Theodore discovered his own hands on the fourth day home.
At least, that was what Dean decided had happened when he walked into the nursery and found Arion standing beside the cot with the solemn concentration of someone witnessing a major scientific discovery.
Dean stopped in the doorway, one hand resting against the lingering tenderness low across his abdomen.
"What happened?"
Arion looked at him.
"He grabbed his other hand."
Dean waited.
"That's it?"
"He did it deliberately."
Their son lay beneath a light cream blanket, awake and perfectly comfortable, with both tiny fists currently pressed together near his chest as though he had personally invented the concept.
Dean approached.
Theodore's eyes were gold today, slightly unfocused but considerably more alert than they had been in the medical wing, and his dark hair stood up along one side from sleeping against Arion's shirt after the morning feeding.
One hand separated from the other.
