ATTENTION: THIS STORY HAS HIT 200 REVIEWS!
Thank you all sooooo much and have I ever mentioned that every single one of you is awesome? Because you are. I know I've gotten really bad about replying to reviews and PMs and stuff like that, but oh gods, you have no idea how much every single comment you guys make gets me smiling and giggling like a pathetic idiot and I literally cannot thank any of you enough for being amazing.
…uhm, sorry 'bout that.
Warning: the actual title for this chapter is WHOOPS okay yes hello I just what drowning in feelings here HELP, but that wouldn't fit in the title box. So yeah.
[disclaimer]
O-o-O
It's been almost two months and Zia still can't quite believe it.
A son. Her son.
She has a child.
When she thinks that, it sounds so strange. She has a child. She's a mother.
Wow.
She reaches out with one finger to gently, carefully, stroke the little boy's arm, and he giggles and grabs her finger. His little hand can barely encircle her appendage, but his grip is firm and his smile is so bright it seems to light up the dark room.
"You're strong," she whispers, leaning down to kiss his hand. The baby giggles again—the sound automatically brings a smile to her face—and grabs a fistful of her hair, which he decides he doesn't want and instead stretches his little arm out to touch the gauzy fabric of her shirt. Evidently the shirt isn't that entertaining, either, because after a minute he releases it and presses his warm little hand to her throat. She laughs and he gives a squeal of delight, whether at the sound of her voice or the thrum in her neck she doesn't know, but she keeps whispering to him. "I love you, baby," she murmurs. "I love you so much. Daddy loves you too, and Aunt Sadie. You're going to grow up to be such a strong man"—she feels a little stab of not my baby anymore and mentally shakes herself because, honestly, he's not even two months old, she doesn't need to be thinking like this already—"and I'll always be here for you, I promise."
Zia stops talking for a moment, overwhelmed, and strokes her son's hair, which is straight and dark just like hers. She's not sure how well he can see her, dark as it is, but his eyes stay locked on her face and she just sits there for—well, she doesn't know how long, drinking in the sight of her baby boy, and he drops his hand from her neck and twists his little fingers in the sheets. Eventually she props her elbow on her knee, resting her chin in her hand, and watches him squirm on her legs a little, wave his tiny fist in the air and grasp at nothing, until he's almost worn himself out.
"Getting sleepy, are we?" she says wryly.
Almost like he's trying to prove her wrong, he lifts his head (another pang of so grown up, another mental shake, because if she's thinking this now she doesn't know what she'll do for the rest of her life), looks at Carter, and whimpers, reaching out with his free hand, the other still wrapped around her finger.
"Shh," she breathes, "let Daddy sleep."
"Please let Daddy sleep," Carter groans, and he pulls a pillow over his head, but she can hear the smile in his voice, the little thrill at the word. Still, she can't resist the urge to stretch out her foot and give him a solid kick in the leg—even if he doesn't deserve it for this, she's sure he does deserve it for something. More than half-asleep and unable to see her, his aim is still good enough to return the favor with a firm punch in the hip.
"Ouch," she mutters, more from reflex than actual pain.
"Not sorry," he grumbles.
Deciding she can get her revenge in the morning, when she's thinking straight, she picks up the baby boy and rests his head against her shoulder as she walks, trying to regain feeling in her feet, which have turned to pins and needles. She brushes her fingers through the ends of his hair again as he squirms and wiggles, trying to stay awake, but finally she feels his yawn and hears a gentle sigh as he exhales.
His eyes are already closed by the time she lays him down, his grip on her hand slacking until his arm falls at his side, and she stands there and watches him for a minute, letting this incredible feeling well up in her until she feels her heart might burst.
She leans down one last time, kisses her sleeping son, and whispers, "Goodnight, Adrian."
Then Zia turns around and crawls back into bed, pulling the sheets up to her chin because it's suddenly cold. Carter (whose head is once again on top of the pillow) rolls over and puts an arm around her, pulling her into his chest.
"Thought you were asleep," she whispers into his collar bone.
"Almost there." His voice is a slow rumble.
She smiles and reaches out, pinching his side—revenge is sweet—and he swats her shoulder, grabbing both of her wrists and pinning them between their torsos, wrapping one arm around her tight enough that she can't slip free. He rolls onto his back, dragging her with him until they're nose to nose.
He runs his free hand up and down her back, and says, "You're terrible, you know that?"
"Mmhmm." She twists a little. "Come on, let me go."
His hand moves from her back to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Not until I get my kiss goodnight," he grins.
She leans down and kisses him, and the kiss is soft and sweet and finally he loosens his grip on her ribcage. She slides her arms out to drape them around Carter's neck, and she feels his arms circle her waist.
"Night, Mom," he mutters into her neck.
She smiles. "Sleep well, Dad."
She closes her eyes and rests her head against his shoulder and sighs, because this, she decides, is what happiness must feel like.
O-o-O
GUYS. I BROKE MYSELF. DROWNING IN EMOTIONS BECAUSE ZARTER AND WOULDN'T THEY HAVE THE CUTEST CHILDREN.
So if you need me I'll be curled up in a corner for the next few hours. Possibly crying. Sorry about my emotions.