Work Text:
It’s not that they plan to have only one child, but when James turns two and they decide to try again, it just never happens. There doesn’t seem to be any particular reason, at least none that the doctors can discern. The solutions they suggest involve a lot of money and invasive procedures and shockingly high failure rates, and neither of them wants to put the other through all that.
Jemma cries only once, late at night, three years after they first realize something might be wrong. “I’m so happy with our life,” she insists. “We’ve fought so hard to be here, and I love our family more than anything. But Fitz—”
“I know,” he whispers, brushing a strand of hair from her face and placing a kiss to her forehead. He blinks against the tears filling his own eyes. “I wanted to meet her, too.”
It’s the first time they’ve spoken of it. Even when, months into Jemma’s pregnancy, the doctor had shown them their baby on the monitor and announced they were having a boy, they hadn’t talked about the daughter they’d once had yet never met. When Deke visits, they smile indulgently at the easy way he tosses James in the air, and they don’t talk about his mother. After James inevitably falls asleep sprawled across Deke’s lap, Jemma passes around the Zima they can only brave drinking for their grandson, and they listen delightedly to the adventures he is having on an uncracked Earth. Every time, Fitz swallows back down the question he’s too afraid to ask: Do you resent us for not bringing her back to you? But the question is meaningless because surely Deke knows, like he and Jemma both know, any daughter they might have had in this timeline couldn’t possibly be her.
And yet, all scientific, rational thought aside, there is an ache Fitz is ashamed to feel: a space in his heart carefully carved out for a beautiful baby girl who will grow up to be exactly like her mother. A daughter he knew he would raise before he’d even married. And James, his precious, longed-for child—he worries he has already failed him because in his thoughtful silences and emotional outbursts, Fitz sees himself and the solitary childhood he hadn’t wanted to pass on.
But if wounds never fully heal, they at least stop throbbing. The latest household emergencies involve a very minor burn from James’s unauthorized experiments and having to inform his wife the grocery store is out of her favorite crisps. Every now and then he has to stop for a moment and breathe, because his life is wonderful in a way that still feels like a dream he’s desperate not to wake from.
So when, eight years after James is born, Jemma holds up three positive pregnancy tests, neither his brain nor his body seems to know how to react. He remains rooted by their bedroom door, eyes wide and uncomprehending. Her words barely register before he’s already worrying about their age and if this could put Jemma in danger, and yet something completely illogical inside of him pushes all these thoughts away because he knows what this will mean. His arms pull her flush against him and his lips crash into hers and in between his kisses and her laughter all he can say is, “We didn’t lose her. This time we won’t lose her.”
++
James is an extraordinary child, even disregarding the obvious bias of his grandparents and the entirety of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s inner circle, but they’ve agreed he’s too young for certain truths. He knows his parents used to work for S.H.I.E.L.D. and he knows sometimes they consult on projects that require him to stay far away from the lab, but for now Deke is his uncle, time travel is science fiction, and there never existed a future where he wasn’t free to roam the beautiful Scottish countryside with his doting grandmother.
Fitz and Jemma don’t mean to exclude him as they prepare for their daughter’s arrival. They don’t even realize how their excited whispers might appear to him. They’ve lived their lives all out of order, and someday they will sit down with their children and try to map out time as if it had ever been linear, but for now Fitz places his warm hands on the swell of Jemma’s abdomen and they speak a language no one else has ever understood.
It’s when James throws a spectacular tantrum at the dinner table and announces his intention to move in with Deke that they realize he’s been faking excitement about his sister. Jemma, sicker and more exhausted during this pregnancy than her first, orders him to his room. She doesn’t need to ask Fitz—he’s jumped through holes in the universe for his wife; he can have a conversation with their son.
Fitz has actually done the reading, so he’s prepared for the feelings of jealousy. He’s sure James, unconsciously or not, worries about losing his parents’ undivided attention. Maybe he even thinks they’ll take away his newly reinstated lab privileges in favor of making him help with the baby.
What he isn’t prepared for, what he’s not sure he could ever have prepared for, is the way James sits carefully perched on the edge of his bed, backpack already filled with clothes and his most important belongings, his expression determined.
“You’ll love her more,” James whispers. Tears shine in his eyes, but his face is defiant, and Fitz doesn’t know whether his heart breaks more for the falsehood his son so clearly believes, or that his fiercely open child is trying desperately to hide from him.
For a moment, he doesn’t know how to respond. Even now, the words sometimes jumble in his head and it’s worse when he’s feeling vulnerable, when voices remind him of his failings. He hesitates, closes his eyes, and concentrates on breathing. He practices techniques he’s perfected from years of therapy until he can kneel in front of his son and not fall apart.
James is silent through all of this, and once again Fitz is infinitely grateful they’ve somehow raised a kind boy who always lets him take the time he needs, who holds his hand when it shakes and has never allowed anyone to mock him for the stutter that occasionally resurfaces. He wishes more than anything he could explain to his son properly, but words have never been good enough, even before his brain injury.
Fitz folds him carefully in his arms, surprised as always at how small he still is, how he fits against him, filling cracks he never realized he had until the moment James was born.
“We won’t love her more,” he says softly, lips brushing against his son’s silky curls. “If you’re determined to leave, will you at least take a walk with me first?”
James’s silence stretches for a long moment until finally he nods, shrugging out of Fitz’s embrace. They walk out of the house together, Fitz throwing Jemma a look he hopes is reassuring, and head down the moonlit lane towards the park. He has an almost overwhelming urge to carry him, but James is very against being treated like a baby at the best of times, so instead he links his fingers through his son’s, relieved when he doesn’t pull away.
When they arrive, James dutifully allows himself to be led towards the swingset, and they each take a swing. James twists his slowly, around and around, while Fitz drags a foot through the sand, writing equations and erasing them, destroying the world and recreating it endlessly.
“There’s a lot we haven’t told you,” he says, when he’s sure he can manage it without his voice breaking. “And I’m sorry for that. I really am, and I hope someday you’ll understand why we thought it was for the best.”
James says nothing, leaning his head against the chain and staring at the stars. His fascination with space is both a mirror image of his and Jemma’s and something that continually alarms him. Fitz finds himself constantly pointing out all the beautiful, fascinating things on Earth, but he supposes he can’t expect his son to crave something he’d never lost.
“Maybe this won’t make sense because of that. Or because I can’t explain it well. But your mum and I never thought you could exist. We...we’d been told, we knew we would have a daughter. We prepared for her. We felt like we’d known her for years. But you, we didn’t think we could ever have you.”
James looks over, finally making eye contact and glaring at him in disbelief. “Of course you could have a son. Statistically, pregnancies are slightly more likely to result in males. And even if you had a girl, maybe she wouldn’t actually be a girl, because I was reading about how—”
Fitz cuts him off with a laugh, utterly charmed at the way he really is a mix of himself and Jemma and yet entirely, wonderfully unique. “You’re right,” he acknowledges. “It was silly of us. But I think we both got to a point where we just...didn’t feel we had the right to hope for certain things.”
He sighs, leaning back and letting the swing slowly carry him. “So many terrible things happened. I still...sometimes it’s still hard to talk about. Or think about, honestly. But we made it here, and we found the home we’d always dreamed of. We were so incredibly happy, and it seemed like wishing for anything more was tempting fate.”
James processes this carefully. “Because you’re cursed?” he asks, and Fitz groans.
“I wish your mother hadn't told you that. I said that one time.”
James looks skeptical, so Fitz pushes forward. “The point is, your very existence was a surprise. The best surprise, really. And I thought I couldn’t possibly have any more love left in me until I met you. This baby is different. We knew a long time ago we might have her, and we will love her so much, but we could never love you less.” Fitz reaches out to grab the chain of James’s swing, halting his son’s rotations and forcing him to meet his eyes. “I promise. If you only ever believe one thing I tell you, please believe this.”
Tears stream down James’s face and Fitz aches to wipe them away, but he waits for his son to make the first move. James hesitates, then steps down from his swing and climbs onto Fitz’s lap. They both barely fit, and the chains press uncomfortably into Fitz’s side when he shifts to give James more room, but he doesn’t care. He can feel tears soaking his shirt, so he wraps his arms around his son, resting his cheek to the top of James’s head and letting the swing sway them back and forth.
He wouldn’t remember this, but Fitz used to bring him here as a baby, when he wouldn’t stop crying and Jemma inevitably collapsed in exhaustion. He would sneak out of the house, eschewing the stroller for Jemma’s wrap, and swing for hours with James on his chest until he fell asleep. The way James burrows into his chest now takes him back to all those years ago. He’s very nearly too big for it to work anymore; this might even be the last time he can comfort his son like this, and the thought causes him to hold James even tighter. He thinks of his own mother, letting her only child leave for the Academy at fifteen, and can’t fathom ever having her strength.
“I always wanted a brother or sister,” he confesses, brushing his fingers through James’s hair. “I was lonely as a kid, until I met your mum.”
“But I’m not lonely,” James insists. “I have you and Mum. And Uncle Deke and tío Mack and tía YoYo and Aunt Daisy. And the kids at school are all right. Liam and I did that project together. It was fun.”
“I know,” Fitz says. “And we’ll always be here for you. But I still think you and your sister could have a great relationship. You just need to give her a chance.”
“Okay,” James sighs, as if he’s agreeing only to appease his father, but Fitz can tell from the way his breathing calms that they’ve turned a corner.
“And I promise,” Fitz continues, “if she’s being annoying and you want to hang out alone, me and you, we will. No questions asked. Okay?”
Fitz can feel James smiling against him. He closes his eyes, enjoying the slightly chilly breeze and the way his son’s quiet puffs of air feather against his neck. He doesn’t particularly want to move, but when he catches himself nearly falling asleep he gently lifts them both up.
“We should head back. Your mum will be worried. Want me to carry you?”
James rolls his eyes. “I’m not a baby.” But he drags his feet, exhaustion causing him to stumble, until finally he tugs at Fitz’s arm, pulling him lower so he can jump on his back. He wraps his arms around Fitz’s neck, resting his head against a shoulder.
“So, are you going to Uncle Deke’s? Or will you stay a little bit longer?”
James tightens his grip and shakes his head. “Maybe later. He never makes me good food anyway.”
Fitz laughs as he turns onto their street. “Your Uncle Deke grew up in a place where they didn’t have many options. It’s left him with an...interesting palate.”
“I don’t like it,” James confesses. “I mean, he lets me eat all the ice cream and candies Mum won’t let me have. That’s nice. But last time we had a box of Twinkies for dinner. He found them in some American store, and they were expired.”
“Great,” Fitz mutters. “I didn't know Twinkies could actually expire. Let’s not tell your mum any of this, and I’ll have a talk with him next time he comes ‘round, okay?”
“‘Kay,” James agrees.
Fitz thinks he might say something else, but his arms start twitching slightly, the way they always do in sleep. He carries him carefully into their house, into their room where Jemma is wide awake. She’s been trying to read but mostly worrying, he can tell, and she smiles in relief when they walk in.
He sets James carefully down on the bed and steps to the dresser, pulling out his pajamas to change.
“I know,” he says before she can protest. “He’s way too old for this.”
Jemma laughs fondly, tucking the blanket around their son and switching off her lamp. “Yes, and I know it’s not really for him.”
He gives her a sheepish look and she smirks up at him, but her eyes are shimmering and soft. He lies down on the other side of James, turning off his own light and stretching an arm over his son, trailing his fingers down the curve of Jemma’s belly. Of all the impossible things Fitz has experienced in his lifetime, the one that he finds most incredible and unbelievable is the way his universe keeps growing and yet somehow always fits into his arms.
Jemma whispers something reassuring, but sleep is already pulling him under. He’s never been happier or safer than he is right now, his wife’s quiet endearments mingling with the sound of his son’s heartbeat, the feel of his daughter’s movements beneath his palm.