Nora never experiences a moment of more profound relief than when Dr Forsythe declares her babies radiation free. "Congratulations. They're in perfect health."
She flops back onto the pillows, light-headed, weak, and it's all she can do to keep breathing. Nate and Curie flank her on each side, holding her hands, keeping her grounded. With the exultant release from pain and fear, she wants nothing more than to force her leadened limbs to climb off the bed and reclaim her babies.
Nate leans into her and buries his head in her neck. She can feel his smile against her flushed skin. He gives a wet, giddy laugh and says, "You did it, hon. Look what you did."
Nora feels so very empty with her deflated belly and aching arms. She squeezes his hand and he squeezes back, careful of the IV line; their palms are equally calloused but equally warm. "I need them back."
At the desperation edging her tone, Nate kisses her cheek in quiet reassurance and stands, coaxing Number One from Rachel. He lowers his daughter with the utmost care into her waiting arms, and turns to grab Number Two. Number One squirms against Nora's breast, blinking up at her with half-lidded, muddy eyes. Her wrinkled face is half-scrunched, teetering on the verge of crying.
"Hush, little one. It's alright. Mommy's here." Nora unwraps her baby so they can rest skin to skin. She can't keep her hands off Number One, caressing her silky hair, stroking the slope of her shoulder, brushing over her belly.
"Oh," Curie breathes, her fingers smoothing back Nora's frazzled hair, "look at her. What a delight."
Anyone can argue the importance of pure human DNA, but Nora only cares that both her babies can smile and cry and be well. Number One is plump and wrinkled and warm, and her two small hands have ten fingers, each one tipped with a blunt nail. Her tiny rosebud mouth works as if testing the air she now breathes. Nora shifts so her baby is settled more firmly on her chest, and Number One is lulled into sleep with one small ear pressed to her mother's heart.
A second cry echoes around the softly-lit room: Number Two. Nate holds her aloft underneath one of the dim lights, his hands wrapped around her torso in a firm, if gentle, grip. "Look at her," he breathes, with all the reverence of a man in prayer. His eyes dart over her wrinkled little body and her slightly flattened head. "She's perfect."
And then Nora's voice, low and gravelly but steel-edged, rings out: "Don't you dare drop my baby."
It only hits Nora that they have not one, but two newborns when she's trying to feed them both the next morning without anyone falling onto the floor. It takes some careful positioning and added support from Nate to keep their daughters steady. He sits beside her, taking her weight, with his arms wrapped around her—ready to catch any slipping babies. It isn't exactly a doctor-approved position, but neither of them mind.
Delilah—formerly Number One—is the larger of the two, and is an eager feeder. Her sister Maeve, however, has more trouble, but with some repositioning her sucking turns to proper feeding. Watching her new daughters, Nora wonders who these little people are—and how much harder it's going to be this time.
Nora knows what pregnancy is like, thanks to—well. She knows. When she'd grown too big too quickly, when she'd been more tired than she had been during her last pregnancy, she'd worried. Plagued by images of swollen mutations, of tumors and three hands and misshapen bodies—of too many sick, spindly children that sit on the stairs of their parents' homesteads—they'd spent months searching for answers. Vault 81 is the only place in the Commonwealth equipped with the facilities to help, and Nora remembers sitting in this very clinic a few bare months ago, her hand swallowed by both of Nate's in a white-knuckled grip. At the time the walls seemed cold and sterile, pressing in too close. Then they warped to gray with a high-pitched whine when Dr Forsythe delivered the results.
But now the faded yellow paint glows with a fresh vitality under the bright, cheery lights. Too bright even, as Maeve blinks and squirms under the blanket that cocoons her. Nora's euphoria is dimmed by the gray shroud of grief that will never leave her.
"Good thing we had a few backup names handy," Nate murmurs, his thumb stroking over Delilah's shoulder. She finishes and the suction breaks with a tiny pop, and Nate eases her out of the crook of Nora's elbow. His hands are certain, supporting her tiny head, patting her back with the lightest of motions until she gurgles a tiny burp. Afterward, Nate holds her close to his chest so she can hear his heartbeat, crooning nonsense in a low, rough voice. His eyes are slightly widened, belying his disarmed surprise and love as he watches his daughter. "I almost can't believe it, you know. With everything that's happened... I never thought we'd have this again."
Nora leans over to grab his shoulder and pull him close to kiss. It is brief and tender, then she rests her forehead against his. Delilah squirms, freeing a hand to wave through the air, and Nate leans back into his seat.
Nora runs a knuckle over the downy cap of hair crowning Maeve's head, and her baby's big, dark eyes watch her back, silent and intent. For all the exhilarating joy that rushes her, a quiet place in Nora's heart remembers another hospital and another baby. Too long ago, yet not long enough. And oh, the sudden ache tightens her throat with hot, skeletal fingers until she can hardly breathe. Has to press two fingers to the bridge of her nose and close her eyes a moment.
She draws in a long, unsteady breath and leans into Nate's hand when he grips her shoulder.
When Nora opens her eyes, she can't stop staring at her youngest child. Maeve's tiny hands explore her surrounds, curling and uncurling, skimming over Nora's skin.
The clinic door hisses open and Shaun almost careens into Nate's side. "Mom! Dad!"
"Morning, kiddo." Nate wrangles him into a one-armed and kisses the top of his head. "We've got some important introductions to make."
Nora also claims a hug and a kiss from Shaun. My son, she affirms with a sudden fierceness. Not the same son. But mine.
"Ah! Good morning, mum, sir, and congratulations!" Codsworth breezes to the bed, Dogmeat by his side, and two of his eye stalks swivel out of sync to take in both of the babies. "And these are our newest family members, I presume? Miss Nora, I am relieved you and the little ones are safe and sound. Your better half must be beyond pleased."
"You have no idea, Codsworth," Nate affirms with a sudden, giddy grin.
Dogmeat lifts his paws onto the mattress, his head darting between Delilah in Nate's arms and Maeve in Nora's, ears cocked forward and tail wagging with enough force that his entire flank shakes. He sticks his muzzle into Nora's lap, snuffling at the wrapped bundle of baby, nosing one tiny hand. Maeve gasps and her face scrunches, her wrinkled little fingers curling. Nora strokes her daughter's fist and Maeve latches on, wrapping her hand around her mother's finger with the peculiar strength newborns possess.
"Easy, buddy." Nate drops a hand onto Dogmeat's shoulders to curb his excitement, then sweeps his gaze over his immediate family, gathered and complete at last. Absently shifting Delilah in the cook of his arm so she can better see the rest of her family, he makes the introductions: "Shaun, Codsworth, Dogmeat, this is Delilah and Maeve."
"Welcome, welcome," Codsworth says, waving one appendage, and for all his enthusiasm his voice is quiet. "It is wonderful to meet you both at last."
Shaun sits heavily on the end of Nora's bed and stares with wide-eyed fascination at Delilah, who stares back with an unblinking intensity. He fidgets with a bent spring he scavenged from the depths of his pockets. Meanwhile, Dogmeat drops back to all fours on the floor and scampers away, through the door that hisses open at his approach.
"My, whatever has gotten into him?" Codsworth wonders.
Dogmeat doesn't keep them in suspense; he returns a minute later at a run, carrying something in his mouth. Sides heaving from the fleeting breaths he draws through his nose, Dogmeat jumps up again to deposit his gift beside Nora's blanketed thigh. It's none other than Cyclops the alien, his favorite toy. Damp with saliva and sprinkled with dog hair, the square blob of alien has only three handless appendages—the last has already been gnawed away by persistent teeth. Its purple hide has since faded to a stormy gray, while the monocular goggle secured around its body retained its aqua hue. No matter the numerous tooth gouges in its rubber shell, Cyclops sports an ever-friendly smile.
Dogmeat pushes his toy towards Maeve with his muzzle, whistling through his nose. Nora moves the toy to her lap, then lavishes Dogmeat with head scratches. "Thanks, boy. We really appreciate it."
Dogmeat wags his tail and noses Maeve's foot, then puts his paws in Nate's lap to inspect Delilah, who stares at him with eyes that haven't quite learned how to focus. When he's satisfied, he curls up on the floor between Nate's feet and the edge of the bed Nora lies in.
When the twins fall asleep, the family sits quietly, basking in the contented glow of triumph.
A few days later Nora is transferred from the clinic to their quarters in Vault 81. Given space is the finest luxury in a vault, their apartment isn't much—enough room to fit basic furniture, as well as the crib Alexis arranged for them to borrow and a mattress for Shaun. Codsworth fusses over the twins as much as their parents do, and the robot's gentleness eases them into tolerating him. If anything, Codsworth's motions are as edged with desperate relief as Nora's and Nate's, and as laden with memories of the last time they arranged a schedule for changing diapers. No matter their prior experience on the matter of babies, it's tiring and exhilarating and nerve wracking. Delilah and Maeve are two tiny individuals, and it's impossible to judge how much crying is normal.
Shaun plops down on the bed beside Nora and she snaps out of her doze, blinking away the bleary haze blurring her vision. With Vault 81's stable lighting, she has no means to gauge the time, but Nate sits at the desk reading his beloved Grognak the Barbarian for the hundredth time. In Nora's arms, Maeve is dead to the world, her round face slack with peaceful dreams, while Delilah is wide-eyed and alert. Shaun peers down at his little sisters. He runs a curious hand, lightly at Nora's urging, over Delilah's hair, and she reaches out to touch his arm. Brother and sister peer at each other with matching eyes.
A frown creases his brow, and he doesn't look away from Delilah when he asks, "Can you guys show me how to be big and strong like you? So I can protect my little sisters?"
Oh. Over Shaun's head, Nate catches Nora's eye. His expression is almost unbearably tender, but his eyes are dark and unhappy. He shakes his head, just slightly.
Nora shuffles into the middle of the bed, sitting up and crossing her legs, then pats the space beside her. "Come here, kiddo." When Shaun does, she wraps a free arm around his shoulders. "Anything you can do to look after your sisters, like taking on more chores around the house, checking in on the twins—these will be a big help. But it isn't your job to protect this family. Leave that to your dad and me." She kisses his temple.
Delilah lets out a cry, then, and Nora soothes her with gentle words and soft touches. Shaun tries to mimic his mother, letting Delilah latch onto his hand and patting what part of her he can reach—the back of her head, in his case. "It's okay. Don't cry."
Nora offers a breast to Delilah and—yes, she's hungry again. Maeve still hasn't woken up, so Nora lets her be after wiping a saliva trail from the corner of her mouth.
"Miss Katy says there's two kinds of twins," Shaun pronounces. "Twins who are two separate people, and twins who are one person split in half."
"That's the gist of it," Nate affirms. "Doc says our girls are the first kind."
"Well that's boring," Shaun blurts, with the innocent thoughtlessness only a ten-year-old could get away with.
"I could do with a little boring," Nora groans, settling back into the nest of pillows. "Maybe a lot of boring."
Shaun sighs. "Come on, Mom."
"Knock, knock."
Nora blinks awake, groggy and slow, her hands twitching around the bundle curled against her chest. While Delilah sleeps in the crib, Nora has kept Maeve at the breast longer, given she still isn't feeding as often as her sister. Nate and Shaun are lying on the floor, a mosaic of bright-colored comics spread around them like a sunburst. Looking to the open doorway, Nora's mouth curls into a delighted smile. The open doorway is filled by one Nick Valentine.
"Mornin', folks."
Nate and Shaun stand to make room for Valentine; the former earns a handshake and a friendly clap on the shoulder, while the latter gets a hair ruffling. Dropping one hand to Shaun's shoulder, Nate piles their comics on the corner of the desk and checks on Delilah.
Nora sits up a bit more on the pillows supporting her and grabs the brim of Valentine's fedora between her thumb and forefinger in her usual greeting. "Hey, Nick."
Perching on the edge of the bed, Valentine wraps one arm around her shoulders and presses a kiss to her temple. "Congratulations, partner. I came as quick as I could."
Ducking her head to hide a smile, Nora runs a finger over Maeve's dark, downy hair. She is filled with overwhelming tenderness as she looks down at the little body molding to the curves of her chest. The baby blinks, shifting from drowsy to alert as she finds a new face to gape at. She studies Valentine, her gaze drifting downward from his worn fedora to his weathered chin, but one eyes wanders out of focus.
"Maeve, sweetie, this is Uncle Nick. He's very happy to meet you."
Removing his fedora, Valentine peers down at the baby without crowding her. "Real marvelous to finally meet you at last, doll. 'S been a long time coming. And you, too," he adds to Delilah, who Nate has drawn out of the crib into his arms. She is first taken by Nate's face, but her gaze shifts to Valentine when Nate sits on the edge of the bed. "I bet you're all set to give your parents a hard time. And there'll be double the trouble, with you and Miss Delilah over there." He runs a finger over the back of Delilah's tiny fist. Looking between both parents, he says, "Bet you're both as proud as can be."
"Just look at them," Nate says, and that reverent note creeps back into his tone. "They're our daughters. Aren't they beautiful?"
With a low chuckle, Valentine hooks a foot around the strap of his satchel on the floor and starts digging through its contents. "Here now, Uncle Nicky's got a present for you both. These might be a bit big for ya, but you can grow into 'em."
"Do you here that, kiddo? Presents! You'll love presents." Nate shuffles inward to the center of the mattress as best he can with his arms occupied, and angles Delilah so she can see the two wrapped packages Nick withdraws. Shaun scrambles around to the far side of the bed and hops on to see what's happening.
With some finagling, Nora frees her hands to do the honors. Maeve scrunches inward against her belly while she unties the strings, and newspaper falls away to reveal two toy robots. One has a pocket watch head with limbs made from copper fuses, and its chest piece looks suspiciously close to a reworked shell of a machine gun turret. The second one has been built around a vacuum tube torso, with limbs of clockwork cogs and loops of copper wire, and tiny black circuit chips for eyes. Both bear the intricate detail of loving craftsmanship, their scavenged materials transcending their original purposes to become something beautiful.
"Look at those," Nora marvels, standing the copper robot in her lap beside Maeve, and touches Valentine's shoulder. "Thank you, Nick. These are lovely."
Nate holds up the silver toy robot to Delilah, hoping to catch her attention with it. "You see this? This is all yours. Can you say 'thank you'?"
The twins, however, are more taken with the people surrounding them than with the toys. Valentine doesn't seem to mind.
With a heavy thump that might be a knock, the door slides open to reveal Curie, who cuddles a massive tome in her arms with all the care Nora might use to hold one of her daughters.
"What, is someone burning down a library?" Valentine asks.
"I understand that it is traditional to give new families a present, as a way of welcoming new babies, yes? After some consideration, I determined that good education is vital to children's healthy development."
The pre-War book sports the mottled yellow markings of age and its binding is loose. Armored somewhat by its hard cover, which hangs limp over its pages, this book survived a nuclear fallout by virtue of being sealed deep in a sepulchral research lab—judging by the stale, cold-earth smell. And yet, Nora has her doubts whether a lab researching pathogens required a collection of Shakespeare's plays, with an embossed midnight blue cover and faded gold lettering.
It hits her, then, just how much this tome is worth, and just how much effort it must have taken to find.
"That's very forward-thinking of you, Curie," Nate says, eyeballing the hefty book. No doubt it could knock a man out cold. "Thanks."
"It is my pleasure, my friend." Taking the spot on the edge of the bed previously occupied by Valentine, she looks between the twins and holds up the book so they can both see it. "This is my gift to you, little ones, with my best wishes."
Maeve watches the book with enormous, dark-lashed eyes, before they're captured by Curie's smile. Delilah kicks her legs in her wrapping, weaseling one arm free to wave it through the air.
Curie stretches out a hand to stroke Delilah's forehead, and the baby grabs her finger before she can pull away. "Oh! She has a strong grip!" Her free hand flutters in mid-air, like a scattered flock of birds, then smooths over wrinkles in her trousers. "I wish to thank you for allowing me to be present at their birth. It was—oh, I do not have words to describe it."
Nora takes Curie's elegant, long-fingered hand in her own. Her callouses are less pronounced, from operating lab equipment rather than gripping weapons, and there are deep red gouge marks in her palms from where the edge of the book bit into her hands. "Thank you for being there. You were wonderful help."
Curie smiles and squeezes back. "Any time, my friend."
Not five minutes later, the Maeve is curled up in Valentine's fedora, which he holds with the utmost care, while Delilah rests in the crib next to him. Dogmeat settles on Nate's pillow, ears pricked and eyes alert. Shaun sits cross-legged on the floor, tugging on Valentine's coat and wheedling for a story. Curie has dragged the desk chair beside him, and now reads in her light, lyrical voice from A Midsummer Night's Dream.
Nate watches his children with an indulgent smile. Weary lines frame his eyes, half-lidded from exhaustion, but he looks beyond proud. One of his hands rests idly on Nora's shin, his warmth seeping through the sheets. She runs her foot over his hip, scrunching her toes into the blanket that separates his body from hers. It isn't a private moment for them by any stretch of the imagination, but they've had almost no time just for the two of them since the birth. And Curie's melodic voice is rather soothing.
Valentine's golden gaze sweeps across Nate and Nora. "We could take 'em off your hands for a spell, if you two want to catch some shut-eye. Come on, kid, how would you like to hear about the latest case at the agency?"
The prospect of receiving his asked-for story is enough to move Shaun. He carries Delilah the way Nate showed him, keeping her head and body pressed close to his chest, while Valentine still has Maeve in his fedora. Dogmeat hops off the bed to follow on his heels. Curie marks her place in the book with one finger while they all trundle outside.
The moment the door slides shut, Nate lies down beside Nora, the dark circles under his eyes deepening as shadows overwhelm the angles of his face. But there's a glow, too: that heady thrill deepening the laugh lines around his mouth, crinkling the corners of his eyes with such ardent joy. Nora kisses the tip of his nose and his mouth kicks up in that familiar crooked smile. Running a finger along her jaw, Nate catches her mouth with his own for a proper kiss. It is a soft and unhurried thing between them, trailing away into a series of smaller pecks. Nate pulls her against him, nuzzling the side of her neck, and they settle in a tangle of limbs and blankets. He wraps an arm around her soft, fleshy belly, and she runs her fingertips along the slope of his shoulder.
Exhaustion settles in the curve of every muscle, in the marrow of Nora's bones. As her eyes drag closed, her thoughts circle to her children outside—and Curie's hefty gift. "They're either going to be geniuses... or very sound sleepers."
"Is it too much to hope for both?" Nate's voice is nearly a groan as he flops onto his stomach, burying his face in a pillow.