Then his hand opened and closed around my finger.
Very lightly. Barely a grip at all. It still felt like being pinned in place.
“You okay?” Maeve asked softly.
“He’s warm,” I said.
“Babies do tend to be. It’s one of their better features.”
I looked down at him. He already appeared displeased by management.
“He has your expression,” I told her.
“Rude,” she said. “Accurate. But rude.”
Fergus climbed onto the sofa cushion and gave me a suspicious growl.
“Perimeter remains secure,” I informed him.
He sneezed.
Maeve laughed, tired and breathless and real.
That sound mattered more than any lock in the room.
I handed Mac back with more care than I have ever used for anything.
“You did well,” Maeve whispered.
I looked at her. Then at him. “We did well.”
Maeve’s scent had changed completely now. Milk and caramel and warmth, all the fear burned out of it. Even the sharp edge had gone.
Mac began to fuss.
Not crying. Just offended little noises, as if the world had failed several inspections in a row.
“He’s hungry,” Maeve murmured.
“Let him latch onto your breast,” Dr. Jacobson called through the phone. Maeve’s eyes flicked to me first.
“Can you help me sit him up a little?” she asked.
I slid one hand behind Mac’s back and held him while I helped her to sit up. When she was ready I settled him against her.
I brushed my thumb over his cheek and Mac stopped fussing instantly.
Maeve looked down, then up at me with a sleepy little smile. “Well. Look at that.”
“What?”
“You’ve been a father for twenty minutes and he already knows you.”
“Hello, Mac,” I said quietly.
His dark unfocussed eyes barely opened.
Maeve smiled. “He has your expression.”
