Spoilers: For Eames in season three.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Perfect
Cotton sheets against her skin. Flowers with traces of antiseptics lingering in the air. People talking in hushed tones.
She slowly opened her eyes. A cup with a bent straw, a small baby bottle. She was still blinking against the brightness of the light coming through the half closed blinds of the window when she tried to sit up, but immediately winced in discomfort. A warm hand on her shoulder gently urged her to lie down again. A click and moments later she felt the bed move until she was upright. She covered the hand with her smaller one as her eyes fell on her sister and brother-in-law standing at the foot of her bed.
Her sister was holding the baby, cooing, smiling.
The scene looked so painfully familiar that she tensed and had to close her eyes against the invasion of emotions she usually kept inside, deeply buried. She felt her mother's hand against her forehead, could hear her ask if she should call the doctor. Words wouldn't come and before she could shake her head, she felt the bed dip on the other side, could smell the scent she had come to identify with home.
This time, when she opened her eyes again, she reached out to gather the newborn infant in her arms. His hand joined hers as she cradled the tiny head; touched the shock of dark hair, traced eyebrows, nose, mouth and chin. She recognized those features, had seen parts of them in her dreams when she had tried to picture what their unborn child might look like.
Missing pieces fell into place and their eyes met; they smiled, shaky, awed, thankful, proud. Perfect.