Chapter Text
Jenny was sitting on the porch swing with Nora. They’d gotten into the habit of doing this, somehow, between the hustle and bustle of the abject chaos that was integrating someone new into an already bustling family. It was twilight, and in two months, Jenny’s baby was going to come into the world without a dad.
“I don’t know if I’m saving him the trouble or just adding to the pile of things that he’ll eventually be in therapy for twenty years down the line,” Jenny was saying, head on Nora’s shoulder. Nora was embroidering one of the pillowcases for what had now become Jenny’s room, tongue between her teeth as she squinted in the glow of the porch light. “I mean, the way I see it, I had ten years with parents who were crazy about each other, and I turned out astronomically messed up. I could be doing him a huge favor.”
“Was Rupert ‘crazy about you?’” said Nora mildly.
Jenny blew out a frustrated breath. “I’m trying to make myself feel better.”
“Is it working?”
“…fuck you,” said Jenny tiredly, snuggling into Nora’s shoulder. Nora always smelled like breakfast, somehow. Maybe it was a mom thing. Maybe Jenny would start smelling like fresh-baked bread and sunshine as soon as she had a baby of her own to cuddle.
Nora clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “You’re lucky that Stacia and the babies are in bed right now, Janna. Otherwise—”
“I’m gonna work on the swearing, Nora. I have two more months before I have to cut it out for good.”
She felt Nora’s long-suffering sigh rather than hearing it. “You have to cut it out for good now. You’re to be a good influence on my children.”
“You take this whole parenting thing really seriously, huh?”
“You’ll understand soon enough,” said Nora somewhat ominously.
“And what if I don’t?”
“Then I shall forcibly adopt both you and your child and teach you both good manners.”
“I am way too old to have you as a mom, Nelly.” Jenny considered. “You know, I really feel like you and Rupert would either get along or kill each other.”
Nora’s fingers slipped a little; she placed the pillowcase carefully down in her lap, turning to Jenny with a curious expression. More than a little tentative, she said, “Janna—I know you don’t like to talk much about your Rupert, but…”
“It’s not that I don’t like talking about him,” said Jenny carefully, which was true. “It’s just that it’s a can of worms I don’t totally want to open.”
“Well,” said Nora. “If I promised that I’m asking not to meddle, but because…I want to know more about him. Would you be willing to tell me anything?”
That took Jenny aback. “What do you mean?”
Nora hesitated, eyes dipping down to the embroidered pillowcase before looking back up again. In a way that, for Nora, was almost shy, she said, “You’re in love with him. Still, and perhaps always. He has to be quite an incredible person to capture a heart so carefully guarded.”
The breath caught in Jenny’s throat. She didn’t entirely know how to respond.
A nervous pink flush dusted Nora’s cheeks. “Of course, if I overstepped—”
“He’s…”
Silence fell. Nora’s blush began to subside; her eyes stayed trained on Jenny.
“Sweet,” said Jenny, and laughed, a little watery. “Sincere. A really good kisser.” None of these clumsy, simple words captured Rupert. Closing her eyes, she said unsteadily, “You know how sometimes…you look at someone, and they look at you, and you realize that you know what they’re thinking? Not the words, not the specifics, but you can just feel how much they love you. How much they care about you as a person.” She sniffled. “He used to look at me like that every goddamn day. And then he stopped, and it was like…” There weren’t words for how much that had hurt. She didn’t try to find them.
“Oh, Jenny,” said Nora softly.
“His baby is gonna be such a phenomenal person,” Jenny whispered. “I am going to love our son to pieces.”
Jenny thought about Rupert, that night, lying on her back in the bedroom she was only now beginning to feel settled in. If he were here—god, it hurt to think about that, but if he were here, he would have charmed the hell out of Nora with his earnest desire to help. He would have loved Stacia and her endless questions; he was so, so good with kids, even if he himself barely registered his ability to make them laugh and feel at ease. He and Donovan would have had a laughing conversation about what it was like to love a prickly Cervenak, because if he was here he would know her name, and—and—
Oh, he would be so happy. She knew that right down to her bones. No matter where they were, had she told him about this baby, he would have been over the goddamn moon. He wouldn’t have been able to admit it, but in a world where he could, he would be curled against her right now, hand on her stomach, feeling the flutter-sting of their son’s insistent kicking. He was the kind of old-fashioned sweetie who would call her ethereal during her pregnancy, eyes bright and admiring even when she woke up in the morning feeling gross and bloated. He would kiss her temple and whisper about how happy he was to have the excuse to marry her. He—
Jenny buried her face in her hands, tears stinging her eyes. She blamed the fucking pregnancy hormones for turning her into a goddamn sentimental idiot—which in turn was, frustratingly, still directly because of Rupert. She wanted to regret everything that had led her here, but she didn’t, and somehow that made everything hurt so much more.
He would have loved the hell out of this kid, in a world where he wasn’t a Watcher. Where he didn’t have Buffy and the fate of the world always taking precedent over a wife and a family. She had never wanted to force him into a corner—knew, with certainty, that he was the noble kind of guy who would stand by any kid of his—so she’d left. Made the hard choice for him so that he would never have to. It was what was best for everyone. Jenny’s baby would never have to grow up with a father who always had one foot out the door. Rupert wouldn’t have to struggle with the choice between Buffy and Jenny, now with an added baby in the mix. Buffy wouldn’t lose the only person she had who understood her, who cared. And Jenny—
Jenny would miss Rupert every fucking day, probably. She’d lie awake on nights like this, imagining him holding her son and smiling that bright, blinding smile she’d seen maybe once or twice in the year and a half she had known him. I like to think, he’d say, that he has my eyes. I hope he grows up as devastatingly handsome as his father.