ILLEGITIMATE

Chapter 11

Party Favors

One morning when he wakes up it's a month before Charlotte's first birthday. He has no idea where the time went. Of course it's not wasted time, but he's mournful she isn't a baby anymore. She isn't the light, soft bundle who nestled quietly in his arm while he watched hockey games. The one who huddled unknowingly against his chest in her sleep like a little tree frog.

Now she's starting to walk. Reaches out chubby hands on the ends of thins wrists to him. Rests with an elbow cranked on the coffee table casually like she's in a bar. She's never going to a bar. He will burn her I.D. Jules walks with her; half crouched while leading her with two hands like how his mom taught him to skate. He's going to teach Charlotte how to skate. Sometimes he'll be sitting on the couch going over the bills or relaxing with a hanging hand and she'll find it. Same hand around the same finger, same bewildered staring expression. Twinkles her stubby fingers at him and exclaims in broken syllables until his already faltering resistance becomes nonexistent. She always ends up in his lap.

He sits on the couch, grumbling at bills, because the money from his apartment diffused like particles into the air. Some for house repairs, some for Charlotte's university fund, some for a certain ring, and some for a rainy day. Or two if he has it his way. Once he groaned and slammed his hand down on the table in frustration. Charlotte made the same guttural grunt as him and slapped her palm down beside his. Giggled and clapped because she thought it was a game. He kissed her cheek and put the bills away, because they didn't matter anymore.

She calls him 'Da'. He and Jules never did have a concrete conversation concerning what they should groom Charlotte to call him. It just happened naturally. He's not sure how. Maybe the TV shows or movies she watches with two stable parental figures. Maybe the people in public who state, "She looks more like mommy than daddy." Maybe because the first few nights after bringing her home he inadvertently referred to Jules as 'your Mother' or 'Mommy' and Jules started reciprocating. Maybe because after getting to spend more time alone with Charlotte, he started referring to himself as 'Daddy'.

Before she was born, the idea of Steve's biological child calling him 'Dad' or 'Da' was a little unnerving. Pretty uncomfortable for him. After he held her that first time she became his. Fuck Steve. He's the one who took care of her prenatally. The one who was there for her birth. The one who signed the certificate. The one who would do anything for his little girl. He adopted her the moment she adopted him. It's not even a logical adoption. She was always meant to be his daughter.

She's a little less than a year old, but has an innate ability to bring out the best in people. Especially the Team. Instantly bonded with Wordy, who has a second identity with baby girls. Stares Ed down until he finally chuckles and says she needs to become a negotiator. Becomes a hectic ball of excitement around Spike who proclaims, "Uncle Spike needs to get his baby on." But she's the best with Sarge.

Work becomes tough. A mother tries to use her own kid for a human shield and it gets to him. He can't deal with familial hot calls anymore. They hit too close because he has a gorgeous girlfriend and a beautiful baby girl at home and if anything happens to either of them, he's sure he would lose it. Not just be inconsolable. He'd dive into insanity and a furious rampage. He's starting to understand why half the subjects act the way they do.

While he's leaving the locker room he checks on Sarge, who wasn't able to save the mom. Suicide by cop. Not him thank God, he was Sierra Two. But the Boss feels the impact of the loss almost in the strength the son does. Sarge sits at the table in the briefing room, head bowed and jaw set. His hand supports his chin as his eyes flicker over the paperwork, the transcripts from the hot call. Only when he takes three more steps does he notice her hidden form ensconced in his free arm.

Charlotte sits in Sarge's lap. She's wearing a little white dress with red flowers on it, white leggings and little boots. Her dark brown hair has a headband with a moderate sized red bow. She's absolutely adorable. His boss continues to go over the reports while she stays patiently in his lap, sometimes glancing at the papers like she does the bills at home when he has to figure out how to pay them.

Sarge grunts in frustration, switches his hand from his chin to cover his mouth as he mulls over something. Charlotte catches the descent in his mood. Her small head tilting up to examine him with large, round questioning eyes. She shifts in his arm and places a hand softly on his cheek. She's going through a small obsession with cheeks and noses. She never hits, only touches. A tiny fingertip pushing into his cheek when he gets home. It's enough to make him forget any bad day.

"Hey." Jules appears at the end of the hallway. Her coat and a tinier, pinker one draping over her arms.

"Hey Sweetheart." He grins and kisses her cheek when she stops beside him. She's still not big on the public displays of affection within the SRU. "When did you get here?"

"Ten minutes ago?" Crossing her arms she hugs the coats tighter to her body as they watch Sarge tickle Charlotte's side. Then sit her on the table and fix one of her boots which is coming loose. He talks to her with such intensity while stringing the laces, and she listens with her mouth a little open.

"Just come for a visit?"

"Actually, she went insane looking for you today."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah." She laughs and shuffles on her feet. The coats rustle. "Woke up from her nap and just kept calling 'Da'. I told her you were at work and she wouldn't hear it. She went into every room of the house. She started crying for you and it was heartbreaking."

He can't even describe the feeling. Just knowing she needs him as much as he needs her. They love each other in hugs and kisses and bedtime stories. But she misses him when he's gone. It's why the interior of his locker is collaged with pictures of her and Jules. It means something. "Sarge scooped her up?"

"Well I had to go down to the fourth floor to confirm a few things for when I start working from home next month."

"Did you take a gun?"

She rolls her eyes at his slightly exaggerated concern, but then the small grin falls from her face. Her vision turns back towards Sarge who notices them with a wave, and approaches with their daughter pressing on his cheek and pulling faces. "Today made me realize how lucky we are. Charlotte and I, to have you."

His fingers entwine with hers. "We're all lucky."

"Da." Charlotte's lips pout as she detects him. Her placating hand falls from Sarge's cheek to reach for him. Tiny fingers wiggling through the air, feet in mid jog. She's still light in his arms, like she has the bones of a bird. But she hugs him like a monkey. Arms around his neck, legs wrapping his chest, cheek squished against his.

A few weeks later she has her first birthday party and doesn't understand what's happening. The candles on the cake scare her. The noise makers scare her. The music scares her. The streamers scare her. She spends the majority of the time crying in a slanted party hat. Everyone shares the same laughing 'aww', because they think it's funny and cute. He and Jules don't because her trauma is genuine. He can tell by the way she buries her face, her wet cheek, in his shoulder for protection. The party is short but she plays a little with Wordy's girls while the Team destroys the decorations.

Everyone leaves early. Wordy's daughter, Lilly, gets sick and vomits cake into the toy box. Spike has a date. Ed and Sophie have dinner plans. Sarge offers to help them clean, but they decline and slowly chip away at the gutted interior of the living room. By the time they finish it's after Charlotte's bedtime. The mixture of overexcitement from presents and people, the lurking fear from birthday decorations, and not being in her crib on schedule has her cranky. She falls asleep with her head cradled against Jules chest after a calming bath and a single bedtime story.

He's already in bed when Jules collapses beside him. He's done back to back twelve hour shifts and this was more exhausting.

"Sam, turn off your light."

"Sweetheart, I couldn't move if I wanted to."

"Seriously?" There's an angry sigh and a shift in the bed as she sits up again. "I just put our daughter to sleep and you're making me get up to turn off a light that's right beside you?"

"I'll get the next one."

There's no sound or movement for a minute and he thinks he's fallen asleep, but then she sighs again, "When she wakes up in the morning, you're getting her."

"Fine."

He's still on top of the covers because he couldn't muster the strength to crawl under them. Her knee presses into his thigh, and she leans over him to flick off the lamp. Her smooth legs trickle past his fingers. Her fragrant hair tickles at his neck and chin as she braces herself against his shoulder with one shaky hand. Her torso presses against his diagonally and suddenly he's up.

Before she can extinguish the light his arms seize her, straighten her, startle her as he sits up and forces her to accompany him.

"Sam." It's an aggravated grunt.

He doesn't kiss her lips, because he knows she won't respond much, instead his lips course over her cheeks, down her chin, fall to her neck and then her chest. Walk along her collarbone before they dip between her breasts. His hand traces the curves of her body, down her back, her hips, her ass and over her thighs.

"Sam." It's a little breathless, but she places a hand on his chest to force him back. He raises his knees behind her, forcing her to topple forward. The action creates a delicious friction. She moans as his mouth finally greets hers and she kisses him back with as much fervor.

His hands dip underneath her long nightshirt. Fingers dance over her hips, kneading a moment and then skim up to her ribs. She grinds down against him, finding the stiffness in his boxers and breathes against his neck, "I swear to God, if you don't turn off the light after this—"

As he gropes at her shirt, strangled cries come from down the hall. Their motions slow, the pace he set coming to an immediate halt as his knees settle against the bed and he inhales sharply in discomfort. Jules dismounts him and places a chaste kiss on his cheek, rubbing it in with the pad of her thumb.

"Some other time." She pauses at the doorway and adds, "This light better be off when I get back."

He sighs, not angry, just disappointed. They haven't had sex in almost three months and it's not from his lack of trying. He works long and draining hours; she takes care of Charlotte all day. When there is time, they're both exhausted.

"Sam." He can barely hear Jules above the screaming. It scares him, her voice is pitchy. Frantic and panicked. He struggles to pull on his sweatpants, hops on one foot pulling them up down the angled hallway. Is in the nursery before he can be called for again.

Charlotte wails against Jules' shoulder. Her face is scarlet and shiny with moisture. Her lips, the outline of her mouth stained brown from watery vomit which is covering her chest and her bedding. All cheese pizza and birthday cake.

"Sam." Jules rocks their daughter. One arm scooped underneath her bum, and the other cradling the base of her head. "She's burning up." She shakes her head and rustles a hand through the clumping, curling hair on the back of Charlotte's head. "She's burning up."

"Okay. It's okay." He reaches to take her, but Jules twists away. Hesitates. It's the first time she's ever outwardly denied him their daughter. It hurts. It hurts like a knife digging upwards in his gut, hitting his ribcage and embedding there for the rest of his life. He pretends not to notice, though his fingers twitch. Without showing his reservations he reaches for Charlotte again. Doesn't say anything because he can't. Jules nods and hands the toddler to him. She is on fire. A tiny, sweating, crying mess. "Go get changed. Get me a shirt. Get her bag."

Jules nods again. Fingers bunching to hide her mouth as she watches him try to calm Charlotte. "Jules?" His voice is gentle and he touches her arm softly. The last thing they need now is an argument, is to blame each other when they both blame themselves.

"Sorry." She barely croaks before scurrying out of the room.

He waits a second or two, just swaying Charlotte. It's what got her to sleep as a baby. But this isn't just her being fussy at bedtime. This is her being sick. She cries harder, pounds her fists against his bare chest.

"Hey Sweetie." He whispers close to her ear, his hand rubbing up and down her back. Untangles her fist and holds her small hand in his palm. Kisses her temple softly. "It's okay. You're going to be okay."

Her puppy pajamas are covered in vomit and he lies her down on the changing table to peel them off. The pajamas are made for the winter weather and only insulate her feverish skin. Instead he pulls out a lighter onesie with pink and blue stripes. Guides her thrashing arms and legs through the appropriate holes. He rushes her into the bathroom where he washes off her face, while she battles him. Arms propelling, legs treading invisible water, neck wrenching her head left than right.

Jules reappears dressed. Has Charlotte's diaper bag, the car keys and a shirt for him. He exchanges their daughter for the clothing and keys. Takes the stairs blindly while pulling on a sweatshirt.

He speeds like a maniac. Jules doesn't notice or doesn't care, because they're both preoccupied. She rides in the back with Charlotte. Strokes her face, holds her hand and whispers soothing words although their daughter is still screaming. It reminds him of the first time they drove home from the hospital together. How he wouldn't go above twenty. How people were walking down the street faster than he was driving.

He drops them off at the emergency entrance, tells Jules to let the nurses know he's coming in. Assumes a toddler with a fever is a pretty big emergency. It's a big emergency to him. But after finding a parking space in the lot down the street, paying the lump sum and running through two traffic lights which flash authoritative hands against him, he's in the waiting room and he recognizes her cry upon entry.

"My daughter is sick."

"Triage order is set up by arrival or importance. She'll have to wait her turn."

"She has a high fever and—"

"She'll have to wait her turn."

So he sits silent and upset beside Jules, who is silent but terrified. Charlotte's head lolls heavily against her breasts. Eyes wrinkled shut with omnipresent tears like when she was first born. Wet face permeating Jules' loose t-shirt which he now recognizes as his. Tiny fists gripping at the hanging material as her body shifts in perpetual discomfort.

Other people in the waiting room begin to stare at them. When Charlotte doesn't cease her incessant sobs, they glare. So he glares back. Ready to bring them up on fantastical charges of child endangerment if they say or do anything about his daughter.

"She won't stop." Jules voice is lost in the sea of screams, growing and encompassing all like a series of waves. She bounces their daughter on her knee but it only results in giving her a hiccup. "Sam, she won't stop."

"It's going to be okay." One of his hands is on her lower back; the other is on top of hers on Charlotte's back as they both rub to pacify the sickness.

There's a brief pause in her cries and they both remain motionless in case their movements stir up the tears again. But then the peace is broken by a spray of tacky vomit shooting from Charlotte's mouth and onto Jules' shoulder and into her hair. This only increases the frequency and volume of the crying and he snaps.

While Jules cleans off her shoulder and Charlotte's face with one of the cloths from the diaper bag, he approaches the nurse again. "My daughter just threw up again, she's running a fever, she's crying so hard she can't breathe."

The nurse leans her body to check over his shoulder as if she can't hear the crying. As if she needs to see Charlotte's red face to verify his story. But then grimly nods. "All right. Come back."

They're led to a common area with a single gurney sanctioned off by a privacy curtain. He volunteers to hold Charlotte, but Jules refuses to let her go. Sits on the gurney and faces their daughter forward so he can entertain her by wiggling her feet, but it doesn't work. Fat tears slide down her irritated cheeks and fall from her chin. Full lips pout. Big round eyes catch his in a single flash and stare at him sorrowfully.

Jules refuses to relinquish Charlotte several times once the doctor arrives and he has to slowly explain the benefits of having a doctor hold their sick daughter. She nods in a weak comprehension. Slowly he pries away fussing Charlotte and passes her to the doctor. The stranger only boils more discomfort within her and she reaches for him. Claws for him.

"I'm right here." He tells her because she's not even opening her eyes through the tears anymore. Just crying and screaming and reaching for him in the darkness.

The doctor examines Charlotte, takes her temperature, looks in her ears and nose, and prods her stomach. She fights him. Grimaces, kicks, punches with little baby fists. After a few minutes he declares she has the stomach flu. It's caused her to become dehydrated and the first step to remedy that is an IV. Finally he gets his daughter back. She's more traumatized than any first birthday party could ever make her. She clings to him, and he holds her still while they start the central line. Holds her pale, skinny arm out because her same hand is around his same finger. The whole incident nearly destroys Jules who tries her best to keep her calm voice from trembling as she strokes their daughter's hair.

They're forced to stay overnight and shipped up to the PICU, the most depressing place on the planet. The hospital is a dangerous place to be, the PICU is the hell of the hospital. A complete level of just sick and terminally ill children. Charlotte settles in a sterilized hospital crib with a teddy bear pattern decorating the interior. She wears only a new diaper and an IV so her temperature drops safely. Jules trembles beside him, and he pulls her closer as they watch their daughter drift into a restless sleep.

An hour passes. Then two. Neither of them even twitches. They don't want to wake her. Don't want to cause more pain. Finally he nudges Jules softly with his shoulder and gives her hand a squeeze. "You should go home."

"What?" Hand drops from her mouth and her eyes are bloodshot and empty like all the emotions have been kicked out of her. He knows. He feels the exact same way.

"Go home and have a shower. It shouldn't take that long."

"I'm not leaving Sam."

"You're covered in baby vomit."

"I'm not leaving."

"Jules, it's in your hair."

"I can't, if anything happens to her—"

"I'll be here." He holds the side of her face and gently places a kiss onto her cheek. Watches her eyes flutter closed from fatigue or from the need of reassurance and hopefully finding it. "Nothing is going to happen to her." She doesn't answer him, and he wonders if it's a trust issue. Remembers when she wouldn't let him hold Charlotte earlier. Knows it's not him, but just lingering pieces of the past. They're a family now, and she needs to trust him. He would never let anything happen to either of them. "I'll make sure of it."

"Okay," she mumbles. Applies the early morning routine to step soundlessly through the room and retrieve her purse. He holds the car keys out for her, and both her hands encircle his. Hold his so tight; the touch and the tension betray the semi-constructed expression she still wears. "Please Sam, take care of her."

Kissing her softly on the lips, his fingers run over hers, reinforce and support hers. "I promise you Jules. I won't let anything happen to her."

Charlotte sleeps softly in the crib even in the absence of her mother. It's not an idea Jules is willing to accept without coercion just yet. His daughter's chest rises and falls without a subsequent sound, and her balled fist rests near her pouting lips.

For a little more than an hour, he doesn't move. His feet start to feel numb, then his shins from lack of motion. His hands wring around the crib railing for a noiseless support. Everything is in a precarious balance right now from how Jules left it, and he fears leaving the spot he was left in would disrupt the stability of the room.

Jules returns in impeccable timing factoring in the shower and the drive. He knows she sped. She is also missing her winter coat and there is a path of dribbling water trailing her into the room.

"How is she?" Hushed whisper urgent as she tiptoes over to the crib. Settles when she observes Charlotte still peacefully asleep.

Grabbing her icy bicep, he feels confident enough to take a few steps away from the crib. "Where's your coat?"

"What?" Her eyes dart over her bare arms and then check over her back like it might have fallen on the floor. "I don't know?" She shakes her head and shrugs. "I forgot it?"

"Your hair is soaked." Gestures to a garbage can in the corner of the room much better equated at catching water.

She wrenches her arm away. "It's fine."

"You're leaking water all over the floor. You're going to catch a cold."

Relenting, she follows him, wet hand in wet hand. He gathers her moist hair in a slick, drooling ponytail and squeezes it out over the garbage can for her. The water doesn't spill on the floor. No unnecessary hazards or messes. Part of being a parent.

While she collects her hair up into a bun, he retrieves his coat. Drapes it around her shoulders and it enrobes her. She groups the open sides and sighs into the collar. They stand abstractly loyal beside the crib all night long. Watch the blank sky through the window diffuse to navy, then reds and oranges of the early city sky. He holds her, arms wrapped around her waist. His coat is so big on her it feels like a sleeping bag, like the G.I. Joe one he had when he was younger until Natalie threw up in it.

Sometimes he gets too sentimental, can't be strong for her in the moment like she needs him to be and his grip inadvertently tightens. When it's really bad he ducks his head into the side of her neck and closes his eyes. Pretends they're at home and he's relishing in the minutes before the rambunctious, now one-year-old shakes the gate on her crib and cries for them. Jules knows. She understands him. Snakes a hand in comfort at an unusual angle up his neck, over his jaw, his ear and into his hair. Puzzle piece perfect. Cogs in a machine.

Charlotte leaves the hospital the next day at 5pm. He and Jules don't leave the room unless it's to get small, overpriced cups of horrible hospital coffee, or to piss said cups of coffee out. A little before noon, Charlotte rouses with some familiar sounds and in a picture of perfection sits up and rubs a hand at one of her tired eyes. The lashes clump and then fan over the radiant, calming stormy green.

Jules cradles her, sways on the verge of laughter and sobs. Clutches their daughter to her chest and kisses her cheeks, telling her how worried she was. Charlotte listens to her words like they're an epic tale passed down from generations. Eyes alert, mouth with twelve tiny teeth wide in awe. When Jules stops talking she points to the IV sticking out of her arm. "Dis?"

When the doctor removes the IV he distracts Charlotte. She's sitting in Jules lap and he has one of her toys from her diaper bag. Her favorite one. A little pink dog he bought her on a whim because she's his and he wants to deliver the world to her. Tiny teeth gleam as she giggles wildly. Pink Puppy does a jaunt up her legs, sniffs at her feet, her hands, her nose and she grabs it and hugs it. Doesn't even notice the bandage or pain on her arm.

Before handing her over, Jules places one last kiss on her cheek, though Charlotte is still distracted by Pink Puppy. He gets the honor of carrying her out of the hospital, feels like they're in a parade and Charlotte is Santa or the Pope, or in simpler times an astronaut who just reached the moon and back. Her little head rests perfectly underneath his chin and her fingers fold against the collar of his sweater because Jules is still wearing his coat.

They have to pick up an antibiotic for her. He offers to drop them off at home and go to the pharmacy, but Jules refuses to be separated from either of them. They're a unit now, moving on less than an hour's sleep through the narrow pharmacy aisles. Charlotte perching on his one arm, his other hand grasping Jules'.

At 8pm after a modest supper, they all pass out on the bed. Charlotte situated between them, just as she did sometimes when she was newborn and neither of them could stand to put her three feet away in the bassinet. Pink Puppy is in an unconscious chokehold and her other hand grasps his finger. The same hand, the same finger.

Appropriately, he's the last one into bed. Across from him, on her side, Jules is struggling to stay awake. "Did you lock the front door?"

"Yeah." Fingers snap off his bedside lamp. But hers is still on. Without a word he gets out of bed and turns her lamp off.

"Did you get her medicine for the morning ready?"

Climbing back into bed he leans over and kisses her forehead. "Everything is ready for the morning."

"Sippy cup?" With the stomach flu they're supposed to keep Charlotte overly hydrated. She never liked bottles. Never exclusively used one. When she became old enough they gave her a sippy cup. But when Jules stopped breast feeding two months ago, the cup took priority and messes increased tenfold.

He lightly kisses Charlotte's head and she lets out a small sigh in her sleep. He answers in a whisper so he doesn't disturb her, "It's on my bedside table."

Jules doesn't answer him, and her eyes are closed so he assumes she's asleep. Her hospital dried hair spread haphazardly across her pillow. Her hand rests on Charlotte's side. He smiles, exhausted by relieved.

"I love you."

His grin widens as he adjusts the blankets around Jules' shoulders and lets them dip so they don't cover Charlotte. "I love you too."


Next Chapter - Shit goes down, both at the SRU and with the Braddock/Callaghan household. It was going well, you didn't think it would be that easy did you?

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