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Academy - Plebe year - Mid-October
Two months into classes at the Academy, Jake Seresin was running on fumes. Matty had been colicky for three nights in a row, and the few hours of sleep he managed came in uneven patches, usually while Abby had her turn feeding and walking the baby or during a brief lull in their new, disjointed routine.
He had kissed Abby goodbye just before five that morning, Matty finally passed out in his bassinet. Jake didn’t remember the walk to his first class—Aerodynamics with Lieutenant Commander Rourke—Jake blinked, then blinked again, but the words on the screen in front of him still swam.
He was not going to fall asleep in Rourke’s class.
His pen slipped out of his hand and clattered to the floor The sharp noise echoed through the lecture hall like a cannon shot. He jerked up just as Lieutenant Commander Rourke’s voice cut through the classroom.
“Midshipmen Seresin,” came the flat voice from the front of the class. Rourke didn’t raise his voice, but the room went dead silent. “You are either injured, unconscious, or disrespecting my time. Which is it?”
A few students snickered.
Jake blinked rapidly and sat up straighter, pulse spiking. “Sorry, sir. Won’t happen again.”
“I didn’t ask for commentary. I asked for attention. Try to keep up.” Rourke stared at him for a beat too long before continuing the lesson. Jake clenched his jaw and scribbled notes furiously to keep his brain from drifting again.
When class ended, he started to gather his notes when Rourke snapped, “Seresin. Stay behind.”. Jake froze, heart sinking. He approached the desk, bracing himself.
Rourke spoke again—this time without an audience not mincing his words. “You looked good on paper. GPA, SAT scores, physicals, recommendations — clean. Looking good on paper doesn’t mean much here. Showing up and staying awake are part of the expectations here, midshipman. You want to wear that uniform? Act like it.”
“Yes, sir,” Jake said, stiff-backed, his hands clenched behind him.
“I don’t care if you were valedictorian or homecoming king,” Rourke continued. “This program doesn’t care about your charm or your high school highlight reel. It cares about whether you can carry your team, lead under pressure, and keep your head in the damn game.”
Jake nodded tightly.
Rourke narrowed his eyes. “This is the second time I’ve caught you drifting. You fall asleep in my classroom again, I won’t be offering advice—I’ll be logging a demerit. That’s not just paperwork—it’s a stain. If something’s going on, fix it. Fast. Understood?
Jake swallowed. “Understood, sir.”
Rourke studied him again, then, a shade softer: “I know freedom’s new and partying’s tempting, but you’ve got potential. Don’t waste it.”
Jake nodded, throat tight, and walked out of the room, each step heavy.
He ducked into the nearest restroom, splashed water on his face, and stared into the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair stuck up at odd angles. He barely recognized the exhausted version of himself looking back.
But when he pulled out his phone and saw the picture Abby had texted him just before class—a sleepy, squishy Matty in a onesie that said Navy Baby —he exhaled a breath and smiled despite everything.
“I’ve got this,” he whispered, straightening.
It wasn’t going to be easy. But he was going to prove Rourke wrong.
Apartment - Later that night
By the time Jake stepped into the apartment, it was pushing 1900 hours and the sky outside had started bleeding gold and purple. He was half in a daze, the fluorescent lights of the lecture hall still seared into his brain. His entire body ached—not from PT, but from the kind of exhaustion that sleep didn’t fix. The kind that curled behind your ribs and made you forget how to breathe deep.
And then he heard the crying.
Matty’s screams rang sharp and raw down the hallway, desperate in that specific infant tone that told Jake his son was past tired and firmly in the zone of angry about everything.
He dropped his boots and bag by the door and followed the sound to the living room.
Abby was pacing in socks, hair falling out of a messy bun, Matty held tight to her chest as she bounced and whispered and rocked with all the desperation of someone who had tried everything already.
Jake didn’t even say anything—just walked over and opened his arms.
Abby let out a breath, barely even a word, and handed the baby off without protest. Her hands lingered on Jake’s forearms for a second too long—tired, grateful—and then she sank onto the couch with a quiet groan.
Jake moved instinctively, rocking Matty in a smooth rhythm as he began murmuring low nonsense words like a prayer. The baby kept wailing for a minute longer, then hiccuped, whimpered, and finally settled, cheek pressed against Jake’s shoulder.
It was almost comical—how fast he quieted.
“I swear he likes you more,” Abby mumbled, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes. “Which is deeply unfair, because I’m home with him all day and change most of the diapers.”
Jake huffed a tired laugh. “It’s not a competition. But if it were... I’m clearly winning.”
That earned him a small snort. Not quite a smile. But almost.
Still rocking the now-quiet baby, Jake finally let himself sink onto the couch beside her. Matty’s tiny body curled against his chest, soft breaths rising and falling, one hand fisted tight in the collar of Jake’s shirt like he was afraid his dad might disappear.
Abby curled into Jake’s side, head resting on his free shoulder. He could feel the tension still in her muscles, like she hadn’t let herself exhale all day.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
“I am now,” she murmured. You?
Jake scoffed quietly. “Rourke chewed me up in front of the whole class. Said I looked good on paper but I’m not cutting it.”
Abby frowned, sitting up straighter. “Seriously? That’s harsh. What happen?”
Jake shook his head, jaw tight. “I nodded off for half a second in aero. He called me out. He said—and I quote—‘I know freedom’s new and partying’s tempting, but you’ve got potential. Don’t waste it.’”
Abby winced. “Ouch.”
He paused, bitterness creeping into his voice. “I haven’t had a drink since I found out you were pregnant and I haven’t been to a party since graduation. Haven’t slept more than three hours in a row in weeks. But yeah, I must be out partying.”
Abby turned her head pressing a kiss to his shoulder and curling both hands around his arm before looking up at him.
“He doesn’t know,” she whispered, staring into his eyes. “He doesn’t know you’re walking a newborn at 2 a.m., or washing bottles between chapters of an aerodynamics textbook.”
Jake leaned his forehead against hers briefly closing his eyes. “I wanted to yell at him. I wanted to say, ‘Sir, my son is nine weeks old and my wife and I haven't slept properly in days, and I haven’t seen her smile in a week.’ But all I said was ‘Yes, sir.’”
“You did the right thing,” Abby said quietly. “Even if it doesn’t feel like it.”
They stood there for another long moment, their little family wrapped in the hush of finally calm air.
Jake finally took a deep breath, blew it out and settled more deeply into the couch with Matty still on his chest now softly snoring, Abby pressed tight beside him. He looked down at the baby—peaceful now, lips parted, fist curled tight—and felt the ache of the morning fade just a little.
“I’m gonna make it through this,” he whispered. “Not for me. For you. For him.”
Abby looked up at him, her hand brushing his cheek. “You’re already making it, Jake. And we’re so proud of you.”
Jake looked down at the sleeping baby cuddled to his chest, let his head drop back against the couch cushion and sighed dramatically. “I love you but I’m not moving. I live here now. This is my life. Me, this couch, and blessed, glorious silence.”
Abby snorted, laughing softly as she leaned into his side. “You’re so dramatic.”
He cracked one eye open. “If I so much as twitch, he’ll wake up and scream. You want that on your conscience?”
She watched him, eyes soft and full of love, and then she smiled—really smiled. It was tired, a little watery but it was bright and real and her.
Jake blinked, stunned for a second.
“What?” she asked, voice soft.
“That smile,” he said, reaching to tuck her hair behind her ear. “Sunshine. That just made my whole day.”
Abby flushed. “You’re corny.”
“Yeah, well. You’re the reason.”
She leaned in and kissed him, slow and sweet, her hand resting over Matty’s back as they stayed close.
“I love you,” she said when she pulled back.
Jake looked at her, really looked. At the exhaustion in her eyes, the stubborn love in the lines of her mouth, the strength she wore like armor.
“I love you too,” he said. “And him. And this mess. Even when it’s the hardest thing we’ve ever done.”
Abby nodded and settled back against him, closing her eyes content to get a power nap next to her favorite boys. Matty shifted but didn’t wake.
They stayed that way for a long time—cocooned in the soft hush of their little apartment, wrapped in the strange peace of surviving one more impossible day.
Academy Campus - November - 7:15 am
It had taken weeks and a lot of trial and error, but Abby had discovered that the cold morning air seemed to do what nothing else could—soothe Matty. Bundled up snug in the sling against her chest, he’d settle almost instantly as they walked. The fresh air helped both of them breathe easier. So that morning, with Matty finally calm and drifting off in the sling, Abby stepped into the little campus-adjacent coffee shop, the bell over the door chiming gently. The barista—who was starting to recognize her as the girl with the tiny baby —gave her a sympathetic smile as she waited in line. Matty was asleep now, his soft breaths fogging the front of her jacket where his head rested in the sling. His impossibly tiny hand had curled into the fabric just above her heart, and even though her body ached with exhaustion, she felt a flicker of peace.
She ordered her coffee—something hot and sweet enough to jolt her through the morning—and added one for Jake, too. He’d been up since 0430 for PT and had texted her just as she reached the shop, asking if she was out. Timing, for once, seemed to be on their side.
Outside, Jake was already jogging up the sidewalk toward her, cheeks flushed from the cold and effort, hair damp beneath his uniform and fleece jacket. He spotted her through the window and gave her that wide, familiar grin that still made her stomach flip.
“You’re my favorite sight,” he said, pushing the door open with one hand and taking his coffee with the other.
Abby laughed under her breath. “Flattery before caffeine? That’s bold.”
Jake leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her lips, then to Matty’s head. “Hey, little man,” he whispered. “You finally gave your mom a break, huh?”
He reached for the diaper bag slung across her shoulder. “Let me take that.”
“I got it—”
Jake gave her a look. “Babe, just had PT. I’m warm and loose and full of annoying energy. Let me be useful.”
She let him, shifting Matty a little in the sling as Jake adjusted the strap across his shoulder. The three of them stepped back into the chill of the sidewalk, Jake holding his coffee in one hand and both their bags over his shoulder like it was nothing.
They didn’t say much as they walked—just the quiet hum of campus waking up, the occasional crunch of gravel under their boots. Jake stayed close, bumping her shoulder now and then, his eyes flicking toward Matty every few steps like he couldn’t help checking on them both.
When they reached the spot where he had to peel off toward his first class, he hesitated, then kissed her again—longer this time, his free hand resting lightly on her waist.
“You should stay out here all day,” Jake murmured, his voice low with affection. “This walk? You, the baby, the coffee? Best part of my morning.”
“Yeah?” she asked, smiling up at him.
He gave a tired, crooked grin. “Thinking I might just skip class and take a nap right here on this bench. If anyone asks, tell ‘em I’m on official new-dad medical leave.”
Abby laughed for real this time, a soft bright sound that made Jake’s chest loosen.
Jake had just taken a sip of his coffee — when a voice hit him from behind.
“Seresin.”
Jake stiffened. He didn’t have to turn to know it was Lieutenant Commander Rourke — aerodynamics instructor, former Top Gun graduate, and one of the few people on base who always seemed to give Jake a hard time about everything.
He turned slowly, plastering on a polite smile. “Sir.”
Rourke raised an eyebrow as his gaze took in Jake’s uniform, the brightly colored diaper bag hanging off his shoulder, and the fact that Jake was clearly out walking with someone who was very much not another cadet.
“I thought you had sim drills this morning.”
“Moved to tomorrow. Schedule change.” Jake offered him a coffee-carrying shrug. “Sir.”
Rourke didn’t take the bait. His eyes slid to Abby.
She smiled automatically, though the exhaustion behind it wasn’t hard to spot. “Good morning, Sir.”
“And this is…?” Rourke asked.
Jake stepped up before she could answer. “My wife. Abby. And our son, Matthew.”
There was a beat of silence, and then Rourke blinked—once, twice—before his brows pinched together.
“I see,” he said flatly. “That explains a few things.”
Jake felt the heat crawl up his neck.
“The constant coffee. The distracted focus. The bags under your eyes.”
“Sir,” Jake said carefully, his grip tightening on his coffee cup, “I’m aware I don’t always look like I’ve had a full night’s sleep. But I’ve never missed a deadline. Never failed a test. And I sure as hell haven’t let my family stop me from getting all my work done.”
“I didn’t say they had,” Rourke replied, evenly. “But it’s clear where your priorities lie.”
Jake opened his mouth—but Abby got there first.
“With all due respect, sir,” she said, calm but firm, “Jake’s priority is serving this country and being a present father. I don’t think those things have to be exclusive.”
Rourke looked at her, and something in his face shifted — just a little. Like he hadn’t expected her to speak. Or hadn’t expected her to speak well and in Jake’s defense.
Matty squirmed in the sling, letting out a soft grunt and then a hiccup.
Jake reached out instinctively, laying a hand on his son’s back and gently rubbing circles through the fabric of the carrier. Abby didn’t even have to ask.
Rourke’s gaze tracked the motion. Watched it for a moment.
“You are one of the top midshipman in my first-year course,” he said, more quietly now. “And I thought you were wasting it.”
Jake raised his eyebrows. “And now?”
Rourke studied him. Then nodded — just once.
“Now I think you’re carrying a hell of a lot more than I gave you credit for.”
He turned, just like that, and walked off down the path toward the main building, his stride brisk and unreadable.
Jake exhaled slowly.
“That,” Abby murmured, “was not what I expected.”
“Same,” Jake said. Then he turned to her and grinned. “But let’s be honest — I do look like a zombie most mornings.”
“You look like a man who’s doing his best with what he’s got.”
He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Thanks for that.”
“And hey,” she said, bumping her hip against his. “At least now he knows why you were nodding off during aerodynamics.”
“Honestly,” Jake muttered, “it was the formula sheets. Not the baby.”
She laughed “Go to class,” she said, nudging him. “Before you get chewed out again.”
He groaned but kissed her once more as he settled the diaper bag gently on her shoulder. “Love you. Both of you.”
“Love you too,” she said, watching as he jogged backward a few steps before turning to head to class.
Matty stirred, letting out a soft sigh in his sleep.
“Yeah, yeah,” Abby whispered, glancing down at him with a smile. “I miss him too.”
And she started walking home, coffee in hand, the world feeling a little warmer despite the cold.
A Couple Weeks Later
Jake had just finished logging flight data in the sim lab when Rourke appeared beside him — silently, like he always did. The man had the unsettling talent of moving like a ghost and speaking like a judge.
“Seresin.”
Jake straightened, bracing. “Sir.”
“You’ve improved your stall recovery time. Cleaned up the skid in your turns.”
“Yes, sir. Been working on it.”
Rourke nodded once, gaze narrowing slightly. “You’re leading your flight pod. High marks from Lieutenant Adams. No sign of your performance slipping.”
Jake wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or the lead-up to another critique, so he just stood there — even, calm, waiting.
Then Rourke looked at him fully. “I wasn’t wrong to hold you to a high standard. But I may have misjudged the load you were carrying.”
Jake blinked.
“You’ve done more than most cadets even think to take on,” Rourke continued. “And you’ve held your own. That counts for something.”
Jake wasn’t sure what to say, so he just nodded. “Thank you, sir.”
Rourke paused, then added, “My brother’s a Marine. Married young, three kids. Never let family be an excuse. Just made it part of the reason he pushed harder.”
Jake swallowed. That—hit.
“I get it now,” Rourke finished. “You’re not distracted. You’re anchored. Keep up the good work.”
Jake blinked fast. “I appreciate that, sir.”
With a small grunt, Rourke turned to leave. But just before he stepped away, he looked back.
“And tell your wife—Matty’s lucky.”
Jake managed a smile. “So am I.”
And just like that, Rourke was gone again, boots tapping lightly on the tile, leaving Jake alone in the sim lab—feeling, for the first time at the academy, fully seen.