Hover

You’re hovering.

It’s a habit, not one you are sure you are ashamed of, what do they expect? That they could just walk away
with his kids?

We aren’t going to steal them.

Dawn gives you a look, a roll of her big blue eyes. Willow laughs handing Tara off to Faith. She walks away
but you do not hover over her. You trust her, but Dawn…the little bit was clumsy despite having been trained
in combat and an exceptional watcher. She could handle a sword and a bow but simply walking without
tripping over anything or dropping something…

She needed to be watched, what if she dropped Noah?

Then he’d have to kill her, and his babies wouldn’t have a dad.

I just like to see you hold them, right here.

She scoffs scoots to the edge of the couch; they can hold their heads up now, getting stronger every day.

She sits her on her lap; her hair has turned darker already, like spun gold, no longer wisps but fine and shiny.
You bought her a green stretchy head band with a little bow. It matches her white onsie and little green
overalls that had a stitched picture of a deer on the front. It is some Disney monstrosity a gift from her Aunt
Buffy.

Dawn makes faces at her, she laughs, that high pitched squeal children have, and grey eyes are wide and
shining. You are smiling, it is perfect. They are perfect. Dawn continues to make faces; you continue to watch
her even when she gets up to walk to the kitchen.

You be careful with her head…


She gives you an irritated glance making an exaggerated move to show her correctly placing support on your
baby. Willow laughs as she walks by taking your hand and leading you away from the two of them. You don’t
fight her but you don’t like that you can’t see them anymore.
She’s fine, Dawnie is good with them.

But you are better and they are yours anyway.

Faith is sitting on a stool, the baby tucked safely in one arm as she gives her a bottle. Tara’s hair is darker
than Noah’s and thicker. She had the same big grey eyes, though you think she had Willow’s nose. Your
hands itched to hold one of them. It was a weird feeling. You knew nothing was going to happen to them, no
one was going to take them but that niggling feeling in your gut is arguing with your common sense. Faith
must sense something because she laughs, twisting the bottle out of the baby’s mouth. She gives her back.

You’re such a softie Draco.

But you can’t help it, and you don’t mind.