Work Text:
On the other end of the raw visceral smell of new birth and wet fluids, Jack Murdock sits back in his hospital chair and has the overwhelming thought that his tiny, beautiful family has just doubled.
Twins . Maggie had delivered two whole, delicious little boys and they were beyond perfect.
“You’re so goddamn talented, honey,” he whispers to his exhausted wife, holding their progeny in both of her lovely arms. She smiles up to him as he brushes her hair aside to kiss her forehead. Their older son squirms and fusses but doesn’t wake.
“Don’t blaspheme in front of the kids,” she chides with such affection it melts the man. “And you’re goddamn right I am.”
He kisses her shoulder through the stiff gown. Tall and broad as he is, he leans his face down ever-so-gently to rest at her side, meeting her dewy gaze. He feels strangely giddy, and a quiet giggle escapes his lips. He watches Maggie's lips follow suit, her eyes scrunching and her body shaking with joy and relief; she’s a goddess, he decides: the calm angle of her shoulders, her sweaty hair messily elegant in a loose bun behind her, her lips curved asymmetrically into a smile at having triumphed the task of creating life. Two beating hearts and all the other paraphernalia in the right places.
Jack has no words to express his awe and so he tilts his head forward to kiss her again, her cheek, this time. She sighs into it.
“You gave me two redheads,” she notes teasingly. They had wondered who they would look like, and in their joking, they’d decided that one should take after him and the other should look like Maggie. They’d thought it would be the fairest result. “Selfish of you.”
They’re so tiny and red, they look like identical little tomatoes and about as delicate. “They’ll have your eyes,” he counters. “And your ears.” He pets one of them, combing his fingers through the sparse fine hair already growing on the baby’s head. The velvet softness of his skin almost feels like it’ll break apart at his touch. The baby doesn't fuss, though, already a pro at ignoring his old man. He snores, unlike his quieter brother. It’s quick and high, but it has the same rhythm as Maggie’s deep sleep. Jack thinks better than to mention it, though.
“We still have to name them,” she says, snuggling further into the mountain of pillows Jack had brought from their home. All different shapes that were supposed to be good for different sorts of sleepers. “Are we still thinking of Matthew and Michael? Might get confusing.”
“I don’t think so,” Jack argues, playing with their younger son’s little foot, which had escaped its swaddling. “Look, little Matthew is quieter, and Michael has more hair. He’s gonna be the family pussycat,” he predicts arbitrarily. “Matt’s gonna pay off a mortgage first. Seems the serious type. They’re night and day. Won’t get confusing at all, if you’ve got a keen enough eye.”
She laughs. “Well, if you’re sure. I still think you’re trying to get brownie points with God, naming them after saints. But I trust you.”
“Can’t hurt,” he shrugs. They’re being named after Maggie’s favourite uncles, who’d never turn her away even when she got wild in her late teens. Jack loves them dearly. Her uncles never legally married, but Maggie never hesitated to call uncle Mikhail family, like uncle Matteo never hesitated calling him his husband.
They are saints, just not biblical ones. And he wants his children to know about how much love their family is made of. He hopes they grow up knowing how loved they are, if nothing else.
“I’ll let the nurse know,” Jack offers. “You rest.”
“Thank you, honey.” She leans her head up to meet Jack’s lips, and then he plops a kiss onto each baby’s impossibly soft forehead before slipping out as quietly as he can.
--
Two minutes later, he returns looking sheepish. He still has a pen in his hand.
“Oh, no,” Maggie says, meeting his eyes. “What happened?”
“You can’t get mad,” he says seriously before even taking a step into the room. “Promise you won’t get mad.”
“What did you do, Jack?” She narrows her eyes, assessing him viciously.
Like a reprimanded child, Jack hands her the birth certificates.
She looks confused for a second, and then she looks at the document and laughs brightly, loudly enough to wake the boys. They’re not crying yet, but Jack preemptively takes Matt to avoid the fuss later.
“You tried to cross it out?”
Jack hangs his head, looking at his shoes and not his wife. “It said ‘second name.’ I assumed it was for baby number two. To be fair, I’ve been awake for thirty-six hours,” he defends. “A doctor needs to be here for a new form, but apparently everyone in the hospital is likely to be busy for a while. I said I’d talk to you about it.”
She laughs harder, undoubtedly a little loopy from her fatigue. “Matthew Michael Murdock. That’s almost too much alliteration for one name,” she teases. “Has a nice ring to it, though.”
“We can’t keep it like that.” Jack flips the page to show her the other form. “I already named the other one Michael.”
She smiles, not quite mocking, but not quite gentle, either. “Oh, Jackie, my love. You tickle me every day. Come here,” she beckons. She takes his hand and kisses it adoringly. Not for the millionth time, Jack is amazed at her. “What’s say we even things out a little?” She takes his pen and gives him a mischievous wink as she writes “Matthew” onto the blank space.
Jack lets out a low laugh, settling back down onto his seat and leaning all the way back, the warm weight of a baby in his arms. Maggie looks a picture, ridiculous with a glimmer in her eyes.
“They’re going to grow up to hate us,” he says, fighting a smile.
“They can take it up with us when they get old enough to argue.” She reaches out for his hand and he laces their fingers together. His rough and calloused palm against her dainty one. It feels a little fated.
“They wouldn’t argue,” Jack decides. He brings Matt’s forehead to his nose and gives it a deep sniff. “They’ll be mild-mannered and well behaved.”
“And just where are they going to learn that sort of behaviour?”
He holds Maggie’s hand tighter, wanting to live in the tenderness of the moment.
He knows that one day, they’ll all be grown and different. They might not even like each other in a few years’ time. Lord knows his family has never been the best at marriage.
Still, there’s something that feels right about the four of them together. A complete unit. A family. A gift from the Lord. He feels it welling up in his soul. This good moment will inevitably lead into the next, and the one after, and they will have so many good moments together. The boys will grow into Maggie’s eyes, and they’ll grow into Jack’s nose. They’ll be doctors or lawyers, or entrepreneurs, or artists, or maybe they’ll be penniless and destitute, and he’ll be proud of them just the same. They’ll keep having good moments until they’re old and sharing tea on the porch of a house Jack could never even hope to afford. Maggie will kiss him. His boys will tell him about their days. It’ll be so good.
“Matthew Michael and Michael Matthew Murdock,” Maggie says aloud, as if she’s testing their names on her tongue, deciding if they’re worthy for such precious things. “A little alliterative, but I think it suits them.”
One good moment bleeds into the next and Matt coos for attention in his arms, eyes refusing to open. Even blind, he trusts his dad, and Jack holds him even tighter.
The moment is too good. Untouchable. One good moment, and the next will be good, too, he’ll make sure of it. He just has to keep the streak going as long as he can.