A/N : Boy have I ever been on a misery-trip lately! Here's something sweet as requested by Ms. Magneto. And again to remind you that my prompt box is open and ready for your suggestions. Enjoy! xx
Ten tiny perfect fingers each, ten miniscule fingernails, a reddish fuzz on their heads and screwed-up little faces, they were without a doubt the most perfect things Peter had ever seen in his life. One of those little fists was currently gripped tightly around his index fingers, the sensation warm and clammy and wonderful, the weight of the two little bundles in his lap simply gorgeous. Stunned into silence by the sheer marvelousness of them, sleeping peacefully and breathing in sync, one of them stirring just very slightly and poking a surprisingly strong little foot into his stomach. He didn't mind – maybe it was his turn after all those months of Angela feeling like the pair were having a fistfight inside her.
Everything seemed worth it to have got these two out of it. All the months spent being woken at ridiculous hours and having to go out seeking bagels, fish-paste, ice cream, fried tomatoes, and the million other strange things their mother would crave. All the times she'd bitten his head off because she was cranky and hot and didn't want him snuggling up to her whilst she was so uncomfortable, even on occasion banishing him to the sofa. All the mornings being stirred out of sleep by the sound of her retching and padding still halfway dreaming into the bathroom to hold her hair and rub her back soothingly. Even the past eight hours of her sweating and ranting and screaming about what she was going to do to him for getting her into this mess, all absolutely justified by the twin angels asleep in his lap.
He had never felt such a pure sensation of love before, a feeling so fierce and powerful that it was almost frightening. Not the peaceful feeling he thought it would be, but a dangerous outpouring of violent protectiveness that surpassed any anger he had ever felt in its intensity. Peter had wondered once if he could ever kill, even to save his own life. Had concluded after much soul-searching that he probably could not, that though his temper was terrible when it was roused it took far too much to do that for him to ever be a truly violent man. Holding his baby daughters however, he had realised that he could savagely murder anybody who dared to harm a hair on either of their fuzzy little heads and do it with a smile.
One of the twins hiccupped herself half-awake, yawned a wide pink O and wriggled a bit before she had settled again, pressing her pudgy face into her father's chest. As though sensing the movement Angie turned over in her sleep, opening puffy eyes a crack and smiling lazily at the sight of her husband and children sat so quietly beside her. She too, looked more beautiful than he'd ever seen her, with her hair greasy and sweat-damp and mussed around her head, looking exhausted and drained but glowing with happiness and the contentment of having her two babies out in the world at last.
"I take it back" she said in a hoarse whisper, all that screaming having done her voice no good at all. Peter glanced up, enquired with a frown, "What I said earlier. I'm not really gonna cut your balls off"
He understood, grinned back at her, leaned very slightly so as not to wake the babies to kiss her outstretched hand.
"I did kinda hope that was just the pain talking" he whispered back, "How're you feeling?"
"Like a wet dishrag that's been stretched in places it shouldn't be. Are you okay now?"
"Uh… yeah. Sorry about that"
"S'okay – Hank said a lot of fathers end up passing out. Not sure if it's true or if he was making excuses for your sorry ass" she smiled weakly at him, "At least you came round for the second one"
And at least you won't mind being up all night with them if you have to, she added silently, thanked her lucky stars that she'd had kids with the one man she knew who would not suffer for being deprived of sleep by crying babies. Wondered if twins would be a challenge to even Peter's energy, and saw in the beautifically adoring way he was gazing down at the girls that even if it was, he wouldn't give a damn.
"You look good with babies" she told him. There was no need for him to reply, she knew he realised that. He looked so comfortable with one arm around each that the little bundles seemed hardly separate from his own body, enclosing both in a tender embrace that said volumes about what an excellent father he was going to make. She had dozed off again, and when she woke a little while later had simply laid as still and quiet as she could, watching the lovely sight in front of her. Peter had slid down a little in his chair, chin resting on his chest, the baby girls still curled tightly and safely in his arms, his own breathing slowed just slightly in peaceful sleep. Could somehow tell that if she were to make the slightest movement toward the babies he would wake instantly, as protective as a lion toward his cubs. For now however he simply went on sleeping, until the girls had woken one another with wriggling and begun wailing for food.
He'd almost looked unwilling to hand them over, had stayed close whilst she nursed them watching their mouths working in fascination and finally propping himself on the side of the bed to snuggle close to his little family, breathe in deep breaths of that new baby smell, and feel at last the expected contentment and peace.