was acceptable.

But there came a time – specifically three in the afternoon – that Genevieve was tired of speaking and just wanted to sleep. She was too hot, too stiff, too exhausted to see anyone else. So, she kicked the blankets off pathetically and seized her opportunity while the baby had a nap. Didn’t take long to join her in slumber.

She woke up, hardly refreshed but her baby was hungry and making sure that everyone knew about it.

“I guess my schedule revolves around you now,” She mumbled to the crying baby as Jack entered and passed her to her Ma.

There was a knock at the door just as Baby Collins finished feeding. Preparing to burp her again, Genevieve granted both Jack and an anxious Farrier entry. Forearms damp from washing up, Farrier sat awkwardly at Genevieve’s side and watched the baby resting in her Ma’s arms.

“Do you want to hold her?” Jack asked, tucking the rest of his sleeve in the fold at the elbow.

The poor man started spluttering but Genevieve was already holding the baby out, “Farrier, I need the bathroom; please take her.”

Not wanting to argue with the lady, Farrier wiped his arms down his jumper. He clumsily organised his arms into a cradle and accepted the frowning baby. He swallowed hard, looking helplessly at Jack. In silence, Jack helped Farrier to coordinate his arms in a more comfortable way for his friend and his daughter. Then he moved over to Genevieve, carefully helping her out of bed and walking her to the bathroom. Her limp was rather prominent, a sharp spike up her leg, but she gritted her teeth and kept walking.

“He’ll be alright, won’t he?” Jack whispered to Genevieve.

She snorted as the door to the bathroom was opened to her, “He better be. Unless he fancies getting in here. I’ll be fine too.”

She held up a hand to signal that Jack should not follow her into the bathroom and closed the door on him. Despite wanting to check in on Farrier, Jack remained outside the bathroom door in case Genevieve needed anything.

Genevieve was indeed fine, half smiling at Jack’s indecisiveness when she heard his nails tapping against the door handle. She took a breather, sitting on the toilet and leaning against her folded arms on her knees. She still felt too warm. It was a stale feeling that hung about her head. But it was good to have a moment of peace. Sitting up, she stretched and felt many cracks in her back snapping the further she reached.

The stale feeling was still there after she finished her business by washed her hands then splashed cold water on her face. Genevieve prepared a flannel under the tap. It was welcomed with a sigh of relief on the back of her neck. 

Jack took her arm again as soon as she stepped from the bathroom. He turned in time to catch Genevieve in a hug. The flannel dripped excess water onto his shoulder but Genevieve barely noticed. Her breathing soothed into deep intakes. He was a little sweaty, but a) she knew she smelt worse and b) he would always be her favourite smell because it was the only warmth that she loved, rocking her from side to side with a hand in her hair, a shoulder to lean on, and no space between them.

“Want me to carry you?” She felt his words buzz against her ear.

“I’m a bit sore for that but thank you. Some toast would be nice though.”

She felt that giddiness he gave her when he walked her back into bed. Once back in, she left the blankets off and placed the flannel folded behind her head. 

When Jack was out of the way after a kiss on her forehead, Genevieve saw that Baby Collins was still glaring up at the stranger holding her, her lips smacking slowly and her arms hitting his jacket as they came loose from the swaddled blankets she was in. Farrier looked genuinely worried that he’d upset her but, paralysed by that worry, he did not move.

“You alright?” Genevieve prompted, almost smug from her leisurely place on the bed.

It took a moment for Farrier to register her question, for the baby was taking all his concentration. But he managed to get out: “She’s staring at me.”

“Yeah, she’s never seen you before,” Genevieve smirked, “And you’ve got a funny looking face.”

“Oh, I’m wounded,” But Genevieve heard the smile in Farrier’s words and saw his stiff back had begun to relax. Jack appeared over his shoulder, looking at the baby who was waving one of her arms at him. Such an image led Jack to decide: now was a good time to ask a question much-discussed between himself and Genevieve.

“Ginny and I were thinking; the baby would love a funny looking face such as yours to be her godfather.”

Farrier looked as though he was about to drop the baby in shock, finally looking up at his friends. “Really?”

Genevieve hummed from the bed and Jack concurred, speaking on her behalf as she began to doze off, “You’re a big part of our lives, Edward. We want you to be a big part in hers too.”

It was rare that Jack would use Farrier’s first name. Genevieve even acclimatised to that and used his surname in conversation with and in reference to the man. He seemed to find it difficult to process this, instead looking at the baby. She looked back and finally she seemed to stop frowning. 

With a sniff and a swallow, Farrier said in a strangely soft voice, “I won’t let you down, either of you.”

He left shortly after that and was very emotional about saying goodbye to his soon-to-be goddaughter. After the day spent at the house, he had plucked up the nerve to kiss her, his lips grazing her forehead which wrinkled in response as she yawned. No one brought up that his eyes were very misty as he departed. Westley sprinted out the front door and leapt at his side, leaving the house quiet once again. 

Jack stayed downstairs for a little bit, said he had some thinking to do and some toast to be making, and gave Genevieve some space with the baby. She was grateful for this alone time. Lying down properly, she rested with her baby in her chest. The baby was awake, pressing her cheek into Genevieve’s nightshirt as her mother stroked across her back and held her little hand. It rested over the scar on her shoulder.

“Are you worn out?” Genevieve mumbled, “Me too. All these new people coming to say hello, it’s tiring isn’t it?”

She pressed her lips against the baby and whispered, “It’s scary but I think I’ll love you no matter what. Like Jack, your dad, and I hope we can tell you all about it, so you know you’re loved, unconditionally.”

Her hand was so much larger than the baby’s. It encompassed her whole arm, a chubby little limb that was so soft. The thumb carefully turned the baby’s wrist around to show to Genevieve the birthmark that had grown darker over the day: a little blob in the same spot as her mother’s.

“Look at that, we match.” Her voice cracked at that and she admitted aloud to the pair of them, “I’ve fallen for you so fast.”

They were both quiet for a while, not sleeping but sitting in each other’s company. With vases of new flowers about them, a breeze through the window, Genevieve felt calmer than she had in the last few weeks. She knew it wouldn’t last for long, so she embraced it as she embraced her child. 

When she did speak, it was hushed, “We still have to give you a name. I wish you could have a say in this, tell me what you like. What to call you…”

Genevieve mulled over the options she’d found in a baby name book browsed months before, ones she’d talked to the bump about, “I’m still not sure. You don’t look like a Peggy or a Connie or a Freya. Freya means ‘lady’ too and your Daddy already has that problem with his name.” Then she sniggered to herself, “‘Man Son of Collin’, imagine having that for a name. You’re gonna have a really cool name, like me, your Mummy.”

The baby exhaled loudly and unbent her arms, shaking inside Genevieve’s gentle grip.

“Yeah, that’s my hand. Nice to meet you… Stella. I like Stella. What do you think? For your name, I mean. I told you about it before. Because you’re a bright star in my Starry Night. I know your Da told you about it, it’s all he’d do at night when I was pretending to sleep. He’s a Sunflower, I love sunflowers but he likes cosmos more. I was gonna plant some sunflowers this month, they say to plant them in April, grow in three months. They’ll be taller than you in no time.”

All between her words, Genevieve heard the baby gurgle. She liked to think they were in conversation.  

“Not that we need more flowers, it’s like a botanical garden in here!” She said as Jack brought in another bouquet from downstairs.

“You don’t seem to mind, spending all day looking after flowers,” he arranged the bunch into another vase.

“That’s a retirement plan, not a career.”

“Right,” He smirked as he delicately arranged the bouquet into one of their jugs. Once satisfied, he plucked two carnations from it and trimmed the stems. Tucking one behind Genevieve’s ear, he swept his hand over her head and around to touch her cheek. He fell over with controlled care to make eye contact with the babe, “Hello, Baby Collins.”

Then he tried to do the same with the baby. There was little success. The flower was too big. Another reason why cosmos were better. Still, he brushed the petal across her rosebud lips and tucked it behind his own ear. This earned a smile from Genevieve who was pleased as punch that they matched. Jack lay down beside them, his hand joining Genevieve’s in running their fingertips across the baby’s back before he played with one of her feet again. It flexed in his hand, soft as anything, with toes tinier than his smallest knuckle.

“I guess we can’t call her Cosmos or Star,” He mumbled.

Laughing weakly, Genevieve brushed her daughter’s wispy hair with the back of her forefinger, “Cosmos Collins? No chance, not even as a middle name.”

“Sunny, short for Sunflower?”

She shook her head.

“What about naming her after your Ma?”

“Mm-mmm, and not after your mother either, even though she asked. Baby and I were actually thinking about Stella. ’S Latin, for Star.”

“Stella for Star,” Jack tested out, rolling the letters about his mouth to see how they fell off the tongue. Said enough times for the word to nearly lose all meaning, Jack turned back to his daughter, “You seem to like it, don’t you? Well, hello there, Stella.”

Genevieve laughed again, weaker still, “You keep saying hello to the baby.”

“I keep saying hello to Stella, my daughter,” Jack said, his grin widening as he spoke. The pair shared a giggle as he continued to talk to Stella, “Better that your Ma makes the decisions, she’s a smart one.”

When Genevieve went to sit up, Jack swooped in instantly, cupping the back of Stella’s head and under her bum to rest her in his shoulder. He noticed that Genevieve did not stay sat up for long, already sliding back down after sipping some water. So as not to strain her neck, he took a seat on the bed beside her.

“For the middle name, d’you know what ‘blancmange’ is in Latin?”

“You know what, Jack?” Genevieve lifted an eyebrow and Jack knew that, despite giving birth not twenty-four hours ago, she would verbally beat him in their quips. “Did you have another idea?”

He fidgeted with Stella’s blanket, adjusting it around her middle, “Still think that blancmange is a viable option, but I had another in mind.”

“Yeah?”

“Hmm.”

After a substantial silence, Genevieve prompted the reluctant Jack, “Well? Go on then.”

“… I also like Josie.”

And all sound suddenly became muffled.

Ears plugged, mind dizzy, Genevieve vaguely heard Jack’s explanation that it was short for Josephine but that he liked Josie as a whole name over the ringing. With a blankly vulnerable expression, she felt her eyes welling up at the mention of her old girlfriend. Such an impact was expected from his words, but it still took her time to realise that Jack was waiting to hear her response. 

“Are you serious?” and there was a crack in her voice.

A little thrown off by the question and its tone despite his best preparations, Jack cautiously continued, “Hmm. I mean it’s only fair since we nearly named her after Farrier. I just think it would’ve been nice to know. Get some closure.” Such closure Jack was lucky to get with Farrier. He had moved on.

Genevieve looked down at her hands, empty, and sniffed loudly before drawing a pillow from behind her to clasp it in her chest.

“I don’t think that’s the sort of closure I need,” She said quietly, pressing her mouth into the pillow.

Jack avoided looking at Genevieve. He could feel his neck and ears filling with a red shame. Part of him knew perhaps he should have waited. The two days had been so taxing on her mentally, this was probably the last thing he needed. Swallowing, he instead glanced at Stella who was slowly falling to sleep.

He spoke quickly, already stood up, “I think she needs to change into her pyjamas. I’ll do the honours, don’t worry.”

Whisking her away to the changing mat on the floor, Jack kept his eyes trained on Stella. Her legs refused to straighten, jerking sporadically. The carnation that had been behind Jack’s ear had fallen to her right cheek, the petal gentle in its contact.

“Sleepy?” He asked quietly as Stella yawned with tremendous effort, “You and me both. Bet your Ma’s more tired though.”

While it took some time to settle in, Genevieve now felt the force of her comment’s connotations. She was upset that she’d embarrassed him so, not to mention the implication that closure she wanted contradicted what she had previously said on the matter. It was a lovely suggestion too, after the whole name betting with Farrier. Over the pillow, she spied her tags on the bedside table.  With care, she leant over, collected them, and wrapped the bootlace around her fingers, traced over the name engraved as part of the Big Six: COLLINS J. She thought about what Jack must have been like upon signing up, and the immense joy of finally getting his tags. Did he call his parents? Show off with his fellow trainees? Did they celebrate by going out to a pub, in their fresh blues? She’d never really asked about him just before the war. Baby to teenage years, yes, but never in his early twenties. Putting her pillow back behind her, Genevieve saved this question and its many tangents for another time.

Her finger stroked over her wedding ring on the bootlace, still awaiting their reunion. It made Genevieve let loose a tear at the thought of being able to wear it again. Jack did not see this, too busy adjusting Stella’s mittens so that she wouldn’t hurt herself while she slept.

“Bring her to me please,” Genevieve asked, her arms already outstretched while she sniffed.

That was when Jack spied his old tags tangled in her fingers. But he said nothing, lifting Stella over and into her mother’s care again. They watched as Stella rubbed her cheeks with the mittens with a yawn stretching her features.

Lowering herself back into the bed, Genevieve turned to her husband, “I knew you wanted another J. Collins in the house.” And she let out a wheeze at her little joke. Jack laughed along to pretend he knew what she meant, unsure about the variety in her behaviour. He only realised the weight of her words when she spoke again:

“Lucky for her, Stella Josie Collins has a nice ring to it. But I don’t think we should make a habit of naming our children after our first loves.”

A heavy sigh was the prologue of Jack’s second – and this time genuine – chuckle. His head dropped, his chin against his chest, shaking with relief that boiled over in his body. Seeing this as approval, Genevieve gestured for her husband to lie beside her again, which he did with mild exhaustion. There, she took his left hand to kiss his wedding ring, snugly tucked on the scar from when he gotten it trapped in a car door. Jack could only snuggle closer to her, turning on his side but still propped up.he kissed a spot on her neck, trying to hide that he was crying a fair bit. Jack sniffed, wiping a tear away in time for another to run down his cheek.

“I love you so.”

“I love you too.”

As Jack made a stronger attempt to stop crying, Genevieve watched him pull a face similar to the babe in her arms and let out a loud laugh. Her head fell back into the pillows as she muffled it to a snort before looking back down at Stella.

“She looks a bit concerned,” and the new parents leant together to catch their daughter’s eye, “Why’s your Da crying now? Hmm? Why’s he doing that, Stella?”

While she teased, Jack watched Stella’s frumpy face blinking up at him, slow as she began to doze off. He touched Stella’s cheek with curled fingers to be gentle on her skin.

“I’m being a silly boy, Stella. Worrying about nothing. Loving your everything.”

________________________________________________________

Everything Tag: @tomgcsglasses and @nasabeck

Dunkirk Tag:@lowdenglynnstyles, @kgcurtis30, @carneylowdenwhitehead, @theres-no-paradise, @blondeeee-e, @luleraina, @starryrevelations and @orphan-with-a-stutter

Jack Lowden Tag: @musicallisto, @adriennelenoir, @lowdensnose, @from-the-clouds, @johannalauraaa, and @lowdenfanpage

Complementary Tag: @you-are-the-first-dream, @disneydirectioner, @lavidademarimar, @sweetsugarhoneyfics, and @prettyboytgc

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Complementary (Collins x OC) Chapter 37: Wrong

Summary: A fair few things have gone right for Genevieve: her cricket skills, her marriage, her house, her recovery, her apple pie making. It seems that those are all she is going to have go right in this life. 

AN: This is another one of those chapters I cried while writing. Probably poses the question: what could go wrong with only a few chapters left to go? 

Trigger warning: Pregnancy complications and implied death

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The final doctor’s appointment went like every other one: confirmation that she was fine and so was the baby, a disregard for her pain, a reminder of the due date. And the due date was a few weeks later, on a Saturday which Jack was glad about.

Wednesday morning, Genevieve had a lie in. They were had become regular since she did not enjoy moving with the bump restricting her every movement. Jack was long gone already, at work now, no doubt. Curtains, he had left them ever so slightly open to tempt her out of bed (to close them). It worked a little more than she would admit, but at least she was awake. “Posture be damned” is what Genevieve thought as she sank into the covers that smelt a little sweaty. Two big toes poked out the blanket’s end, just in view over the bump. It was the most comfortable she’d been for the entire week.

So, of course, phantom contractions from yesterday followed her through sleep onto this damn morning.

Forcing her way up, Genevieve didn’t bother making the bed. Instead, her efforts went to going downstairs with the banister as her assistant. Her second favourite place (after her bed) greeted her at the bottom of the stairs with cold tiled flooring and a fridge half full of leftovers. Genevieve surveyed the contents before she collected some cold meat pie, leaving a slice behind along a side of heavy restraint. Then she also took her helping of cold roast potatoes, a few sticks of Cora’s shortbread, and a mug of peppermint tea to the table for feasting. 

“You full yet, baby?” She asked aloud with the last morsel down her throat. Her hand rubbed circles over the belly to try and feel for a reply. “It’s alright, I’m not really awake either. Take your time talking.”

And now what to do? Genevieve suffered from fits of boredom more so now than ever. Yesterday she had called her sister for an hour then Cora for two. The day before she had reread three books that she had already skimmed twice the previous week. Three days ago, she couldn’t even remember what meaningless task she had carried out while Jack was having an afternoon nap. 

Today, rearranging the trinkets and toys in the nursery was on her agenda. Half an hour was spent going up the stairs and another half an hour went on debating over how to arrange the three soft toys that the family had to offer the unborn child. The primary concern of Genevieve’s was the placement of the teddy bear with the tartan bow around its neck. It had been swapped between the left side and the centre with Genevieve’s eye on it the entire time. 

“What do you think?” She asked the belly, her hand over it to feel the kick in response. They had to be awake by now. She waited. She waited for several minutes. She waited for the baby to kick for the first time in a week. 

A cramp twisted inside her. It shocked up to kneel up, hands grasping at the bars of the cot. Genevieve breathed deeply through it. Her knuckles were white with effort as she grasped at the wooden bars and pulled her forehead to rest against them too. 

She didn’t realise she was crying until the cramp subsided.

“Shhhh, it’s OK, we’re OK,” She whispered to herself, rubbing at her right eye.

Jack, she wanted Jack and all his ignorance towards the subject of her baby’s silence. But he was at work. She would have to bring him to her.

In their shared wardrobe, Jack had the left side. Shirts of similar colours hung in crisply ironed formation and then followed his trousers. Standing before it, doors flung open, Genevieve unhooked one of his shirts, embraced it against her with the cuffs of each sleeve in their respective hands. Her body swayed without intention, her eyes closed as she smelled the left shoulder. A distinct sharp smell, his aftershave, her hands slipped on the shirt without bothering to button it over the belly.

One old blanket was tied around her hips, below the belly. Since there was no pockets, her tin was pressed against her hip. Its chilled bite was not the worst thing she had felt. The comfort from that morning was a distant memory.

Struggling downstairs, she remembered that none of her shoes were comfortable enough to wear out. Only one hand on the banister and always one foot on the floor guided her to the ground floor. She grabbed the other slice of the meat pie, wrapped up in brown paper, for her trek.

Jack’s dress shoes shone in the corner of her eyes. They were daintily aligned by the back door and shining in polished decency. A fair few sizes bigger than her feet, Genevieve stepped into them but did not lace them.

Into the back garden and she was greeted with a gust of wind. Little bunches of cosmos grew by the walls. Leaning over, Genevieve’s hand graced over the tops of the flowers then picked one free. She took it with her into the centre of the garden where she got to her knees then lowered herself onto her back. The sky overhead was white with overcast clouds, almost blinding her half-closed eyes. Grass rippled at her sides. Her picked flower bounced in the wind, petals tickling her bare belly. Genevieve left it to lie there. Then she took a bite from the pie before prying open the tin and reading one of the letters aloud to her bump. 

It would be a lie to say that this was the first time the bump had been read the story of how their parents came to be together. It would be another lie to say that Genevieve thought everything was fine. Her hands were the only ones investigating that thought, feeling beneath her makeshift skirts. When they found their evidence, they stilled and Genevieve’s voice faltered. Slotting the letter back into its tin and clipping it shut, she took a deep breath for courage. Her hand reappeared from beneath her blanket. The skin stained with fresh blood. A gust of wind displaced the flower from her belly. Genevieve did not attempt to retrieve it, her hands groping at her bloodied skirts. Instead her head lolled to the side and looked at the house. It blurred into blobs of colour as tears spilled down her face. Cramps came and went, arriving earlier each time, but Genevieve stayed in the garden. She didn’t even realise the day was almost over until she heard him.

“Ginny?”

He was back yet she made no effort to go to him.

“Ginny, my darling?”

The kitchen light snapped on and she found his silhouette moving about the space. Then more light was thrown into the garden with Jack stood at the door

“What are you doing out here?”

Back from work and he was all ready to hold the belly and feel the little kicks, to talk to his baby. While she wasn’t looking at him directly, Genevieve could feel the smile on his face and the joy in his voice. And she felt it drop from him as he drew closer.

“Oh God.”

“Something’s wrong,” She whispered.

In the corner of her eye, she saw Jack fidgeting on his feet, “Uh, right, come on, Ginny, let’s get you inside.”

She felt him take her hands despite the blood, his own sliding behind to lift her up onto her feet, guiding her back indoors. It wasn’t until she was indoors that she realised she was shaking a little. At the foot of the stairs she was placed.

“Just stay here, give me one sec.”

Jack leapt into action, grabbing the phone and punching the midwife’s number in. He stammered out the situation into the receiver. Once he had confirmation she was on the way, he helped Genevieve out of his shoes and up the stairs stairs. Only a few steps at a time could she walk before weakly rocking forward with a gasp, her hand falling to hold the stairs, and they would stop.

“It’s not gonna be alright,” She said quietly, “Something’s wrong with them.”

“Well, we don’t know what’s wrong, we won’t until the midwife gets here.”

When she was ready, Genevieve resumed her ascent for the last time that day. It was with a sigh of relief that she fell onto the bed. Still talking away, Jack ran to the bathroom. A warm flannel and towel were prepared; en route back to his wife, he found clean underwear for her. His legs squatted him before Genevieve, whose teary stare was fixed on her knees.

Carefully, he removed her clothes from her lower half and cleaned up the blood, both fresh and dry on her thighs. It was a horror Jack had imagined before, in his darkest hours for nearly five years. Contexts had changed of course; Genevieve was no longer in a war-zone. Didn’t make it any less terrifying. He filled the space instead with chatting to the bump about how he couldn’t wait to meet them.

“They’re not there are they?” Genevieve whispered and it startled Jack. Swallowing hard, he looked up with a dizzy mind at his wife. She was looking through him, even as he placed aside the flannel, kissed her cold knuckles, opened her hand to press against her belly, moved forward to catch her eye.

“No, she’s there. Look, there. There’s our baby, there she is. Our little girl.”

Genevieve shook her head, “They haven’t kicked in days.”

“We won’t know what’s wrong until the midwife gets here,” Jack repeated, a little weaker this time.

He carried on soaking her skin and wiping it clean. They were both quiet for some time, even as he began patting her skin dry, his hand thumbing across each patch of skin when it was clean. Upon realising that the bed clothes were only half in place, he tried to joke that the bed matched Genevieve. But she flinched and leaned over her head, resting it atop Jack’s while she breathed through a contraction – one that she knew now was potentially not phantom. Midway through the cramping, Jack heard the faint sound of knocking but remained still and holding Genevieve until she, in her own time, moved off him.

“You’re gonna be OK. I’ll be right back.”

His feet sprinted from the room, skipping over stairs on the way down with an acceleration that landed him right into the front door. Two midwives were outside, one still parking her bike against the wall. Quick introductions were made, Sister Helena and her assistant Sister Agnes, before everyone rushed back upstairs.

“Hello, Mrs Collins,” the briskest of greetings before getting down to business yet that firmness in Sister Helena’s voice was reassuring to the couple. Someone who knew what they were doing was in the room with them.

“Mr Collins, if you wouldn’t mind waiting outside.”

Not exactly eager to leave the room, Jack held Genevieve’s cheek and her gaze for a moment, then he kissed the left corner of her mouth. His forehead touched hers as she bent into his kiss in search of comfort. A whine followed Jack out of the room, her attempt to make him stay. It shifted into a whimper when the midwives began to examine her. The click of metal tools and snapping of gloves paired with the prodding and poking, it meant the wrong was real. 

When they finally moved away, Genevieve waited to hear the news. But nothing. Should she prompt? She had a right, surely. But as she spoke, she flinched away from every word.

"What’s wrong with my baby?”

“You have placenta praevia, nothing to worry about,” Helena said with a calmly collected voice, “Nothing wrong with the baby.”

A wall of nausea smacked Genevieve in the head, leaving her with a stricken expression. But Helena was already leaving the room, Agnes organising her bag’s contents on the floor. 

“I gave up on her,” Genevieve whispered to herself. She looked down at the bump, her hand over it still searching for the kick. And though she couldn’t feel anything, it felt different to how it had been an hour ago. There was nothing that could stop her from groaning into the sheets, muffling the noise of regret. Agnes heard and rushed to her side but she only caught the tail end of her sentence, spoken hushed to her belly:

“I was wrong, and I gave up on you. I’m so sorry, I’ll never do it again.”

While she was begging for forgiveness from her unborn daughter - she was sure her child would be a girl - Jack was pacing and wringing his hands in the hallway. Finally, Helena emerged, looking a little hot as she closed the door.

Laying out as much information as she could to the distressed Jack, she advised that the baby would not be coming out for a while, so he should go get himself a drink. Jack was ushered out of his home, his coat and wallet pressed into his chest as the front door was shut. In a daze he pulled on his coat and tried to think of an alternative. It was somewhere between closing the gate and getting into the car that Jack realised Farrier was meant to be on a date tonight.

Fifteen minutes later, just outside his front door, Farrier found Jack waiting for him with a paler face than usual. 

Farrier was always prepared for a drink and now more than ever. Upon discovering the news, he cancelled his date and took Jack to the Red Lion. Signalling the bar tender as he helped Collins stumble over to the bar and slide into a stool, Farrier ordered them both a stiff drink which was placed in front of them seconds later.

“Just hoping it’s a girl, for your sake. You don’t want your kid stuck with my name forever,” He joked, taking a sip from his drink.

Collins stared at his drink, the thick amber swirls curling about the ice cubes. Then he knocked it back in three swallows, coughing on the last one.

“You alright, mate?” Farrier slapped Jack on the back until the coughing ceased. 

“What the fuck am I doing?” Jack spluttered.

Farrier moved in, wiggling his finger about his ear, “I can’t hear you, you’ll have to speak up.”

“What the fuck am I doing?” Jack shouted, catching the attention of a lot of the bar patrons and causing Farrier. He coughed again, still not over the whiskey, “My wife is giving birth right now and I’m having a fucking drink!” 

“Alright, alright, it’s alright, calm down,” Farrier forced him down into his stool. Jack didn’t even realise he was standing or that he had been addressing the entire pub - now silent at his announcement. Pouting like a child, he frowned with concentration as the bartender refilled his glass.

“Congrats, now keep it down,” He said gruffly before moving to a new customer. The hubbub returned but faded again as, grabbing his coat, Jack sprinted from the bar with stares following him. It took Farrier a while to react then he smiled with disbelief.

“Sure, I’ve got the tab.” 

He paid for the neglected whiskey as well as his own, a forlorn look lingering on the full glass, before he threw on his jacket and pushed through the pub doors. Only to collide with Collins who was frozen right outside on the pavement.

"I uh I don’t know what to do.” And he looked to Farrier for an answer.

“Well, do her family know?” 

“No.”

“So maybe you should tell them?”

“No, I don’t wanna worry them.”

“Tell them.”

Of course, Jack had to borrow change from Farrier to use the phone booth. He rehearsed a fair few times what he would say to the Hastings and the Collins clans before actually dialling their numbers. Farrier waited outside the booth, scuffing his heels against the ground until Jack emerged. 

It was then that Farrier suggested doing something to help Genevieve after the baby was born. Jack’s mind instantly leapt to “pudding”. If she’d still like it after the cravings and all. The food they were meant to spend on booze went towards canned fruit, a limited amount of cream, cornflower, with the last of Jack’s coupons (found at the very bottom of his coat pockets). Jack was frantic in his search about the place for everything, Farrier following behind and actually looking at what was in the shop for the food they wanted. Everything loaded into their arms and it was just as they left the shop that Jack mumbled:

“Uh, I don’t know how to make pudding. Ginny always did it.”

“You’re useless, you are,” Farrier pinched the bridge of his nose, “Right, come on then.”

And so they trekked back to Farrier’s to make that pudding, arms still laden with tins and paper bags. Westley greeted them sleepily, panting at their entrance and following them to the kitchen. Throughout the prep process, the puppy spent most of the time worming between Farrier’s legs, rubbing his head against his shins.

“Alright, you little trip hazard,” Farrier grumbled at his doting dog. But he was smiling as he spoke, and his eyes were bright with adoration. Jack couldn’t remember the last time he saw Farrier like this. It was beautiful. Jack felt his heart ache a little more: that his wife was in pain, an almost old flame was happy, and a new light in his life was on the way. So many conflicting events and emotions.

Then Farrier nudged him as a reminder that he was meant to keep mixing the custard. His stirring sped up followed by a haphazardly pouring into a bowl lined with the tinned fruit. It wasn’t perfect but it was something.

“Come on,” Farrier ruffled Westley’s ears then Jack’s hair with the same hand, “I’ll drive you back.”

The bowl jiggled in Jack’s lap, his hands acting guardians of it. He didn’t pay attention to much else during the journey, only looking away once the engine was switched off. His own home was a daunting structure now. Both men’s eyes lingered on the shadows behind drawn curtains - the bedroom.

“Do you want me to stay?” Farrier asked, his voice oddly quiet. 

Three seconds thought then Jack replied, “No, thank you. You’ve done so much for me, us already. We’ll be fine.”

“Well if you don’t name your kid after me, you can buy me a drink. Ring me when you find out.”

A slap on the back and Jack was out the car, waving Farrier off while he drove away. His arm cradled the bowl as he fumbled with his keys. The door clicked then swung open to reveal a quiet interior. It was disrupted by a scream from the floor above him. The pudding was launched with reckless abandon onto the kitchen table and Jack flew up the stairs to her side.

“You are doing wonderfully,” Sister Helena reassured. 

Nodding ascent, Agnes dabbed at Genevieve’s forehead in a pathetic attempt to bring comfort. In truth, she wasn’t doing wonderfully. In the hours that had passed, she had been asked if she would want to move to a hospital, informed that she would be moving to a hospital, changed into a nightgown for “more privacy” then told to stay in the bed because the hospital would be too far.

Genevieve had asked an hour ago “Helena, is my baby going to be OK?” yet it felt like years because the response to that was “we hope so”. The response one would get when someone has been invited over to a party they don’t want to go to. Her other question went unasked because she did not want to know the answer that would be no more certain than the other she had gotten, the answer to if she was going to live or not.

“Mr Collins, you can’t be here right now!” Agnes blocked the door. Genevieve strained to see her husband, but another stab of pain pinned her down. Her hands fisted the sheets, too deep in for their search for relief to reach for him.

Completely ignoring the midwife, Jack pushed past to get to Genevieve, “It’s alright, love, I’m here.” Her skin covered in slick sweat, her face red with effort, and he grabbed her hand.

She could only pant and hold onto Jack, her anchor. The midwife pressed a stethoscope onto her belly, moving the end around to find the heartbeat. She never settled her search, pulling away and placing the stethoscope back into her bag.

“What’s wrong?” Jack asked, his voice almost drowned out by Genevieve’s groaning.

“The baby’s heartbeat is slowing down much lower than we’d like,” The Midwife said briskly, “We were going to move her to a hospital due to the bleeding but, luckily, baby is almost ready to come out.” Jack’s heart flared with pain and he looked back to his wife. The stories of botched childbirth slipped into his mind, replacing his image of what his child could be.

“Jack!”

“I’m here, Ginny,” Jack pulled out his handkerchief and mopped away the sweat on her brow, still holding her hand, “You’re gonna be OK. You’re my girl, remember?”

“I’m scared,” She sobbed, clinging to his arm and panting panicked, “I’m scared. I’m so scared.”

Jack kept repeating these positive buzz phrases, unable to fathom any other forms of solace. He found himself getting rather sweaty as Agnes took Genevieve’s other side, holding her hand also. 

“OK, Genevieve, I’m going to need you to push now,” Helena said from the foot of the bed.

Thrice a minute for ten seconds each, and Genevieve could hardly stand it. It was the worst pain she’d ever felt. Endless, exhausting, but finally she had something to do. Three people telling her how well she was doing was both helpful and useless. It was all white noise until she heard:

“Nearly there! One more big one: push!”

Genevieve’s scream caught in her throat with gasps for air as she pushed one final time. She collapsed into the pillows with heavy breathing and pain slipping away as Helena pulled away from beneath her nightgown. But after hearing the snip of the umbilical cord, there was silence. With her back to the bed, the soundless baby in her arms, Helena walked over to the side cabinet. Weakly, Genevieve tried to sit up, tugging on Jack’s arm.

“What’s wrong?” She said hoarsely, “Why aren’t they crying? What’s wrong with my baby?”

Jack swallowed hard, gently easing Genevieve back into the bed as he watched the midwife who had her back to the pair. His stomach churned the whiskey with his bacon sarnie from lunch. His eyes started welling up as he realised what was happening. 

“Jack, what’s wrong with our baby? Agnes?” Genevieve’s voice became more frantic at her attempt to pull herself out of bed. But she was too tired, her body wouldn’t respond to the dire situation. It left her helpless in the bed and begging to know the inevitable bad news.

“Genevieve.” Jack’s words cracked as he dropped onto the bed next to her, his attempt at talking failed. He took his turn to tightly grip her hand. His heart was plummeting through his stomach, curdling in the acid and nerves, before hitting the floor. He was barely keeping it together, the tension dissolving his resolve while he held his wife. But Genevieve was inconsolable. She howled as Agnes moved over to her, pressed down on her belly gently without making eye contact, asking quietly for Genevieve to push again. Once that was over and done with, Agnes left the room but said nothing else.

“What’s wrong with our baby?” Genevieve said hoarsely before forcing out a distraught shout, “Helena, please!”

“Mrs Collins,” The midwife finally spoke, “You need to be quiet.”

“Why?”

“You need to conserve your energy. And, your baby, she’s sleeping,” The midwife turned around, wrapping a blanket into a bundle where a soft coughing was heard. The couple looked down at the blanket, their stricken faces frozen.

“She…” Genevieve breathed, slowly taking in the news.

“Sleeping?” Jack finished.

The midwife nodded, rubbing the back of the blankets, “I had to make sure she was going to make it first. But she’s perfectly fine, just having a nap.”

There was silence for a second. Then, releasing a cross between a laugh and a sigh, Jack pulled Genevieve into a tight hug which she weakly returned, crying into his shoulder with blessed relief. Her cries were muted in his shirt, something so simple so comforting.

“Would you like to hold her, Mrs Collins?” The midwife moved around the bed. A timid wave washed over Genevieve as Jack pulled away from her, still keeping a tentative hand on her back so she was steady. He looked at her for an answer.

However, the midwife was not waiting for an answer, waltzing over to the bedside, holding her out for Genevieve to take. Awkwardly, she took the swaddle of blankets. The weight in her arms was both light and heavy. The midwife left to give the couple some privacy, but they didn’t notice their exit. With burning nerves, Jack and Genevieve peered at his daughter for the first time.

Her damp red face was relaxed with a button nose, rosebud lips and eyelashes brushing her plump cheeks, fluttering every now and again as she slept. Her hands peeked out from the bundle, one slowly clenching and unclenching around the corner of the blanket. The miniscule details on her fingertips and nails were like works of art. Her chest slowly rose and fell with the sound of her gentle breathing.

“Hello baby,” Jack said, his voice thick as he watched Genevieve carefully cradling the small bundle. Leaning against Jack’s shoulder, Genevieve felt more tears silently slip down her face and saw her husband holding back his own.

“Hello, I’m your Da,” Jack whispered, “And this is your Ma. She’s the one you’ve been kicking… Gave us quite the scare, you did. But don’t worry. I’m gonna take such good care of you. I promise.”

Tears still flooding from her eyes, Genevieve traced the shell of her baby’s ear down to her cheek, “God, she’s perfect.”

“Of course, she is, you made her,” He helped Genevieve prop herself against the pillows.

“We made her,” She kept her gaze on her baby with a dopey smile fixed on her face, “Joint effort. The team.”

“We never settled on a name though.”

“I might be a bit too tired to make any decisions now.”

“Does that mean you’d say yes to anything?”

“No.”

“Your Ma’s too smart for me,” Jack leaned closer to his baby with the same smile as his wife, “She’s the most beautiful thing in the world, apart from you.” He kissed Genevieve’s crown, “Well done, my love.”

Genevieve closed her already drooping eyelids and sighed as she rocked her baby back and forth gently. Then her rocking slowed to a stop and she slipped back into the pillows. A huff escaped her and it pulled up her smile. But just as she started to wind down her discomfort, the baby started squirming in the blankets, her face screwing up. 

“Ginny, she’s waking up,” Jack said with hushed excitement. Genevieve lifted her head as the baby’s wrinkled face relaxed. Rubbing her cheek, she lazily opened two gorgeous blue eyes – Jack’s eyes - and peered up at them with tired wonder.

“Hello,” Jack brushed his hand over the blanket, taking one of his hands and holding her starfish hand. It closed tightly around his forefinger and Jack started to sob before pressing a kiss against her fingers.

“Hello, love,” Genevieve turned her head to avoid crying on her baby, wiping her sodden cheeks on Jack’s sleeves, “You’ve got me going again, you idiot. I love you.”

“I love you too, Ginny,” Jack slipped his arms around her, also crying uncontrollably, “And we love you too, Baby.”

Everything Tag: @tomgcsglasses and @nasabeck

Dunkirk Tag:@lowdenglynnstyles, @kgcurtis30, @carneylowdenwhitehead, @theres-no-paradise, @blondeeee-e, @luleraina, @starryrevelations and @orphan-with-a-stutter

Jack Lowden Tag: @musicallisto, @adriennelenoir, @lowdensnose, @from-the-clouds, @johannalauraaa, and @lowdenfanpage

Complementary Tag: @you-are-the-first-dream, @disneydirectioner, @lavidademarimar, @sweetsugarhoneyfics, and @prettyboytgc

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Complementary (Collins x OC) Chapter 36: Bed

Summary: A doctor’s appointment later and it’s confirmed: the Collins are expecting a new member of the family. Genevieve is excited but her hormones have been telling her otherwise.

AN: Thank you all for being patient over this series. This chapter and the rest of them are gonna be hella long. Mostly because I don’t want to say goodbye to this series but I wanna give the details Genevieve and Jack deserve. This is one of the interactive fics so if you wanna explore more of the pregnancy stuff, inbox me!

Previous Chapter     Masterlist     Gif Credit     Next Chapter

Jack awoke to a clatter and a scuffling from downstairs. His arm patted the space beside him and discovered it was empty. While his bed was warmly enticing, his curiosity and desire to see his wife safe and sound overruled and he grappled with the sheets to free himself. Feet stepping into slippers, arms tugging on a robe and knotting it in place, Jack trudged out of the room, down the steps, to investigate the noises.

From the entrance of the kitchen, he spied Genevieve by the fridge. She too was wearing her robe over her pyjamas. One arm was cradling a bowl and the other was a blur as she stuffed something into her mouth with gusto. With a sigh, Jack stepped into the kitchen.

“Love, why are you up?”

Genevieve looked up without alarm at her husband and said, “I got hungry.” Then she licked the back of the spoon, “I forgot how much I loved this pudding.”

“Ginny, it’s half three,” Jack rubbed one eye with a sleeve-covered hand.

Shrugging, she spoke around the spoon, “You can go back to bed. I’m not stopping you.”

Sighing again, Jack stepped forwards, his slippers slapping against the tiles, “Come on, you can eat your trifle in the morning.”

“It is the morning though.” Genevieve ate another spoonful as he touched the arm that coddled the bowl of trifle. Seeing Jack’s exhausted expression, she put reluctantly back her food in the fridge. A muttered thanks and a kiss on her temple guided her back upstairs to bed where she suddenly felt the full effect of being awake at three in the AM.

“Baby’s a hungry lil’ bad word, giving me cravings at this time of night,” She rubbed her hand over the slight bump as she scolded it. Adoringly, Jack placed his hand atop hers and squeezed before he helped her up the stairs.

“She’s gonna be a big girl,” He said with pride.

Genevieve frowned with confusion, “She?”

“Yeah, I bet Farrier that it’s gonna be a girl.”

“… What did you bet?”

Opening the bedroom door, Jack went a little red as he felt the weight of his words, “We kinda have to name our baby after him if it’s a boy.”

“Jack!”

“It’s not the end of the world! Fifty-fifty chance!”

It took a while for Genevieve to get comfortable in the bed again, wriggling under the covers and flipping the pillow to cool her neck. Then she made her commentary on her husband’s life choices, “I guess Edward isn’t the worst name ever.”

Jack shifted onto his side, facing her as her eyes drooped shut. He leant in and kissed her softly before whispering, “Happy one year.”

A little giddy on sleep deprivation, Genevieve joyfully remembered their reunion in her old flat, the scrubbed clean countertop he lifted her onto, the whisk she’d forgotten to pick up off the floor until the morning after, the bed so they had wrapped themselves in each other’s arms to fit onto it.

She teased in the tone of a Southern Belle, “Oh Jack, kiss me like you did when we were reunited!”

“In a few hours, maybe,” He raised his brows without opening his eyes. Not content with this, Genevieve kissed him again. Luckily Jack was all for going back on his word. His hand lazily pushed upward to touch her cheek then sliding onto her tummy to graze the skin with his knuckles. Humming, Genevieve tried not to flinch away from his ticklish touch until she was satisfied with her bedtime kiss, pushing Jack onto his back so she could lean over him. They shared a giggle, though they did not break the kiss, and they wouldn’t fall asleep for another ten minutes, ending with a cuddle built around Genevieve’s comfort.

Their anniversary blended with falling leaves and bad weather. Not that the couple minded. Genevieve slept through half of it while Jack went to work. When he returned to an indoor picnic by the fire, pillows and warmth surrounding them, they spent their evening loving on each other with kisses, sandwiches, and an early night.

The late night cravings only increased but it meant that Genevieve could make a dent in decorating the nursery. However Christmas arrived sooner than anticipated and before they knew it, Genevieve and Jack were staying over Christmas Eve at the Hastings’ farm, sleeping in Genevieve’s old room which Jack was enthralled to see. Like a child in a sweet shop, he spun around in the box room and fell onto the bed. Then he leapt up again and explored the chest of toys, the boxes under the bed, the wardrobe. The latter was where he found the best part of the visit: Genevieve’s old clothes.

“Look at your little dresses!” He squeaked, holding up one she wore as a six year old, “And these dungarees! Our baby could borrow them!” Genevieve watched from her seat on the bed, endeared by this little spectacle. Especially when he found her baby shoes, paired off in a dusty box.

Starting to look a little more convex, Genevieve found herself wanting to sit or sleep more than usual. Her leg was not straining as much as it had done but it still caused a tad more than her average baseline of pain. Her cane was annoyingly becoming a necessity for her movement. At least it gave her an excuse at least to get out of being fawned over by her sister.

“You’re positively glowing!” Lilly had said upon greeting Genevieve, to which she had responded: “no, that’s just sweat and acne”.

Bluntness aside, Genevieve spent a majority of her time on the sofa with James on the floor in front of her, showing off all his presents to her. Aside from when they were alone, Jack was rather quiet during their stay. His voice’s volume dropped drastically as soon as they stepped out of the bedroom, even more so when he played with James. Very carefully did he phrase his words, as if he were being stalked by Genevieve’s parents for the duration of his visit. The only time he really made an appearance was when the presents were being unwrapped. A majority of them were baby clothes; he elatedly played with the tiny socks and measured the clothes over the bump while James giggled hysterically in the background.

“Baby’s got a bit more growing to go. Keep ‘em cooking, love.”

“At least there’s a baby in here. What’s your excuse?” 

“Apple pie.”

They left just as James was heard asking Lilly where the baby came from. A hasty escape to the crazy Collins’ house was something Genevieve was grateful for. The only thing she wasn’t prepared for was Cora in the throngs of her Christmas organising frenzy. Silence took over the car but she was fine with this break as was Jack. It gave him ample opportunity to hold his wife’s hand without a watchful parent in the corner. As if a hand holding would do anything more than what they had already done. She was already pregnant for Christ’s sake.

Switching off the engine, Jack looked at her. His eyes strayed back to the bump then her lower lip, parted from the top as she bit the inside of her mouth, a nervous habit. He leant over, kissed her cheek, drew away with a red face after admitting his guilty pleasure, “You look so adorable when you worry, really are glowing.”

Genevieve’s eyes squinted at him, but her smile betrayed her as she told him, “Shut up.”

Her slow exit from the car, and Jack’s subsequent assistance in helping her out, gave the opportunity to kiss him in return. It only lasted a moment for Cora flung open the front door and sprang upon the couple with a bear hug. How she managed to wrap her arms around them both, neither knew, but the hug was pleasant enough before being swept into the house for another dinner, after Jack ferried in presents of course.

Jack’s father was enamoured with the presents Genevieve had already received. His thick hands carefully pawed over the outfits with the twinkle of a grandfather-to-be in his eye. He only stopped staring at it when he went to look over the family photo album, his eyes misty with mirth. Genevieve happily revisited the album, in tears well before it was revealed that a photo of herself, Jack, Ethel, Toby, and Karen playing cricket that October gone was pasted on the latest page. It took a minute for her to calm herself enough to say “thank you” coherently and she accepted her own bowl of pudding graciously – and with more tears. It was an understatement to say the still implemented rationing had been tough on them all so to receive an entire bowl of pudding to oneself was a godsend.

Farrier was about for a couple of hours. His puppy Westley came too, his brown fur wiggling between all these new people then sticking his butt down beside Genevieve. Obliging to his silent request, she scratched the German Shepherd between the ears. With a disgusting jumper on, Farrier sat next to Genevieve as she cuddled into the dozing Jack’s arm, bowl in her lap.

“Jack told you ‘bout the bet then?” He cleared his throat.

“Yeah.”

“You don’t have to follow through if it is a boy.”

“What happens if they’re a girl, what are the stakes?” Genevieve asked.

“Lifetime of babysitting,” Jack piped up from under the paper crown that acted as a sleeping mask.

“I mean we’ll probably rope you into it anyway, so don’t worry about it,” Genevieve shrugged and, when Farrier made to protest, she leant against his arm instead with fluttering eyelashes. He silenced himself, taking a sip of his mulled wine, then allowed himself to be taken in too by the tiny socks from Ethel.

Once that bowl full was in her belly, Genevieve ate some leftovers then immediately fell asleep. As bedtime approached, Jack found her, snoring a little, on his old bed. His tattered teddy snuggled in the crook of her arm, her new pyjamas that Jack had gifted her that morning just loose enough on her figure to be comfortable for her and the baby. He teetered on the edge of the bed and embraced his wife, falling into slumber almost as quickly as she had done.

Winter rolled into spring without severe illness. Genevieve’s tummy ballooned up between doctor’s appointments. Her penultimate meeting was a little tense since she had been experiencing a lot of pain on the underside of her belly. The entire trek from the car to the waiting room then to the office, Jack held her hand and whispered comforting words to ground her. Tummy measured, listened to, temperature taken, nothing came from the doctor.

“Is the baby ok?” She finally asked. Her voice was so soft that the doctor didn’t register it. Jack repeated it, still holding her hand with his chin lifted up from beside hers.

“Heartbeat is steady, growth is fine,” The doctor washed his hands, “Your baby is perfectly healthy.”

When he didn’t say anything else, Genevieve prompted him, “And the pain?”

“Normal.”

Of course, Genevieve pushed for more than that and a deeper explanation of the pain, Jack doing the same, but there was nothing (apparently) that the doctor could do. The appointment closed without providing the security they were hoping for.

The car ride home, Genevieve played with a soft blanket she’d found in a charity shop on the way back. Its corners were frayed but it was so comforting with its gentle touch.

In meantime, Jack was brainstorming what else to do with the day. It was only five. There was time to do something else, something to take their minds off things. Nothing spectacular, something free, an activity that wouldn’t cause Genevieve too much pain, there weren’t many options for them. Then the perfect idea sprung into his mind as he pulled on the car’s brake

“Do you wanna go out?”

“Yeah, please.”

A pleasant evening in the back garden of the Collins’ household, Genevieve was lying on her back on a picnic blanket, reading aloud “The Great Gatsby” to Jack who was curled up at her side. Dresses were no longer an option for Genevieve so she opted for wider trousers. The lower section of her shirt buttons and her trousers were undone, exposed the swollen stomach for Jack to rub the new blanket across, tracing the stretch marks. In turn, she lightly scratched her nails back and forth across the back of his head with idleness. His hair was a little too long, a haircut overdue. Her other hand being occupied with the novel; her cane lay in the grass above her head, out of sight and mind.

“‘There was music from my neighbour's house through the summer nights. In his blue gardens men and girls came and went like moths among the whisperings and the champagne and the stars’... Love, that tickles.”

Looking down at her swollen belly, Jack stopped moving the corner of the blanket, resting it there on her skin instead, “Sorry, Ginny.” He smiled innocently.

Genevieve smiled back knowingly before continuing: “‘At high tide in the afternoon I watched his guests diving from the tower of his raft, or taking the sun on the hot sand of his beach while his two motor−boats slit the waters of the Sound, drawing aquaplanes over cataracts of foam. On weekends his Rolls’ – ah!”

She gasped, her book dropping beside her. Jack shot up, his hand still cupping his belly. They exchanged a look of surprise.

“You felt that?” Jack whispered. On cue, a small kick came from underneath her skin, delivered right to Jack’s right palm, and he squealed, “The baby!”

Pressing his lips against the skin, he spoke excitedly to the bump, “Hey baby, it’s me, your da! Can you hear me?” Another kick made Genevieve groan then giggle.

“Hey, sweetie,” Jack rested his chin there so the baby could feel as well as hear him talk, “You’re kicking again, it’s been a while! Don’t worry, you’ll be out soon. Just another couple o’ months and I’ll be able to hold you. You’re gonna love it and you’re gonna love your ma.”

Between trying not to cry at Jack’s baby voice and staring pointedly at her stomach, Genevieve said,  “Baby, I love you too. But can you let me keep reading to your da?”The baby seemed to understand and stopped kicking her so she sallied forth: “Thank you, baby. ‘On weekends his Rolls-Royce became an omnibus, bearing parties to and from the city between nine in the morning and long past midnight’ – ow… ‘while his station wagon scampered like a brisk yellow bug to meet all trains.’ Oh!”

“Our baby’s gonna be a boxer,” Jack cooed, rolling another kiss onto the skin to soothe the kicking from the outside.

“Can she practise when she’s out of me?” Genevieve winced, “I love her but it’s rather difficult to concentrate.”

“So you DO think it’s a girl?”

 She scowled in jest at her husband before continuing with her read-through:

“‘And on Mondays eight servants, including an extra gardener, toiled all day with mops and scrubbing−brushes and hammers  and garden−shears, repairing the ravages of the night before. Every Friday five crates of oranges and lemons arrived from a fruiterer in New York every Monday…’ God, I really want some orange juice.”

The baby kicked again.

“She agrees. She needs her strength.” Genevieve gave into Jack’s daughter conspiracy. He helped her to stand, and bundled up the rug while Genevieve buttoned up her trousers and made her way back to the house. Once the rug was packed away, Jack helped her upstairs.

Genevieve swerved left with new energy (on slow release) to get to the nursery. It looked mildly sparse. Unfortunately, decorating was placed on hold due to Genevieve’s lack of employment. Funds instead went to the mortgage that was almost crippling. Handmade bedding, old toys and second hand furniture were what they made do with and Genevieve regularly assured Jack that it all added to the rural theme of their home.

“Plus, the baby won’t know about that kind of thing for six months at least,” was her final attempt at reassurance - for herself as well as Jack. If she could, she would give the world to her baby. But the world was shite and the baby deserved more.

Looking about the room with tired looking wallpaper, Genevieve searched for where to put the blanket. Finally she hobbled over to the crib and tucked it in, smoothing out a ripple satisfied. Jack kissed her cheek, hugging her carefully from behind with his hands finding the baby bump again like a ­­­­­key to a lock.

Back into their bedroom, Jack waited patiently for Genevieve to get changed. Today seemed like a good day, in his opinion at least, but he wanted to make sure in case -

“Jack? Would you mind?”

“Of course,” and he was already down on one knee, untying one of her shoe’s laces. Eased each one off, he peeled off her socks too while Genevieve changed her top half, freeing her skin with unrestrained relief. Her sighs were abruptly cut off with a groan. Her shirt was clutched to her chest and her back curved.

“It’s fine,” She took caution as she stood up and pulled on her nightgown, stretching it over her belly, “Just hurts.”

Watching as she stepped out of her trousers, Jack left her clothes on the chair tucked in the corner. It took him extensively less effort and pain to change into his pyjamas. With his free time, he sat next to Genevieve, waiting for her to look at him before he spoke.

“I’m so proud of you.” 

It was a triggering sentence. Genevieve’s eyes instantly grew teary. A hand began cradling her head, and Jack squeezed her shoulder, kissing her forehead before looking down at the bump, “And we can’t wait to meet you, baby.”

“Thanks… Kinda want that orange juice now please.”

Letting loose a high-pitched giggle, Jack nodded, “Grab you some now.”

On the way down, he decided to brew himself some tea. He could always trade with Genevieve if she changed her mind and wanted his drink instead. As the water boiled, he opened the can, poured it out in full. Then he sped through making his own beverage for he didn’t want to keep his wife waiting.

Genevieve was passed out with the book on her tummy, the spine of the paperback novel bent. Her tags – his old ones – were on the bedside table, her wedding ring also on the link for it wouldn’t fit on her finger anymore. Taking a sip from his tea, Jack placed her glass adjacent to her tags. Then he removed the book from her tummy to let it join the others on the bedside table. He was pleased that she had gotten to sleep so quickly; he prayed that he would be able to do the same.

Not that slumber ever lasted long these days. Waking up to a heat she was not comfortable with, Genevieve winced and turned her head to face the window. One eye barely cracked open. It was dark so she had the excuse to not get up just yet. With a long exhale, she closed her eyes properly and tried to force herself into sleep so she wouldn’t spiral into self doubt again or wake up Jack.

“Hey, baby.”

Damn, caught out already. She sighed again. Oh well, maybe it was time to get up. But just as she went to reply to this term of endearment, she heard Jack speak again.

“It’s ok, just your da here.”

Oh.

“Catching up. You were giving your ma some grief today. I promise I’ll get your aunts and uncle to give you lessons on self-defence lessons if you tone it down. Your ma deserves a rest.”

He shifted beside her and soon Jack had his cheek flattened against the skin, “You know, I reckon you’re gonna like going to the park. It’s where I took your ma for our first date. I hadn’t seen her in five years but she was more beautiful than ever. We were cloud-gazing and making out in the rain – I’m getting this in now because you can’t protest about it – and another time we went on the swings. You’ll like the swings too. Sure, you’ll have to grow a bit of course before you can use them on your own but you can sit in my lap. I’ll be gentle with the swinging and then when you’re older I can push you. You’re gonna have so much fun, I promise.”

Such an image stuck in Genevieve’s head, the baby without any defined features but she could hear laughter from them both and it made her sniff sharply to match the sting in her eyes.

Pressing a kiss down, Jack moved onto another topic, “Your ma wants to call you Daisy, after the character in the book she was reading us. But if you ask me, Daisy is a bit of an arse leading Gatsby on when Nick’s a perfectly good partner for him and she forgets she’s got a baby too… And honestly Daisy’s a name you give to a cow, not a bonny babe.”

Genevieve snorted loudly at that. He thought he was hilarious, he did.

“Eavesdropping, Ginny?”

Then she remembered she was meant to be asleep.

She cracked open an eye and landed her gaze on Jack, smiling in the dark. “Now don’t pretend you don’t talk to her too. I heard you and her the other night in the bathroom.”

Flushing at the memory of her brushing her teeth and talking about other potential names to the bump’s reflection, Genevieve made effort to face him better and the tears that had brewed in her eyes spilled down her temples into the pillow she was lying on.

“Ginny, why are you crying?” Jack asked, even though he knew why. Mood swings, with the last experience being when Genevieve became hysterical over the wallpaper of the nursery, yelled at Jack for suggesting something else, and then refused to let him accept her multiple apologies.

Genevieve took a shuddering breath in then spoke, “You’re gonna upstage me, be such a good dad.” And while this started off as a joke, it soon faded into seriousness as she asked Jack, “Am I gonna be a good mum?” Before he could reply, she added, “It keeps me up at night. Always thinking about it.” Jack was horrified to think that his wife was kept awake, plagued with trite doubts, when he was so certain of her talents.

“No, no, you’re gonna be the most amazing mum,” He wriggled up to her side.

Genevieve sniffled, wiping her nose in the duvet and pushing it away in disgust, “You’re just saying that because you love me.”

“How dare you? I’m completely unbiased.” The speed and monotonous horror with which Jack defended himself set Genevieve off in half sobs half snorts. She smothered them in the snotty blankets, more tears slipping out. Jack shuffled closer still, his nose a few inches from Genevieve’s shoulder, “Will you let me hold you again?”

“No, it’s too hot.”

“Ok.” Only rubbing his thumb on her belly now, Jack dropped his voice to a whisper so that the baby couldn’t hear their parent chat, “You know I worry that I don’t provide for you, I just feel a bit helpless, here while you’re carrying our baby. But you always tell me otherwise, and I trust your judgement.”

Genevieve sniffled, ready to defend him from his doubts, “You aren’t helpless. You gave me a back rub the other day. You shared your tea with me a lot.”

“Exactly, and you trust my judgement too?”

“Of course.”

“Then trust me when I say you’re gonna be alright.” Jack kissed her cheek, his lips smudging away the last tear that fell. “We’re going to be alright. And Baby agrees,” he added as another kick thumped against her tummy and his thumb.

“Baby doesn’t know what she’s saying,” Genevieve grumbled, tapping the bump as if she was scolding the child.

“Sure she does,” Jack protested gently, peering down at the bump with a smile that he could just contain behind his lips, “She’s gonna be a superhero like her Ma.”

Ever the voice of reason, he advised that they should get another few hours in. He lightly patted the baby bump then rolled over and fell asleep on the instant. During that time, Genevieve had changed her mind about the cuddling but, so that she wouldn’t disturb Jack, she focused on getting off to sleep. That way, tomorrow they could cuddle as much as they liked.

Everything Tag: @tomgcsglasses and @scottishlowden

Dunkirk Tag: @lowdenglynnstyles, @kgcurtis30, @carneylowdenwhitehead, @theres-no-paradise, @blondeeee-e, @luleraina, @starryrevelations and @orphan-with-a-stutter

Jack Tag: @adriennelenoir, @lowdensnose, @from-the-clouds, @johannalauraaa​ and @lowdenfanpage

Complementary Tag: @you-are-the-first-dream, @disneydirectioner, @lavidademarimar, @sweetsugarhoneyfics and @prettyboytgc

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Tumblr is being a bastard; “Complementary” (Collins x OC) Chapter 37 isn’t appearing in the search tags and no one got notification they were tagged in it. But my other posts were up just fine?? Fingers crossed this works

So here’s the link to the new chapter on here!

Here’s everyone who was tagged:

Everything Tag: @tomgcsglasses and @nasabeck

Dunkirk Tag:@lowdenglynnstyles, @kgcurtis30, @carneylowdenwhitehead, @theres-no-paradise, @blondeeee-e, @luleraina, @starryrevelations and @orphan-with-a-stutter

Jack Lowden Tag: @musicallisto, @adriennelenoir, @lowdensnose, @from-the-clouds, @johannalauraaa, and @lowdenfanpage

Complementary Tag: @you-are-the-first-dream, @disneydirectioner, @lavidademarimar, @sweetsugarhoneyfics, and @prettyboytgc

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Complementary (Collins x OC) Chapter 34: Vows

Summary: Nearly a year, Genevieve and Jack have been together; their big day is finally here.

AN: Thank you for being patient!

Previous Chapter     Masterlist     Gif Credit     Next Chapter

Awaking alone after almost a year of the opposite was a strange feeling. Genevieve stretched languidly in the unfamiliar bed.  Once up and out, which took a few seconds contemplation, she rehearsed her physiotherapy. The culmination of months of work. She was unsure about whether she should rehearse her walk a little more lest she push herself too far.

Then her sister arrived and the calm was broken.

“Why haven’t you come down for breakfast yet?” Lilly squeaked, “Big day!”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” Genevieve mumbled, longing to collapse back into bed. Later, she remembered the one lump in the mattress directly underneath her back and the desire faded.

A hearty breakfast was laid out across the table. Genevieve didn’t think she could stomach it. There was a hint of sickness in her stomach for a last minute invite had gone out and she’d been somewhat regretting it since she dropped it through the post box slot. No mention of it was discussed with Jack, something she was regretting even more. But at least she would find out the result in a few hours. Fucking hell, a few hours.

Felt like longer as she ate, washed herself and slipped into her freshly washed dressing gown. Lilly could be heard downstairs with her son and husband, chaperoning them about to go

Genevieve did her own hair and makeup. Her “bridal” team was merely a formality, the women of the immediate families. They were getting ready downstairs at her request. But that didn’t stop them from occasionally poking their head around the door and squeaking something before dashing back downstairs to relate to the crew what her current status was. The only assistance she required was getting dressed. The dress was tighter than before but not so much for it to become uncomfortable. The issue was the buttons that lined her spine. Her mother helped her out there and Genevieve spent the next few minutes thinking about Jack without distraction.

He was in a small hotel function room with the few chairs in rows already filled with the guests, stood at the makeshift altar with his best mate Farrier and his brother Toby at his side. This was something he’d thought about briefly in his early RAF days, marrying Farrier in near matching suits. But now that couldn’t be further from what he wanted.

“Fifteen minutes, still time to make a break for it,” Toby whispered.

“So you can have Ginny? No chance,” Jack let out a laugh.

“Damn, you saw through my cunning plan,” Toby snapped his fingers before leaning in to whisper, “How’d you know she’s not already waiting for me in the car?”

“Helluva woman,” Farrier broke in and the two men glanced at him, “Marrying helluva guy. You’d be ridiculous if you thought one of these kids would leave the other at the altar.”

“You mean the collapsible table,” Toby snarked as Jack flushed at the compliment before busying himself with his mother sat in the front row.

“Eh, same difference,” Toby shrugged.

A collapsible table, no bridesmaids or over the top procession, just their nearest and dearest watching the ceremony and coming for the wedding breakfast. Simple, limited attention, despite Cora’s best attempts to “give them the wedding they deserved” which might have featured doves and fireworks. All that was missing was the bride.

She was nearly outside, tightly gripping the bouquet in the back seat of the car that was stuck in mild traffic.  The end of today couldn’t come sooner.

Finally, Tony parked the car in his reserved spot, outside the hotel. He skipped around to open the door for her. She stepped out, feeling the heat of late July prickle her legs. Thank goodness she wasn’t in heels.

“God, I’m gonna fall over,” Genevieve muttered as she glanced at her cane left in the backseat of the car.

“I’m here, pickle,” Tony took her arm, perfect father of the bride, “Squeeze if you need more support.”

“Hello, Aunty Gem,” James beamed at her with shining cleanliness. It disgusted them both so Genevieve tousled his hair a little. Lilly sighed at this but passed James the box with rings in them, ushering him after his father.

“He just wanted to say hello,” She excused, swallowing before she finished, “I don’t think I’ll have to kick Jack. You look beautiful.”

“Thank you, so do you,” Genevieve tried not to duck her head with the compliment, “Is everyone in? Uh, I don’t suppose you’ve seen an old man and his son come by. You wouldn’t know them.”

“No, why?”

Genevieve restrained a sigh. Of course they wouldn’t be coming. An invitation and the first letter in three years explaining all was not enough to convince two strangers to be at the wedding.

“Just wondering, don’t worry.”

That disappointment was replaced by the worry she assured others about, a spike of anxiety, one that also met with Jack. He stopped talking to the notary when James trotted down the aisle, clutching a small box and singing loudly that “they’re coming”.  Lilly then quickly entered, repeating what her son had said before taking her seat beside her mother. An unorthodox beginning to the ceremony but that was the way with him and Genevieve.

His back was where she would appear and it stayed that way as he heard the door open. But he couldn’t stand it much longer and risked a peek for the first time in a day – that might have been a year. Jack wasn’t surprised, but still felt the full impact, that she looked so utterly radiant. In a dress that was simply a sleeveless, white polka dot version of his favourite and she was so far away – a whole twenty five feet. When she started moving towards him, his hand came over the right side of his face before pressing into his cheek to hide his tears. It didn’t work at all. Then he saw her left hand holding her cane, the last time that her finger would be bare, and he was gone, crushing his sobs and his laughter into his palm then closing it into a fist.

Very nearly did Genevieve fall to the same fate. She knew that Jack wasn’t going to be in his RAF uniform and thank goodness because he was so much more attractive in a kilt. The hand that occupied the bouquet was looped through her father’s arm; she had nothing to hide her smile behind. It only made her more beautiful.

After what seemed like hours, Genevieve reached the altar and, out of her bouquet, she pulled out a folded hankie. A wave of murmured laughter rolled through the room, Jack joining in as it was passed it to him.

“Thanks, love,” He dabbed his eyes dry.

Genevieve bit her lip which did nothing to hide her smirk, “Don’t mention it.”

With his tears mopped away, Jack tucked the hankie up his sleeve and the notary began the service. Genevieve kept checking Jack in the corner of her eye. It was hard to look away from such a vision.  Occasionally she caught him looking too and they shared a smile.

If there were any objections to the ceremony, everyone held their peace – apart from Toby, who conveniently cleared his throat after this was made known. Proceeding, the notary signalled for James to bring the rings to her. He did so with immense pride. His smile looked as though it would fall from his face as he passed them over. Genevieve and Jack shared that respect as they each recited the vows with their names inserted to that chain of words. Jack went first and he beamed at finally learning Genevieve’s middle name, then came Genevieve who already knew his from grilling him about the subject months before.

A new ring sat on their left hands and it was with bubbling giddiness that such words were spoke: “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Already, Genevieve had her arms around Jack’s neck so all that was needed was a gentle dip of Jack’s head for them to seal the deal. Clapping from around the room echoed into the distance as they pulled away and smiled at one another.

“Hello, husband,” Genevieve whispered, rubbing her nose against his before cutting off his reply with: “Do you have any briefs on? I’ve wanted to ask since I saw the kilt.”

“Well,” Jack raised a brow with what was meant to be a smirk but ended up being a gleeful grin, “You’re not supposed to. It’s tradition.”

“Really?” Genevieve said disbelievingly, yet she was still smiling.

Jack’s glow shifted from dusty pink to fuchsia, “No scants under these petticoats.”

The pair giggled like children at the thought of going commando and kissed again.

“You bought the cottage then?” Tony asked. Genevieve naturally rolled her eyes because of his tone. Even on her wedding day, he was interrogating her partner. Still, it couldn’t be helped and he wouldn’t sway her mind or heart.

“Yes, we managed to get that set of paperwork sorted out before this one,” Jack patted her hand in her lap and brushed his fingertips over her ring.

Ethel then jumped in, “So no honeymoon?”

“No honeymoon, but plenty of time off to ourselves, plenty of furniture to build,” Genevieve sighed, causing the table to snicker. In all honesty, spending time setting up their house to however they wanted, alone, was a perfect honeymoon in her eyes.

Dinner arrived and everyone continued conversation between mouthfuls. Genevieve and Jack barely parted contact, their hands returning to one another as if the rings were magnet and iron. Not that Jack would have minded if they were because a fad during the war, popularised by the absence from loved ones, meant that he could wear this token of affection and commitment. He could not be happier to wear one.

Despite holding prior knowledge of minimal speeches being a part of this ceremony, Farrier finished his dinner, downed his drink, then launched into his retelling of, when he first met him in RAF training, Collins being a skinny little bastard with knobbly knocking knees and a naïve smile that would not see the light of day once he started drill work.

Feeling the tranquilising effects of the alcohol, Genevieve pushed back her chair and leant over to Jack, “I need a quick break.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Jack asked, throwing a glance at Farrier finally taking a seat.

“No thanks, you stay,” Genevieve assured.

She then excused herself from the table and those seated at it, heading over to the back garden’s entrance. Passing the notary leaving the function room opposite, Genevieve stepped outside. It was a pleasant little section enclosed in the centre of the building and completely empty. Stretching her arms upwards, Genevieve linked her fingers and cracked her knuckles upwards with a deep inhale. The smell of the flowers dotted about in pots soothed any other anxiety she felt in that moment.

“Sorry we’re late.”

Genevieve turned to the voice and saw Mr Dawson removing his hat with a smile as he finished, “I saw you heading out here. Thought I’d catch you.”

A little stunned and almost lost for words, Genevieve nodded. Then she found those words: “No worries. We’re just having drinks, would you like to join us?”

“No thank you. I’m driving. I don’t trust Peter with my car just yet.”

“Peter?” Then the man himself appeared as if he were waiting to be named dropped before making an appearance. Of course he wasn’t still wearing the red jumper she’d seen him in six years ago. He was dressed in a casual suit like his father, minus the hat, and he looked so much older.

“I should slap you for not writing back, you cheeky bastard,” She joked. Luckily, Peter saw the levity in her statement and his body language slacked into relaxation.

“How are you both?” She continued, “Still sailing?”

“Try and stop us, every weekend.” Peter looked to his dad to see if he had any input on the small talk. But Mr Dawson was looking indoors, through a window. Jack was rocking back and forth with laughter in his chair at something Karen had said across the table. Genevieve could see that no one else thought it so funny and that Jack didn’t care about that.

“I can go get him,” Genevieve offered but Mr Dawson cut her off.

“No, that’s alright.”

There were tears in the old man’s eyes and Genevieve suddenly remembered that Jack was RAF like Mr Dawson’s eldest son. She felt rather stupid for not recalling this sooner and fidgeted with her hands. Filling the silence, Peter cleared his throat.

“We can’t stay. We just wanted to come and say congratulations,” He tugged on his coat sleeve before stepping forward and offering his hand for her to shake. Instead, Genevieve opened her arms for a hug and Peter graciously accepted, though he had to bend over a little bit.

“You got taller, I swear,” She mumbled over his shoulder forgetting that he was only a few years younger than her.

“Skinnier, actually,” and there was a hint of a smile on his face when he pulled back.

“Yeah, well, make sure you eat your crusts,” Genevieve quoted her sister’s mantra to James, “Get some hairs on your chest.”

The smile widened as he backed away, moving towards the reception. Mr Dawson and Genevieve followed, a few feet behind him so that they could talk too.

“He rather fancied you,” Mr Dawson muttered with a sly smile.

“I won’t say anything,” Genevieve promised, “Is he alright though?”

“He’s doing very well.” Mr Dawson halted, looking like he was struggling to say something. Genevieve kept the silence a little longer to let him figure it out. Slowly he took Genevieve’s left hand in his then gave it a careful pat.

“I’m glad that, if anyone was to survive the war, it was you two.”

 Suddenly swamped with the possibility of crying, something she vowed not to do, Genevieve swallowed thickly, “You too. Thank you for coming.”

She walked with him through the reception and out the front, Peter at the far right side of the street where they were parked. Staying by the door, Genevieve watched them climb in. She didn’t notice Jack joining her side until he tapped her shoulder.

“You alright, love?”

“Just waving a guest off,” She said quietly. Jack followed her line of sight, brows furrowed until he saw Mr Dawson place his hat back on his head before getting into his car. The couple stared with one astonished expression and one of tearful happiness as the car pulled out and drove past their venue, honking the horn with an arm out the window waving at them.

“Let’s go back to our reception,” Genevieve said, taking his hand and leading the flabbergasted Jack indoors.

The rest of the day was a blur. At some point, Genevieve picked out a rosebud, free of thorns, from her bouquet and tucked it behind Jack’s ear. He was a little tipsy on the fact that it was his wedding – and the champagne that his brother Toby had ordered. He was giggling at James who was screwing up his face in disgust after a sip. The cake arrived and naturally Jack and Genevieve tossed each other pieces of cake into their respective mouths as opposed to smashing a piece onto their cheek. Farrier was all for that however and did it to both of them. James was about to join in but then the in-laws intervened, preventing an all out food fight.  

“Sweet like you,” Jack had said after kissing off some of the icing from Genevieve’s cheeks. So naturally, she licked his cheek in return.

The families dispersed once the cake was doled out and the newlyweds were shown to their room by the concierge who had brought their single bag up earlier for them. It was a beautiful room. A double bed in the centre, an en-suite to the side, it was lavish with plump pillows, oak furniture that all matched, and lit up with a soft yellow glow from lamps dotted about. Money well spent, even if it was just one night.

“So, I suggest we take all the complimentary shampoos and soaps and biscuits,” Genevieve took off one of her shoes and sighed in the relief she felt, free from its pinching grasp. Once the other shoe was off, she flopped on the bed and sighed again, smiling broadly at Jack who was lingering in the doorway, undoing his tie after hanging up his jacket.

“Come here, you,” She beckoned with a pat on the space beside her.

Doggedly, Jack quickly kicked off his shoes and tugged off his hose. He landed next to Genevieve with a little leap onto the bed. Her hand curled around to cup his face that was smiling back at her, especially as he felt the new addition of her wedding ring comfort his skin. She then wriggled closer, her cheek snuggled into his shoulder.

After tracing across her arm for a few moments quietude, Jack rested his hand atop hers and said softly, “I can only think of one instance where you’ve been more beautiful than you are now.”

“Oh yeah?” Genevieve said teasingly although her cheeks alerted Jack that she was flattered at such a remark. He hummed to draw it out a little before he decided to finish his thought.

“When I saw you for the first time after the war was over,” He said as his chest swelled with remembering their intense and joyous reunion, his smile aching on his face, “A sight for sore eyes if there ever was one. It felt like that again, when I saw you at the end of the aisle.”

For once, Genevieve didn’t tell him to shut up. Instead she pushed up and kissed him, short but sweet. She then sat up but kept her back to him, talking over her shoulder:

“Help me out of this please? I want to lie down comfortably with my husband.”

Jack let out an eager giggle, hoping that she would catch on that he liked when she called him “her husband”. Such a lovely title he never thought he would be appointed and yet here he was, helping his wife out of her wedding attire. Well. He was trying to help anyway.

“I love the polka dots but God there’s so many buttons!” He grunted, fingers fumbling over them in an attempt to release her.

“I know, it’s ridiculous,” Genevieve groaned, “There should be a hook on the dressing table.”

There was and it aided Jack in popping them out. Jack tensed as the dress slacked, contrasting with Genevieve’s sigh of relief. It wasn’t a very tight bodice but movement was heavily restricted in such a device. The sigh was clearly held in from the moment she put it on. The sigh was also very obvious in displaying the comfort she found with Jack. They shared baths, for goodness sake.

Jack suddenly leapt for the drawer, “Wait!” Then he yanked out an envelope, “Vows!”

Neither of them wanted to disclose these vows; they were personal and their families did not have to be witness for these vows to mean something. So they decided to include them in the wedding but when they were alone. Now.

Dress still holding most of its position against her body, Genevieve retrieved her own envelope from the plant pot and dusted off the soil that clung to it.

“You wanna go first or me?”

“You go first.”

Shuffling on his feet, Jack cleared his throat then spoke, “You make me so much better with your awful taste in tea and your quips so I vow to celebrate you every day, in ups and downs and whatever direction you feel you’re going, I’ll be there take make us the ultimate team.”

Then he said at a quicker pace, “I also vow to dance with you at least once a week because I know you secretly love it.”

Genevieve shook her head as it dropped, hiding the eye roll in sheepishness, “You cheated; we said one each.”

“I know but I can’t really pin down how I wanna treasure you in one single vow. You’re lucky that was the only two.”

Wrinkling her nose at him, Genevieve rubbed it against Jack’s that was screwed up in solidarity, “I love it, and I love you.”

“I love you too. Your turn!”

She copied his technique and coughed to ease the lump in her throat then started reading off the paper, “Something you told me a few months ago: ‘you are my normal.’ You do not know how much those words mean to me. It wasn’t really the moment I knew I loved you for there are plenty of those. It was the moment where I knew you were the one for me; you were as committed as I was in spite of everything. I vow to make you feel as safe and as loved as I did when you told me that, because you are my normal too.”

There were no words to say back to that. All Jack could muster was hugging Genevieve tightly. Their breathing synced up, grips loosened, emotions settling down, the couple found themselves swaying. It was a first dance they could both get behind. Until Jack started humming a nauseatingly familiar tune that made Genevieve laugh more as he spun her out with a dramatic flair.

“We have a radio!” She reminded him, “Not that I don’t appreciate your gorgeous vocal chords.”

“Ok, first song that plays will be our song.” Once in agreement, Jack side-stepped to the wireless and switched it on. After fiddling with the tuner for a few seconds, Genevieve sighed loudly whilst Jack beamed as the very same song began to play.

“I didn’t even plan that!” Jack squeaked with excitement, drawing back to his wife and offering his hand, “May I have the pleasure of the first dance with you?”

“You may,” Genevieve said with a sigh that was meant to come across as reluctant due to the song choice. However, it appeared more whimsical as if she was about to be swept off her feet. She settled for that; it was more accurate to how she felt.

Their foreheads connected as Genevieve placed her hands on Jack’s shoulders, his already on her waist. Kisses intermingled with soft laughter. A hand swept through Jack’s hair and Genevieve’s fingers then curled underneath the bootlace that held her old tags, toying with the knot that rested below the back of his hairline. His were still hanging around her neck. Her fingertips grazed the nape of his neck caused Jack to shiver with delight for at the back of his mind, near those fingertips, lingered a reminder of the final tradition of a wedding: the first evening together as husband and wife.

It was as if Genevieve could read his thoughts for she touched his face tenderly with concern in her expression and he leant into it, eyes closing at her gentle palm on his cheek

“You know we don’t have to do anything tonight. I know you love me and you know I love you. It’s not the be all and end all.”

“I know,” Jack said with a hint of relief as he opened his eyes, “But I want to. Do you want to?”

“I do too.”

“I-” He was cut off by Genevieve’s stomach gurgling loudly and she went a darker shade of pink as he commented: “Hungry?”

They giggled as Genevieve’s tummy gurgled some more to answer for her. She didn’t have to say it was nerves; they already knew that. To shut him up, Genevieve leaned over, switched off the wireless.

“Are you alright?” She asked. She needed to hear that he was alright, especially since he started staring past her for a moment.

“Sorry,” Jack excused when he came back to Earth, shaking his head a little. A strand of hair fell into his forehead as a memory of December came to mind. He fidgeted with the scratching material of his kilt as he glanced at the bed then back to Genevieve. There was a nervous laugh with his next sentence: “I only know what I’m doing in theory.”

“I’m with you there,” Genevieve said, taking his hands away from the wool.

It wasn’t that Jack expected her to be a virgin too but he was still a tad surprised at their shared experience, “So you’ve never…”

She shook her head, “No, not with a man.”

Ah. Jack nodded, accepting the connotations of that revelation, “That’s ok; I’ve never done it with a man either.”

The pair burst into giggles and suddenly it occurred to them that this didn’t have to be such a serious affair like every eavesdropped conversation or snippet of gossip had told them. It could be whatever they wanted. And all tension dropped from their bodies.

Leaning his forehead back against hers with an uncontrollable smile, his voice teeming with joy, Jack said, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” She replied, punctuating her words with kisses, “So. Damn. Much.”          

Lightheaded, Jack reciprocated. He tried to pull off his waistcoat, but he did so with such haste that he ended up getting his elbow stuck where his arm once was. Genevieve didn’t realise for a bit, simply petting his hair to placate his eagerness, but then she caught sight of his half T-Rex impression and start laughing again.

“You can slow down, my love,” She helped him out of his predicament, “Can’t rush these things.”

“I’m just excited,” Jack said, sounding ever so slightly out of breath.

“Me too.” Genevieve found herself experiencing the same symptoms as Jack started to unbutton his shirt, placing a hand on his chest as she continued, “But we have all night. All week.” Jack nodded, understanding what she meant. Honestly, he didn’t want to rush either. So he kissed her again, more gentle, appreciating the present moment where Genevieve was touching the sliver of skin available from his shirt’s now plunging neckline.

Taking a deep breath, Genevieve pulled away and held up the hook between their faces, “Now, get me out of this dress.”

Everything Tag: @tomgcsglasses and @scottishlowden

Dunkirk Tag: @lowdenglynnstyles, @kgcurtis30, @carneylowdenwhitehead, @theres-no-paradise, @blondeeee-e, @luleraina, @starryrevelations and @orphan-with-a-stutter

Jack Lowden Tag: @musicallisto, @adriennelenoir, @lowdensnose, @from-the-clouds, @johannalauraaa​ and @lowdenfanpage

Complementary Tag: @you-are-the-first-dream, @disneydirectioner, @lavidademarimar, @sweetsugarhoneyfics and @prettyboytgc

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Complementary (Collins x OC) Chapter 32: Admin

Summary: Planning a wedding is a hell of a job. Luck Genevieve and Jack have each other - and Genevieve’s sister - to help ease the stress.

AN: It’s Jack’s birthday and coincidentally Collins’ birthday because I said so. I’m going to try and update this more regularly since (including this chapter) there’s only nine chapters left. Bittersweet.

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Switching off the car engine, Genevieve took a moment to breathe. It was a rush at the bakeries after a phone call that had reminded her of the dress fittings were this afternoon and she’d only just found out (the day before, from Ethel) that it was Jack’s bloody birthday. A date so significant but he’d never mentioned it in letter or in person. Three months into wedding prep and only now did she find out? She felt rather shit for not asking beforehand.

She took a deep breath and pushed off the steering wheel to go inside. Kicking the door closed, she swung the bag about as she walked up the stairs to Jack’s flat. Hers was pretty abandoned at this point.

Opening the door, she stepped into the flat and tried not to groan at the sight of Jack with his finance tracker open.

“Are we thinking sandstone or eggshell napkins?” She joked upon entering.

“What? Clearly eggshell, anything otherwise would be insane,” Jack remained in his chair as Genevieve greeted him with a quick peck. Plonking herself in the chair opposite, she dumped the bag on the table with an over-dramatic sigh.

“I swear to God, Lilly is more into this wedding planning than I am,” She dropped her head onto a neglected wedding dress magazine Lilly had bought a week before.

Jack ran his fingers through her hair, covering his sniggering with a cough and looking at his piece of paper that was completely covered in scribbles, “She made me a checklist, you know: flowers, menu, venue, invites, table decorations… chair sashes.”

“What the fuck?” Genevieve lifted up her head slightly before dropping it back onto the table, “People put sashes on chairs? Why would you spend money on that?”

“Make the chairs look pretty,” Jack chuckled.

“People actually do that?” She sighed with disbelief at such people and their airy fairy ways, shaking her head for emphasis on her thoughts, “No, I don’t want to be outshined by a chair.”

“I highly doubt that could happen.”

Lifting her head, Genevieve shuffled her chair closer to Jack to lean against him. She called him a sweet talker then kissed his cheek in thanks for the compliment. Jack returned the kiss on her parting as he flipped the list aside and turned the page to show off the budgeting to his fiancé.

“I got a call back from the hotel and they say we can have the function room and the restaurant is ours too for a fraction extra,” He pointed to the possible deposit they could make on the venue, “Sure you don’t want to marry in a church?”

“No church,” Genevieve decided, opening the borrowed bridal magazine Lilly leant her.

“Your family ok with that?”

“Nope.”

“Are you doing it to piss them off?” Jack tried to catch Genevieve’s eye on this one.

Looking away as she shut the magazine, already bored to tears with the brides gushing about the styles of dresses, Genevieve replied, “Nah, I just don’t want to be shivering at the head of a stone cold aisle when I marry you.”

Jack felt a warm tingle in his stomach whenever Genevieve said that – which was a lot. She seemed to get a buzz out of bringing up their engagement too. When she looked back at him, she didn’t look bored or weary but buzzing behind the smile that brightened his day.

“What’s in the bag then?”

“Aha,” Genevieve sat up and brought the sides of the bag down to reveal many small pastry boxes, “Cake testers. All free. Happy Birthday.”

Eager to get some rest and ignore their ever diminishing budget, the pair spent their lunch break laying on the couch and tossing cake into their partner’s mouth to see what took their fancy. So far, they were rejecting the posh combinations simply because they sounded gross. Their mutual hypothesis was confirmed after they tasted the segments gifted to them.

“I still can’t believe you never told me your birthday when we met,” Genevieve spoke around a carrot cake before spitting it out.

“Didn’t think it was necessary, we’d just been evacuated,” Jack shrugged, swallowing his.

“Still, we could’ve gone out, maybe a proper dance hall instead of your living room, made a day of it,” Genevieve argued good-naturedly.

“Are you kidding? It was the best birthday I’d ever had!” Jack said incredulously, palms open to the sky with his fork balanced between his right thumb and forefinger, “Spent it dancing with you to Glenn Miller and eating my Ma’s cooking, nothing can top it.”

“What about this for the cake?” Genevieve tossed a chunk of chocolate cake into his mouth, “It was only two dances!”

“Nope,” Jack shook his head for emphasis, spitting the cake into his reject box, “And it was still the best birthday.”

“Bet I can top it. With three dances.”

“Three whole dances, gee miss soon-to-be missus!”

Genevieve giggled before trying another portion of the vanilla sponge, a second opinion, “Are you gonna be in your number ones? Or a suit?”

“We went with a suit. Match the boys. You?”

Genevieve tapped her nose with her fork and grinned. “Not fair, I told you!”

“I’m going for a fitting this afternoon. Maybe when I see the finished result I’ll feel more generous.”

Annoyed, Jack threw a piece of white sponge at Genevieve and he aimed it so that he deliberately missed her mouth. Genevieve groaned in annoyance and recovered the piece from her lap. It actually wasn’t bad so she opened her mouth in request for another piece.

“Simple yet delicious, I like it,” She commented. This prompted Jack to try some and to agree with her. The decision made, Genevieve sat up and brushed the crumbs off her front. It could be cleaned up later. Tomorrow. Oh, at some point in the future. Jack stood with her and showered his crumbs onto the carpet.

“When I’m back, we’ll make a date of it,” Genevieve squeezed his hands as they planned to go, “I promise.”

“Any day with you is a day made,” Jack kissed her cheek with a cheesy grin that said “you can’t be mad at me, it’s my birthday”.

Genevieve squinted at him in an attempt to mask her embarrassment, “You sicken me… kiss me again?”

Jack obliged and kissed her other cheek, “Have fun at your fitting.”

“Oh, I will,” Genevieve rolled her eyes as she took her leave from the flat, cane in hand to walk to the dress shop. Last minute changes to a wedding in a few weeks looming, it was gonna be another long afternoon.

It’d taken a while, well over an hour, of Genevieve fidgeting and chatting mindlessly to the dressmaker. She could barely stand it because there was never a less interesting conversation to partake in. Her legs jiggled and she was told to keep still many a time.

Worst part, there were no mirrors in sight so Genevieve couldn’t see what was going on. She eased her eager mind on trivial topics like whether she was going wear her grandmother’s veil or not.

But finally the dressmaker stuck one final pin into the netting and stepped back. Moving into the focal point of the three mirrors, Genevieve’s hands curled around the silky fabric that was to be her wedding dress. Her eyes stayed glued to her reflection. The tulle rested daintily on the white, the polka dots only spotted with the movements of the skirts and her hips. She could feel the movement against her knees. A translucent collar to highlight the sweetheart neckline, it was a fancy and expensive version of a dress Genevieve used to own.

Something she was comfortable in. That was the goal. And she was comfortable. But it was something more. She felt beautiful. With her hair messed with stress and pins and clips holding the material in place, barefoot in the back of the dress shop, she felt beautiful.

“Oh darling.”

Genevieve didn’t even notice her “bridal team” entering. Her mother instantly burst into tears after her comment. Lilly, Karen, Ethel and Cora passed hankies and comments amongst themselves, about how Jack was going to lose it, how Genevieve should have her hair done, if any more amendments were to be made about the length of the dress.

“Are you ok?” Lilly touched Genevieve’s shoulder, “You haven’t said a word.”

Her gaze was unfocused as she simply watched at the reflection. Normally, she would’ve rolled her eyes at all this attention and fussing but it was as if she was being open to the idea of a big white wedding for the first time.

“I’m fine,” She said blankly. Then a smile crossed her lips, “It’s just… I’m getting married.”

“Damn right you are,” Ethel grinned back.

Lilly squeezed her sister’s shoulders, careful with the material as she leant in and whispered, “If Jack doesn’t cry, I’ll get up and kick him until he does.”

“Thanks, Lilly,” Genevieve turned to her. They shared a smile, shoulders nudging together as they looked down at the dress’ skirts. Her trembling hands were resting on top of them, the polka dots highlighting the ring as her fingers twitched against the netting.

After a few more tears were shed, the dress was taken off her with measurements noted. Beryl was adamant to keep it from Jack and planned to pick it up in a week to keep at her house.

Her cane making a jaunty beat with her footsteps, Genevieve smiled the whole way home. She was absolutely in the mood to go out dancing, go to the pub, do whatever. She was getting married to Jack and that was all that really mattered at the moment. Not the weeding prep, not the house hunting, not the budgeting.

She very nearly kicked down the door to Jack’s flat, she was so exulted. But she bottlenecked her emotions into using the front door key like a regular person. Jack waved at them from his spot by the cabinet.

“Hey, love! Now I know you said you wanted to take me out, treat me to a dance hall, but honestly I’m good to just stay in.”

Ignoring this, Genevieve walked right up to Jack and hugged him tight. Her face leant into his neck. Jack wasn’t entirely sure what prompted this but he loved her hugs. They made him feel wanted. His arm tightened around her waist in a snug grip in hopes of reciprocating that feeling.

“I’ll do whatever you want, anything for your birthday. You name it and we’ll do it.” Genevieve pulled back and lined her nose to his with a grin so wide she thought it might fall off her face, “I love you.”

With a smile confused as to where this affectionate outburst, Jack kissed her softly and replied, “I love you too.”

Then he sidled over to the record player he get from his family for his birthday, “So, anything?”

Placing the needle on the record he’d already set up, he sidestepped back into the hug. A slow melody played from the box. It filled the room with a tune that had a signature flair to it. Genevieve begrudgingly recognised it but did not complain. The melody was nice.

“Practise our first dance?” Jack beamed, holding his arms out in a new position. Genevieve knew that they wouldn’t be having a first dance in front of people at a reception. It would be in the hotel room they booked for one night. She eagerly placed her hands in position for she couldn’t wait for that first dance.

“How was the dress fitting?” Jack asked with a teasing tone.

“Bit boring but,” Genevieve lingered on her connective, “It was lovely.”

“Lovely, eh? Feel more inclined to tell me about your dress now?”

“Nope,” Genevieve shook her head. Jack let out a moan of annoyance, his head lolling back. He begged again, asking for it for his birthday present and bringing up that she said she’d do anything for him. But Genevieve had inherited stubbornness from her mother and kept her mouth shut, knowing the pay off would be much sweeter. Jack knew this too and eventually buttoned his lip.

Their slow dance position shifted from clasped hands and straight postures to the pair embracing one another, barely shuffling to the tune.

Then a faster tune played up and Genevieve took this as her cue to mock Jack’s dance moves from years ago. He started to laugh and then he copied her, movements identical to 1940, and she was glad that he hadn’t improved. She would’ve looked like an idiot otherwise. Here, they looked like idiots together. Idiots about to get married.

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