Work Text:
“He’s beautiful,” Malia says quietly. She sounds reverent, like she did the first time she took Allison out with her into the woods, to walk through the trees and along the paths that she’d traveled as a coyote.
“He is,” Allison croaks, pushing a smile onto her face. She’s never felt more tired in her entire life. Her hair is sweaty and plastered to her face and she feels disgusting, but for a few moments, that’s not important. What is important is that Malia is sitting on the edge of her bed, holding their newborn son, staring at him like she’s seeing the stars for the first time. His face is still pinched and red and the downy hair on top of his head is a little damp when Allison brushes her fingers through it.
“He’s so quiet,” she says.
“I think he’s already asleep,” Malia responds. She scoots further back on the bed and slowly situates herself so that she’s laying down beside Allison. It’s a tight squeeze, but it makes it much easier for her to pass Allison their son. He stirs only slightly, tiny lips briefly pursing before he makes a quiet sound in the back of his throat and nestles his head against Allison’s chest.
Allison feels a tear run down her face and when Malia kisses it off, it only makes her cry more.
“I look like a mess,” she says quietly, wiping her face against the pillow.
“No you don’t,” Malia says with a frown, reaching out to brush a wisp of Allison’s hair away from her face. "You’re holding our son. You couldn’t be a mess even if you tried.“ More tears follow the ones still streaking down Allison’s face and she drops her forehead against Malia’s shoulder.
"I love you,” she murmurs, very glad that there’s no one else in the room, no one who might think about recording the moment as some weird kind of blackmail.
“I love you,” Malia answers, reaching out her hand and running her thumb over their son’s cheek. He stirs again, tiny fingers reaching out and flexing in thin air and Allison leans down to press a kiss against his smooth forehead.
“Is the pack still in the waiting room?” she asks. Malia nods and drapes her arm around Allison’s shoulders.
“Yeah. They sound impatient.”
“Should we tell them they can come in?”
“No,” Malia whispers, kissing Allison’s temple. "They can wait awhile longer. I’m not ready yet.“
"Me neither,” Allison replies and they fall quiet, the silence of the room broken only by the beeping of machines and the almost imperceptible sound of their son breathing.