Work Text:
*Lyrics are from “Shelter from the Storm” as sung by Bob Dylan.
The night wasn't black; it rarely got completely dark in New York City with all of the light pollution. There were no stars in the darkened sky beyond the tops of buildings, the sound of cars still vaguely audible even four floors up in New York Memorial Hospital after 11 o'clock at night.
That didn't stop Owen Strand from standing at one of the large windows, looking out as he held his newborn to his chest. The four hour old infant was swaddled in a soft green blanket, one tiny hand free to clutch his father's shirt as his chest rose and fell like he had run a marathon recently. Owen supposed that he had; sure, Gwyn had done all the heavy work but their son had definitely had an eventful day himself.
It was quiet on the maternity ward, no beeping machines or alarms so typical of a hospital. It was something Gwyn was extremely thankful for, having crashed quickly once they were installed in the room. An intensive 26 hour labor had wiped her out and she had managed to do little more than breast-feed the baby and perform a parental inspection of their son. Together, she and Owen had un-swaddled him, the baby's face scrunching and rosebud mouth screwing up as he protested the cold air conditioning. They had quickly counted all of his minuscule toes and fingers, marveling that they had actually made this tiny baby, they were parents, before re-swaddling him as quickly as possible in an effort to keep him calm.
It was a failed effort, as the baby had continued to cry even as he was held by Gwyn, his inexperienced mother trying ineffectually to soothe him. This was obviously his time to protest everything he had been put through in recent memory and he was not giving up that right for anything. Gwyn had merely shook her head and handed him off to her husband. She had carried him for over nine months and she was going to get some rest while Owen did his part for a while.
Owen had accepted the bundle without complaint, of course. After months of only being able to talk to his son through the barrier of skin and muscle, he wasn't going to pass up actually getting to hold his son against him, to talk to him and feel his warm, tiny body against his own adult one.
The baby had startled at the change of guardian, stopping mid-cry as murky blue eyes opening wide and staring up at his father. Owen knew realistically that there was no way his son was actually focusing on his face at this age, but it didn't stop the thrill that flared up his spine.
This was his son. He stamped down the part of him that was panicking. They had prepared as much as humanly possible for this bundle of joy that would change their lives. Owen knew his sleep was going to be affected, that the baby was going to interfere with future plans, was going to be expensive. It was a common human reaction to a giant change in his life, nothing more.
But oh, what a change it was.
“You're worth it,” he whispered to the baby, bending down and pressing a kiss against downy dark hair. “Completely and totally worth it.”
He turned slightly so the baby was facing the window, murmuring quietly about all of the plans he had for the two of them. He wanted to take his son camping and swimming, imagining a little boy with dark hair toddling after him, excited bright blue eyes that matched his own showing pleasure. He wanted to teach him about the stars and cars and everything in between, dark brown eyes that matched Gwyn's watching seriously as they took in every bit of information.
Above all, he promised that he would be there, be present, for his son the way his own emotionally distant father never had been.
As they communed, Gwyn dozed off in the background and Owen continued to talk before finally settling into a gentle swaying motion, softly crooning one of his favorite songs to the baby.
“Suddenly I turned around and she was standin' there
With silver bracelets on her wrists and flowers in her hair
She walked up to me so gracefully and took my crown of thorns
Come in, she said
I'll give ya shelter from the storm”
“I can't believe you're singing our son that,” Gwyn interrupted, shaking her head as she moved into a sitting position with a wince.
Owen immediately moved to her side, sitting gingerly on the side of the bed and shifting so that she could take the baby if she wanted. Instead, she left him in Owen's arms, leaning forward towards them.
“We need to figure out a name,” she murmured, one finger running gently down a downy cheek, smiling when she accidentally triggered him to begin sucking on the air. “We can't leave the birth certificate blank forever.”
“We've already narrowed down the original lists. Any ideas?”
Gwyn eyed her husband for a brief moment before focusing on her son again. “I think he looks like a Tyler.”
Owen looked up in surprise. “You hated that name. It was one of the first you vetoed off my list.”
Gwyn shrugged slightly before pressing a brief kiss to Owen's lips, immediately followed by a kiss to her son's downy head. “I was wrong. He looks like a Tyler to me. Tyler Andrew?”
Owen considered the name and shook his head, eyes never leaving the infant in his arms. “Kennedy,” he answered. “Tyler Kennedy Strand.”
Gwyn chuckled. Kennedy had actually been on her list of girls names, but it definitely flowed well. “Tyler Kennedy,” she agreed.
“I'll do anything for you, Tyler Kennedy. I'd lay down and die for you, if it meant you would live,” he whispered, rubbing his thumb over Tyler's cheek and once again marveling at how small the infant was.
“That's morbid.” causing Owen to give a shout of laughter before immediately soothing Tyler after the upset. “It’s okay, Tyler. Daddy’s here.”