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The baby -- their baby -- is looking up at her from the crib with big, blue eyes. He looks so small and fragile that just the thought of lifting him up and taking him out of the safety of the crib is enough to make her a little anxious. The slightest mistake -- losing her hold of him, gripping too hard -- and she'll have broken him. Broken their baby. She's not sure the Homelander could forgive her if she did. She's not sure she could forgive herself.
There's a tiny tuft of blond hair on the baby's head, and while it's just as likely that the father is a blonde too, she likes to think that he got it from them. Likes to ignore the fact that there is a biological father out there somewhere, as if the baby just appeared inside them one day and there's no one else involved in the creation of him, and no chance of him ever asking uncomfortable questions that they won't be able to answer.
But if there'll be any questions, they'll be years from now. Right now, the baby is two days old, and can't really do much beyond scream and sleep and eat and poop. She's letting Homelander handle that last part. There's a lot she'll do for her, but there are limits. Dealing with baby poop is one of them. Giving birth is another. She loves the Homelander with her whole heart, but she's the one who got them knocked up, so she's the one who got the honor of handling giving birth without anything to dull the pain. One of the perks of being the strongest person in the world is that you can forget about an epidural, or anything else really. Good luck piercing the skin or getting it to work. She's just glad the birth went smooth and that they didn't end up needing a C-section, because God only knows how that would have worked, short of them having to try to laser their own stomach open.
Just the thought of that is enough to make her cringe.
"One day," she tells the baby, who's still looking up at her from among the soft blue blankets, "I'm gonna tell you about how your mommy broke your daddy's hand when she was giving birth to you."
The baby blinks, and then his face twists into a grimace. She barely has the time to brace herself before a cry escapes the baby's lips, and she winces.
"Oh you're clearly gonna grow up to be a daddy's boy," she murmurs while reaching down to lift the baby up, one hand under his head as she moves him towards her as gently as she can. Don't hurt him don't hurt him don't hurt him.
She holds the baby close to her and strokes his back while trying to drown out the painfully loud cries that make her want to scream herself.
"What do you want, little guy?", she asks as she paces across the room with him. "You don't need to be changed, so what do you want?"
He doesn't answer. Of course he doesn't. The thought that the baby might need to be fed hits her like a truck, and so does the realization that she's a horrible mother, because a mother shouldn't feel uncomfortable with the idea of breastfeeding her own child, and yet just the thought makes her want to crawl out of her own skin. That's too close, closer than she's been to anyone, and she can't handle it. Doesn't want to.
Her grip around the baby hardens slightly without her realizing it at first, and it takes the baby letting out a higher scream for her to realize what she's doing.
I'm awful I'm awful oh god
Tears sting her eyes as she places the baby down in the crib, gently now, and she blinks to keep them from falling. She doesn't cry. She doesn't cry, damn it.
And just like that, she's pushed back, watching as the their arms lift the baby up again.
"Hey Ryan," she hears the Homelander whisper. "Are you a hungry baby?"
Their child won't ever know she exists. He won't ever know he has another mom. And as she shies away from the front while the Homelander holds the baby to their chest and he latches onto their nipple, she thinks it's a good thing. She's not sure she'll ever be fit to be a mother, and a part of her feels so incredibly broken because of it, knowing how naturally it comes to the Homelander.
God knows she can still protect the kid though. And she will.