Chapter Text
The first time it happens, is when Jim is only five days old.
Amanda cradles her son on her hip as Winona guides them into the nursery, the Iowa farmhouse quiet except for the soft creak of floorboards. Spock is three, solemn and wide-eyed, clutching his mother's hand.
"This is Jim," Winona says softly, gesturing to the bassinet where her newborn sleeps, a tiny bundle wrapped in blue.
Spock peers over the edge, fascinated. The baby is so small, smaller than his sehlat toy. Pink-faced and perfect.
"You can touch him if you're gentle," Winona offers.
Amanda sets Spock down, and he approaches carefully, reaching out with the curiosity only a child possesses. His small fingers extend — two of them, the way his father sometimes touches his mother's hand — and press gently against the baby's palm.
Jim's fingers curl instinctively around Spock's in a grip surprisingly strong for someone so new to the world. The alignment is perfect. Index and middle fingers, pad to pad.
Amanda's breath catches. "Oh."
Spock doesn't understand why his cheeks suddenly feel warm, or why his mother is staring. He only knows the baby's hand is soft and small in his.
Jim sighs in his sleep, holding on tight.