Octavia smiles down at the being swaddled in too large blankets cradled in her arms. Her face is a mess of sweat and tears but she doesn't care. Nothing matters except this thing, this precious little human being, too small in a too large world. And after only having stopped crying from the pain of childbirth, Octavia starts to cry again. She cries for her child. Her beautiful baby girl with eyes already far too knowing and a face scrunched up in hunger, balled fists waving wildly around. And through Octavia's tears she starts to laugh. And Lincoln looks at her like she's gone mad but she doesn't care. Because here she is. Her child. After months and months of waiting she is finally here. Octavia clutches at the baby, tears streaming down her face, laughing wildly, because who would've thought that she, Octavia Blake, child under the floor, would ever have a child of her own. A child to love and hold and cherish and protect.
And to Lincoln he has never seen anything more beautiful than her in this moment, hair a mess, tears streaming down her face whether from laughing or crying he does not know, but still she is radiant. And all he can do is stare at them, his wife and his daughter so perfect in an imperfect world and Lincoln too starts to laugh.