Work Text:
The front door swung open as Rebecca stepped across the threshold first, Theo swaddled tightly against her chest, his face barely visible beneath a soft cotton hat that was just a little big. Ted followed with the careful precision of a man carrying something priceless - which, in a way, he was. Joel, tucked securely in his car seat, let out a sleepy grumble as Ted shifted his weight. Henry brought up the rear, pulling Rebecca’s wheeled suitcase behind him with one hand and clutching a large bouquet of flowers in the other.
They stood in the hallway for a moment, as if waiting for the world to settle. There was a familiar smell - clean linen, lemon polish, and something distinctly floral that came from the reed diffuser Rebecca always kept on the hallway table. For the first time since leaving the hospital, she exhaled.
“We’re home,” she whispered, mostly to herself.
Within hours, their bedroom had been transformed into something between a field hospital and a fortress of softness. Rebecca’s side of the super king bed was hemmed in by essentials: feeding pillows, breast pads, a basket of nappies and wipes, nipple balm, spare onesies, bottles of water, and a larger than normal pink box filled with Ted’s biscuits.
Ted floated around the edges, a whirlwind of cheerful practicality. He took charge of anything that didn’t involve milk - changing nappies with practised ease, heating up food, and even attempting to fold onesies into some kind of drawer system that made sense to no one but him. Henry helped too, in his own quiet way. He handed over wipes when asked, took dishes back to the kitchen, and sat by the bed reading messages from Keeley and Higgins, both of whom were spending far more time texting than fulfilling their roles as custodians of Nelson Road in Rebecca’s absence.
By the second day, the haze of joy and adrenaline had begun to thin, revealing the practical absurdities of newborn life - like the fact that despite being their creators, Ted and Rebecca were already uncertain which twin was which.
Rebecca had just managed to settle one of the twins - she was fairly confident it was Joel - into the Moses basket and had padded into the en-suite for the luxury of brushing her teeth. She was halfway through her ritual, toothbrush in mouth, when she heard a tentative voice from the hallway.
“Becca?” Ted’s tone was light, but strained.
She popped her head out of the doorway, foam still clinging to her lips. “Hmm?”
He stood there in the corridor with the other twin nestled in a baby wrap that didn’t look entirely like it should but the tiny occupant wasn’t complaining. Ted’s hair was askew, his t-shirt spotted with a mystery stain, and his face wore the expression of a man about to admit to something shameful.
“I think we have a problem,” he said.
Rebecca spat into the sink. “What kind of problem?”
“I don’t think I’ve been holding Joel.”
There was a pause.
She stepped out of the bathroom slowly, hands on hips. “That’s because Joel is in the Moses basket…isn’t he?”
Ted looked down at the sleeping baby, whose tiny lips were parted in soft baby snores oblivious to the identity crisis his parents were inflicting upon him. “I mean… he might be Theo. He’s giving Theo vibes. You see, the hat came off. I blinked and within seconds it was like a game of Follow the Queen and, well...”
Rebecca’s eyes narrowed. “Did you not use the blanket I laid out? Theo gets wrapped in the yellow stitching.”
“Yeah, that blanket had… a diaper…I mean, nappy incident. It’s now in the garden awaiting judgement.”
“Oh for the love of—” She exhaled sharply, walking toward him. “Right. So the hat’s off, the blanket’s gone, and you’re just going by vibes?”
“They have different vibes!” Ted insisted, though not convincingly. “This one feels like Theo. Maybe. Probably.”
They both peered down at the baby’s face - adorably scrunched, peaceful, utterly unhelpful.
Rebecca folded her arms. “We’re forty-eight hours in, and we’ve already lost track of our own children.”
Ted winced. “Okay, okay. We can fix this. Maybe we draw a little dot on one’s foot? Like a sharpie temporary tattoo”
“I am not graffitiing the babies, Ted.”
“Nail polish?”
“No.”
“Fine, fine. We pierce one of their ears?”
“Absolutely not!”
They both stood in silence, exhausted and mildly panicked, staring helplessly at the indistinguishable infant now wriggling slightly in Ted’s arms. A little whimper came from the basket - possibly Joel - and both parents turned their heads with identical expressions of guilt and confusion.
Henry emerged from the lounge, still in pyjamas, a half-eaten banana in one hand. He came to a stop, stared at the scene - his dad, swaying gently with a baby in a sling; Rebecca in a dressing gown that had a variety of stains on it, including fresh toothpaste to accompany the spit up and milk.
“You guys look worried,” he said, taking a bite.
Rebecca sighed. “We can’t tell them apart. Ted thinks the baby he’s holding is Theo, but we’re not entirely confident.”
Ted nodded solemnly. “I might’ve panicked.”
Henry wandered over, peered at the baby in the sling, then at the one in the basket, and shrugged casually. “That one’s Theo.” he said, pointing to the basket.
Both adults turned to him in unison.
Ted’s mouth opened slightly. “How can you tell?”
Henry pointed. “Theo’s got a freckle. Just there.” He tapped just above the bridge of the baby’s nose. “It’s tiny, but it was there yesterday too. The other one doesn’t have it.”
Rebecca leaned in for a closer look. Sure enough, there it was - a minuscule brown speck, almost invisible unless you knew to look.
Ted frowned. “I thought that was barbecue sauce.”
“You put barbecue sauce on the baby?”
“I didn’t put it on him. I may have inadvertently sprinkled him with it when I was eating. Barbecue is messy.”
Henry shook his head. “Maybe you should write it down. Or, I dunno, check his nose before you freak out.”
Rebecca reached over and cupped the back of Henry’s head, pressing a kiss into his hair. “Thank God one of us has their wits about them.”
It was on the third day at home that Rebecca noticed something subtle - an unease in Henry that didn’t seem to stem from tiredness or boredom. Whenever she began to breastfeed one of the twins, Henry would avert his eyes sharply, his face flushed, his body going still in a way that didn’t feel relaxed. She caught him stealing awkward glances before turning his head completely, sometimes even leaving the room with a muttered excuse.
It wasn’t disdain. It was discomfort.
Rebecca had just latched Theo for a feed when she saw Henry shift uncomfortably again. He had been sitting on the armchair, Joel snoozing on a cushion beside him, watching a film they were all pretending to pay attention to. As soon as Theo began suckling, Henry’s eyes darted away. He stared determinedly at the screen, but his jaw was set and his ears were visibly red.
Rebecca exchanged a look with Ted, who gave her the gentlest nod. It wasn’t a reprimand. It was a nudge - you should be the one to talk to him.
Later that evening, after the twins were down and Ted was tidying downstairs, Rebecca found Henry sitting at the foot of their bed, watching a video on his iPad. She sat beside him, the mattress sinking under her weight, and waited a moment before speaking.
“Hey,” she said softly. “Can I ask you something?”
Henry looked up, slightly guarded. “Yeah?”
“Have I done something that’s made you uncomfortable? Or have I upset you?” she asked.
His face flushed. “No! I mean - no, not really. Just…” He paused, shrugged, looked away.
Rebecca’s tone stayed gentle. “Is it when I’m feeding the babies?”
He froze for a second, which was answer enough. “It’s just… I dunno. I can see, like - your…” he awkwardly pointed to his own nipple area. “And I’m not trying to look! I swear, I’m not! But it’s just… there. And I don’t know where to look.”
There it was. Honest. Blunt. Painfully self-aware in the way only a 12-year-old could be when they realised the world was full of complicated, unspeakable things.
Rebecca smiled warmly. “Thank you for telling me, sweetheart. That must’ve felt weird to say.”
Henry let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a groan. “It did.”
“Well,” she said, “you’re not wrong. Breasts are usually seen one way - on TV, in magazines, all that stuff. But this? This is the way they were actually made to be used.”
Henry nodded, but his eyes stayed firmly on his knees.
Rebecca continued, gently. “Sweet boy, I promise I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable. Babies need to eat. And this is how they eat. That’s all it is. It’s not supposed to be secret or rude or embarrassing. But it is okay to feel a bit weird about it. You’re twelve. Everything’s weird right now.”
That earned her a reluctant smile. “Yeah.”
Ted breezed in with his usual good timing and a slightly over-the-top knock on the already open door. “Hey there, Henry. Mind if I join you and Becca for a little chat?”
Henry gave a small shrug. “Sure.”
Ted perched on the other side of his son.
“You know,” Ted began, “in some parts of the world, seeing a mom feeding her baby is about as surprising as seeing a cow chewing grass. It’s just what happens. It’s nature doing its thing.”
Henry glanced up at him, half-curious, half-wary.
Ted leaned back, resting on his elbows. “I get that it’s awkward. I do. You’re at an age where stuff like this suddenly gets… complicated. But imagine if we all had to go to the toilet in total secret and never talked about it. Or had to eat behind curtains because chewing was considered rude. That’d be silly, right?”
Henry cracked a reluctant grin. “That would be really weird.”
Rebecca nudged his shoulder lightly. “This is just one of those things, Henry. It’s okay to feel awkward. But you’re not in trouble. And you’re not doing anything wrong. If you want to ask questions, I’ll answer every single one.”
There was a long pause. “Does it hurt?”
Rebecca blinked. “Honestly? Yes. This is something new for me and the boys and my body isn’t quite used to it yet, but it will be soon and I know it won’t always be as painful.”
Henry nodded slowly. “Do you have to do it in front of people? Like, can’t you just… go somewhere else?”
“I could,” she replied. “But I shouldn’t have to. Especially not in my own home. If I pop out to a café or somewhere public with the boys, I’ll probably be a bit more discreet. But here? I’d rather just be comfortable. And you should be comfortable too. But if it’s too much, I won’t mind if you’d rather not be in the room when I’m feeding them.”
Henry was quiet for a moment. “No, I’ll get used to it. It’s just new, like you said, and I want to be a good big brother.”
Ted gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Proud of you, bud.”
The conversation changed something. The next day, when Rebecca began feeding one of the twins, Henry didn’t leave the room. He stayed on the far end of the bed, a bit red in the face, still looking anywhere but directly at her, but he didn’t flee. He even passed her a muslin without being asked. It was awkward, but it was progress.
By the fifth day, the house had settled into a kind of rhythm. Ted cooked bacon sandwiches, bringing up a tray with mugs of strong tea for Rebecca and his traitorous son. They all ate in bed, balancing plates on knees, babies sleeping between them having already filled their own tiny bellies. They watched old Pixar films, sometimes nodding off between feeds. Henry changed his first nappy under Rebecca’s careful eye. He gagged dramatically, but he persevered. He stayed engaged, slowly warming to the world that had so suddenly included two tiny brothers and most un-wicked stepmother.
And though he still looked away, just slightly, when Rebecca fed the twins, he no longer fled. He no longer bristled.
Rebecca noticed it one night, as Joel snoozed on her chest, contentedly full, and Henry leaned against her shoulder, watching Finding Nemo with a sleepy gaze. She pressed a kiss to his hair and whispered, “Thanks for sticking with us, Henry.”
Henry yawned. “It’s not that bad.”
And that, Rebecca thought, was probably the highest compliment a tween could offer.
By the sixth morning, the house felt different. Still chaotic, still sleep-deprived, but somehow… steadier. Like they’d managed to paddle through the strongest part of the current and now bobbed gently in the calmer waters beyond. The twins, by some small miracle, had only woken twice in the night. It felt like a major victory. Rebecca had even had a shower before noon, and Ted had put on actual trousers.
Henry padded into the bedroom, rubbing his eyes beneath a shock of flattened bedhead. He looked taller every day, and Rebecca felt a strange pang whenever she noticed it. He’d grown up so much in the last few days, helping with feeds, warming bottles, even rocking Joel to sleep one afternoon while humming the song from UP!. He may not have realised it but he’d become her right-hand man.
Ted glanced up from where he was wrangling a breast pump. “Morning, Henny Penny. Fancy breakfast?”
Henry shrugged. “Maybe.”
Rebecca, sitting propped against her throne of pillows with Theo latched contentedly at her chest, smiled at him. “There’s leftover banana pancakes. Dad made about forty yesterday.”
“They were for freezing!” Ted protested from the en-suite.
Rebecca raised a brow. “And how many made it to the freezer?”
Ted grinned. “Two.”
Henry flopped onto the end of the bed and reached for his phone. But then, without prompting, he looked up and asked, “Want me to grab the burp cloth for you?”
Rebecca blinked, then smiled softly. “That’d be lovely, thanks.”
He passed it over, not quite making eye contact as Theo popped off with a satisfied sigh. Rebecca shifted to burp him, her dressing gown slipping slightly but neither of them making a thing of it as she quickly recovered herself. The awkwardness hadn’t vanished completely, but the discomfort had softened into a kind of mutual understanding.
Henry watched quietly as she patted Theo’s back, then asked, “Do they know who’s who yet?”
Ted wandered back into the room, towel drying his hands. “The twins?”
“Yeah. Like… do they know I’m their brother?”
Rebecca smiled at the thought. “Probably not like we know each other, no. But they know comfort. Smell. Warmth. Heartbeats. They know we’re theirs.”
Henry considered that for a long moment, then nodded. “Cool.”
The day was quiet. Peaceful. Ted had cleared the diary—no Zoom calls, no emails—and Rebecca had given herself permission to do nothing except nap, feed, and maybe stare at the babies for inappropriately long stretches. She’d never been one for idle time before. But now, idle meant cuddles and slow sips of tea and watching Joel’s eyelids flutter as he drifted off with a milk drunk sigh.
They all piled onto the bed for lunch—leftover curry and poppadoms eaten cold straight from the containers. Henry sat in the middle, holding a sleeping Joel like he was made of glass. He’d been hesitant at first, always too scared to be the one doing the holding. But now, he relaxed into it, his arms learning the weight and warmth of his brothers. “They’re heavy,” he mumbled.
Ted nodded sagely. “Yup. And deceptively strong. Wait till they start pulling your hair.”
Henry looked genuinely alarmed.
By late afternoon, the weather turned, and soft rain pattered against the windows. They put on The Princess Bride—Ted insisted it was a rite of passage—and the twins slept through most of it on their parents’ chests.
Rebecca lay back, Theo sprawled across her collarbone, his face mushed against the curve of her breast. She traced gentle circles on his back, eyes flicking over to see Henry curled beside her with his headphones half-on, idly watching the film through one eye. Ted had one leg hanging off the bed, Joel splayed out like a starfish on his belly, mouth open, snoring faintly.
The room was a mess. Clothes everywhere. A drying rack with tiny socks hanging like Christmas decorations. But it was perfect.
That night, Henry helped Ted with bath time. Rebecca sat it out - her stitches were still sore, and standing too long made her legs ache. She listened to the splashy chaos from the hallway, smiling to herself as Ted narrated the whole thing in the style of David Attenborough. “Here, in the wild basin of the Lasso home, the two baby boys wriggle and wail, unaware that their feet are about to be mercilessly cleaned.”
Henry’s laughter rang out. “You’re so weird, Dad.”
“Only on Tuesdays.”
They emerged damp and squeaky clean, wrapped in whale-print towels. Rebecca took over for the last feed, propped in bed with both twins across her lap in a double rugby hold that made her feel like some kind of maternal octopus.
Henry hovered nearby, folding the now-damp towels without being asked. Then, after a beat, he said, “So… like, do they ever stop eating?”
Rebecca let out a quiet laugh. “Eventually. But for now, it’s most of what they do.”
“They’re like tiny cows.”
“And I feel like the milk machine that is a mother cow.”
She studied him closely then. He was watching her feed them, really watching—not with the awkward detachment from a few days ago, but with open-eyed interest. Not because she was exposing herself—he’d already stopped noticing that—but with eyes filled with love for his brothers.
When both twins were milk-drunk and floppy, Ted took one and tucked him into the bedside bassinet. Henry followed with the other, his movements careful and practiced now.
As they climbed into bed, Henry lingered at the edge.
Rebecca looked up. “You staying?”
He shrugged. “If that’s okay.”
“It’s always okay.”
He climbed in beside her, wedging himself into the nest of blankets, his feet icy cold against hers.
And just like that, they slept.
The next morning, Rebecca woke to the sun casting soft stripes across the duvet. She lay still for a while, listening to the house breathe around her. Ted was snoring faintly. Joel stirred in the bassinet, letting out a squeaky little sigh. Henry had migrated to the foot of the bed, duvet tangled around him like seaweed.
Rebecca felt a bloom of contentment rise in her chest.
Later, after a particularly successful tandem nap and a lunch of grilled cheese sandwiches cooked by Henry (burnt edges and all), they found themselves sitting around the table.
Ted stretched and yawned. “You know what I think?”
Rebecca raised an eyebrow. “Dangerous sentence.”
“I think we’re ready.”
“Ready for what?”
He gestured around them. “For people. Visitors. The outside world.”
Rebecca tilted her head. “Are we?”
Henry, who’d just taken a sip of juice, shrugged. “I mean… if they bring food.”
Rebecca looked at her little crew. Her husband, her bonus son, her beautiful boys. The house was a mess. The laundry still hadn’t been touched. She had stitches and swollen ankles and hair that hadn’t been washed in three days. But yes - she felt ready.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s do it. Let’s open the door.”
Ted grinned. “But only to people who bring lasagne.”
“Or brownies,” Henry added.
Rebecca nodded. “Especially brownies.”