The next few days passed leisurely. Jacob briefed Evie and Henry on what had changed in the city, though the constant competitions had more to do with Evie keeping Jacob busy until it was evening and time to return to the house.
The routine to that was, for all the house had never been so full, easy. The dinner set out, between the Rooks that made up the household staff, the three Assassins and Angel with her now belly so big she could hardly fit in behind the chair. But the house was filled just the way she had always wanted it to be, treasured so deeply. With laughter and easiness, Jacob regaling with this story or that of the Rooks escapades, Henry embarrassing Evie about customs she had misunderstood in India, Evie's tales about the great and beautiful things she had seen for the first time. Raucous and loud, some tinge of life she had so sorely always wanted that lit the room brightly.
In was near dawn, a week later, that Jacob came running out of their room like a mad thing. Banging on Evie and Henry's door to get them up. Get them moving, boiling water and to see to Angel, before he - with one shoe on and no shirt ran for the midwife Angel had vetted herself for his peace of mind beforehand. Dragging her out of bed and back to the little upstairs room. That Angel still in the bed, drenched in sweat as she went into labour, holding Evie's hand tightly.
And there she would stay for the next fifteen hours.
It didn't seem to end, the haze of it. It went on and on and on. Jacob paced back and forth, outside the door in the corridor with Bartley and Henry. Tense as a fox to any noise, any little change, half a second from breaking down the door when Angel first wailed in pain. Standing up every time the door opened, waiting for news. Sitting down again when there was none. Eyes following the bloody fabric that came out of the room in increased worry.
Looking to Evie in those moments when she emerged, their eyes meeting briefly as she did her best to explain what was happening that the midwife said this was quite normal for a first birth, they often took a long, long time. Before another echo of that unending pain burst out, his eyes snapping to the source. That's when he saw Angel, through that crack in the door. Hair stuck to her, drenched in sweat with her eyes screwed shut, blood all over the sheets, with the midwife coaxing along with the women next to her, in more pain he than he could understand - or worse, stop. Not even help. In almost every way, he was useless to Angel, right now. Then Evie was called back, and the door was shut on him again, leaving him standing there, just as he went to follow her in.
Lost, half shaken, he turned back to Henry. Angel, he half started, was not very big, how much blood - ? and he stopped there when Henry cut him off with one stiff shake of his head and firm shove. A drink, they were getting him a drink. A sharp push to march him down the stairs to the kitchen.
Didn't offer him distracting words, just one tall glass of whiskey, and a call to Little Jack, somewhere near seven now, and prone to running errands for the rest of the Rooks, to go and fetch some company, anyone at all. It's not so much later, that there were five or six women, crammed into the Frye kitchen, around the small table, pouring him enough to keep him busy. Men and women who had children themselves, that could offer the words of assurance that only someone who had been through it themselves could. Enough to give Jacob, so uncharacteristically quiet, something to latch onto.
A full day went by, like that, the Rooks, Mr and Mrs Disraeli, Alec, tapping in and out of their rounds to keep him in good company. Filled, save for the silence when Evie appeared, met Jacob's gaze, shook her head and went to fetch more of the boiling water to take back upstairs.
Until in the evening, little after ten, there was a deafening scream that quieted everyone in the room and then — silence. One loud, and complete silence that went on and on, a frantic running of feet on the roof above, before —
A wail. Shakey, small, and brand new, echoed through the walls for the first time.
Jacob lept from his chair, scrambling out of the room. Taking the stairs two at a time, Henry following after him just as fast. The cheer erupting from the people gathered downstairs, wishing him the best as the two of them disappeared.
He burst into the room, to the smell of blood and sweat. The mess of childbirth quickly being cleaned away but lingered in the air and not so different to death. Evie, standing there holding a baby swaddled and just cleaned, was waiting for him. The baby, a little squashed, kept crying in her arms. Did babies always look so squashed? Because he didn't think he'd seen anything look so small and so new all at once. He hadn't seen them so...
Wordless, he looks to his hands - his killer's hands, clean and stained all at once, and realised, he'd never held something so delicate. But with a guiding motion Evie reached and showed him in how to hold something that small. With one muttered admission in his ear: she didn't know how to hold the damn thing either.
It choked the fear in his throat as he took his - his -?
"Son." is what Evie tells him, as she, Jacob and Henry peered down at the squashed little face, that finally safe in his father's arms he stopped his crying. Blue eyes opened, for the first time looking up, confused and dazed at the world to which he had entered.
He stepped forward, immediate, because the thought, the first thought was: did Angel know her boy had her eyes, just like Jacob had wanted?
And Angel, his Angel, who had been watching him unmoving in the bed, smiled, softly, beckoning him closer. Closer he was happy to go - guiding the boy into her arms for the first time, his forehead leaning against hers. Nuzzling against her brow with the tip of his nose to press a soft kiss there, then another and another and another. "You did it, luv. You did it, we've got a boy."
One tired hand reaches up, stroking along the side of his face. "Fatherhood suits you, Jacob. Promise me you'll look after him?" Because even as she touches Jacob, her eyes stay low on the little boy. Small and looking around, exhausted already by the surrounds, but there. Safe. Between them, with Jacob's arms around her and hers around the tiny form that was their child. God forbid anyone see him cry, but there was no helping the way he pressed his face into her hair and breathing her in, and she curled tightly back into him.
"'Course I will, I'll have you hounding me every day won't I?" He's so quiet in his affirmation, but direct as he pulls back to look at her properly. Pushing her damp hair away from her face, watching her eyes close. "Angel? Angel?"
But without him to hold her, she no longer had the strength to hold her arms up, and the child slipped in her hold as she began to fall away completely from them both. He picked the boy up, quick as he could, as the women that had been present lurched forward, sharp and immediate to their feet. His free hand bracing her head as she sunk away into unconsciousness. "Angel?!" the bark in his voice was panicked, "Angel!"
Molly pushed him back, immediately stepping in to press her ear to Angel's chest, for the only confirmation that mattered - "She's still breathing! Get a doctor!"
And for the second time on the same day, Jacob was left helpless, standing there.
The only thing that flickered as real at the end of that long cold dark, was Evie's hand on his shoulder, a worry flickering on her face - but one simple affirmation with it. She wasn't going anywhere, and like they always did, they wouldn't give into it. "Jacob, we're here."
It's not much, but right then, it's the only thing that mattered as she guided him, not daring to take the boy clutched to his chest from his hands, to sit back down.
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pt three }