If the nurse says that you’re doing fine, you’re doing fine, Spock, Spock imagined Jim saying.
Perhaps, Spock mused as he kept staring down at his daughter’s pretty little face. It does seem logical, if one puts it that way…
At the news that Nyota was awake, Spock tore his eyes away from his daughter (he was still trying to wrap his head around the idea that he was a father, to be honest) and nodded. “Of course,” he said immediately. “The sooner the better, right?” He couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face as he said those last few words. If this were any other occasion, he would have suppressed the smile immediately. As it were though, there was something about being emotional in this particular moment that told Spock that it was okay to show that he was happy. He was a father now, after all.
Spock hurried over to the room where the nurse had come back from, careful not to rouse the baby as he did so. “Nyota?” he said softly as he entered the room. His eyes rested on his t’hy’la, taking in her tired form. She was alive though, which was all that mattered. “How are you, t’hy’la?” He walked to her bedside, still holding the baby.
"Ashayam."
Tired still from being knocked out, her eyes traveled up to the form of Spock and the small bundle he cradled so delicately in his arms. A smile spread across her lips, and her eyes twinkled as she watched them approach, trying to peer at the child he held. She could barely see the tip of the baby's nose peeking out of the cloth.
"I am fine now. Tired, but well." She reached up, brushing against his hand as she brushed a finger along the newborn's cheek. "How is the she? I passed out almost as soon as she made her arrival..." She scooted up in her bed, wincing a bit from the movement - she may have been under a regenerator, but she had still just given birth and her body was still sore. "May I? I haven't gotten to hold her yet."
