Page 63 of Brood
* * *
Bun is a boy.
The council will give him his official name, but they don’t name babies until they survive the first three months. The last hour of labor is agony physically, but it’s still better than the hours before when I didn’t have Will with me.
And when it’s over—when they’ve cleaned him up and examined him and done all their normal tests—I get to hold him. It’s supposed to be so I can start nursing him, but I don’t care if there are practical reasons.
I get to hold him.
He’s healthy. And he’s mine. Mine and Will’s.
Will is still here. He’s managed to control himself enough to remain silent, no matter what Dr. Cameron said, so he’s hasn’t been banished or dragged away.
He’s smiling as he leans close to us. He shouldn’t do it because Glenda is still in the room, but he presses his lips against mine in a kiss. Then he kisses Bun’s head.
It’s not smart. At all. But I understand.
I feel the same way.
* * *
Two weeks later, I come to fuzzy awareness when I hear the main door to our quarters slide open.
My head is full of stuffing, and I can barely pry my eyes open. But I lift my head from my pillow and reach out my arms as someone moves toward my bed. “Come here, Bun,” I mumble, anticipating the soft, warm little body and the now-familiar infant scent of him.
“It’s just me.” Will. Unusually gentle. “It’s not feeding time yet.”
“Okay.” I drop my arms and head onto the bed again and close my eyes, urging my brain to work enough to clear my thinking. I haven’t had more than three hours of real sleep in a row for two weeks. I’ve never been so tired in my entire life. A few days ago, they started bringing Bun to our quarters when it was time to nurse him because I was having trouble getting myself to the nursery so many times a day.
It’s not Bun’s fault. He’s a remarkably healthy, good-natured baby. But he wants to eat all the time. I’ve spent my entire life on a rigidly regimented schedule, and this is not that.
I’m so out of it that I can’t figure out what’s happening when my mattress shifts. It’s not until Will stretches out beside me and pulls me halfway on top of him that I realize he climbed into bed with me.
“What time is it?” I rub my cheek against him, feeling the slight texture of his chest hair through his shirt. “Why aren’t you working?”
“I’m on break. It’s just after ten.”
I frown as I fight through the thick smoke in my mind. “Isn’t it your exercise time?”
“I skipped it today.”
“Why did you?—”
“Shhh.” He strokes my head, my messy hair.
“I don’t need to be shushed.” But I’m not annoyed at all. Oddly, I feel soft and fond beneath my grogginess. “We’re supposed to be good and follow the rules.”
“I am being good.”
“You need to beverygood. They’re already suspicious of us. If they decide we’re more trouble than we’re worth, we’ll be in danger.”
“They won’t do anything to you.”
I’m a successful breeder now. My status in the Refuge couldn’t be higher. “I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about you.”
“I’m being good,” he murmurs. “I promise.” One of his hands has settled on the curve of my bottom, and he keeps it there, resting it with an intimate entitlement that makes my heart throb despite the heaviness in my head. “I’m not going to let anything happen to me because that would mean you and Bun are left unprotected. I’ll never do that.”
“Okay.” I kiss his chest. Then his shoulder. Then I nuzzle at his coarse beard. “Thank you. Please don’t.” I close my eyes, feeling sleep wafting over my consciousness again. “I don’t know how I ever lived in this place without you.”
