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“Doctor Hale, your husband’s in,” the nurse said.
Derek signed the clipboard she was holding out for him. “Thank you. I’ll be off for the next half hour.”
He didn’t have to worry though. Everyone knew that Derek never missed any of his husband’s appointments and knew better than to interrupt him short of an actual life or death situation. It was one of the perks of being the Chief of Surgery… and, you know, having his family own the hospital.
Derek greeted every doctor, nurse and patient he passed. Everyone was in a good mood, what with Christmas only two weeks away, and while Derek didn’t have a Santa hat on unlike some of his colleagues, he made sure to have a few sticks of candy canes ready in his coat pocket to give away when he felt like it.
Derek headed to the VIP room reserved for his husband during his check-ups. He smiled at the ‘S. Stilinski-Hale’ on the door and knocked softly.
Stiles was reclined on the bed, dressed in his favorite red maternity pants, one of Derek’s black sweaters, and a scarf Cora knitted for him. He was watching a Christmas movie and had the remote in one hand while the other was busy plucking food from the small container placed on top of his pregnant belly.
“What’s up, doc?” Stiles asked as he ate what looked to be carrot sticks.
“How long did it take you to think of that joke?” Derek scoffed. He kissed his husband on the temple. “How was the trip?”
Stiles snorted. “The fifteen-minute ride from home to here was utterly riveting, Derek. I could hardly contain myself.”
Derek tapped his husband’s nose teasingly and stole a stick before sitting beside him. “Joe? Dylan?”
“Joe wanted to get some coffee, so Dill Pickle decided to tag along like a baby duckling,” Stiles said, and Derek could see the smile curling at the corner of his lip. “He made me thumb promise not to have Erica start the ultrasound until he came back.”
“Thumb promise? How’s that?” Derek chuckled as he rifled through the bag on the side table and took out Stiles’ water bottle.
“Joey was already out the door and our son couldn’t find his pinky, hence a thumb promise,” Stiles said, giggling. He took a sip of his drink. “How about you? How many lives have you saved so far, dear husband?” He reached out to pinch Derek’s cheek.
Derek tried to bite Stiles’ fingers. “Everything’s good; did an appendectomy and cholecystectomy before lunch, met some of the new interns, and I have a whipple procedure scheduled for later.”
Stiles waggled his eyebrows at him. “Ooh, talk dirty to me, baby.”
Derek snorted. “Plus, I found out there were two new admissions at the maternity unit.” Stiles perked up at that. He liked hearing about other pregnancies. “Miller was about thirteen weeks along with twins, while Morgan is due next month.”
“Sounds nice.” Stiles sighed with a smile. “And let me guess, you raved on and on about your pregnant hubby.”
Derek flushed. “No, I didn’t.”
Stiles snickered, throwing a carrot stick at him. Derek managed to catch it in his mouth.
Derek spoke through his mouthful, softly saying, “Being pregnant suits you the best though.”
“Well, it’s with your child, isn’t it?” Stiles rubbed his stomach. His face softened, his eyes brightened, and Derek felt his heart fluttering in his chest.
Derek leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to his husband’s lips. Stiles’ hands drifted to his hair and tugged lightly, and Derek opened his mouth, deeply and lazily licking into his lover’s mouth. He kept one hand against Stiles’ cheek, while the other rubbed his stomach, delighted when he felt his son kick against his hand.
There was a knock on the door behind Derek and it opened before the two could stop.
“Keep it in check, you two!” Erica, Derek’s best friend and Stiles’ obstetrician, made a face at them, though the fact that she looked too fond of them marred the effect.
“Eww. Daddies are so gross,” Dylan said, scrunching up his nose and burying his face in Joe’s chest with a giggle.
“Hey. Hey. Hey.” Stiles pouted, licking his red-kissed lips. “Dylan Levi Stilinski-Hale, your parents are not gross. They are simply expressing their epic love for another.”
“Express it somewhere else, please,” Joe, their driver, said. Erica laughed at that.
Derek didn’t comment on that. Joe probably had more cause than most to berate them, considering how many times he’s caught them doing the deed in the six years he’s been working for them. Derek opened his arms when Joe handed his son over to him.
“I’ll just be outside,” Joe said, nodding to the couple and then walking out.
“Dada!” the four-year-old cheered, pursing his lips for a kiss. Derek kissed his little mouth and pressed more against the moles on his chubby cheeks.
Dylan was a carbon copy of Stiles from head to toe, save for the eyes. He had Derek’s eyes. The rest was all Stiles, from his dark brown hair to his pale, mole-speckled skin, and upturned nose. Derek adored him something fierce.
Dylan giggled, rubbing a hand against Derek’s stubble. It was a habit he’d had since he was a child. Derek could only hope his other son would also pick up the habit.
“Joe-joe was buying a samich from the bendy machine and Aunt Er’ca saw us and she bought me a juice box but I finished it all before we came here and on the way we saw Uncle Boyd but he was getting on the up-up box and he was pushing a man on a rolling chair and didn’t see me.” He took a large gulp of air. “And we also saw Nurse Clare and she said she has Christmas cookies in her office so I should come see her after, so please, please, can we go look for her, because I also wanna see Uncle Boyd because he didn’t give me kissies, and I didn’t see Mams, yet so we have to look for her too.”
His baby also apparently inherited his husband’s talkativeness.
“First of all, it’s sandwich,” Derek corrected. “And remember that the up-up box is an elevator, and a rolling chair is a wheelchair. And yes, we can visit Uncle Boyd, Nurse Clare, and Mama Melissa after Papa’s ultrasound.”
Derek placed his son on his lap and looked up to see Stiles watching them with the most adoring look on his face. Erica was making gagging noises behind her clipboard.
“He is totally your son,” Erica said to Stiles.
Stiles just looked so happy. “Yes, he is.”
“Your sappiness is nauseating.” Erica scrunched up her nose, which didn’t work so much when she was smiling too widely. “Anyway, let’s get this show on the road.”
The check-up was routine at this point. Erica rattled off questions which Stiles and Derek answered almost automatically. Stiles had always had a high-risk pregnancy, even when he had Dylan, and they didn’t want to take chances with their new little one.
“Let’s see the baby then?” Erica asked, as she readied the ultrasound machine.
“Yes, please!” Dylan shouted, scrambling from Derek’s lap to Stiles’ bedside, careful not to hit his tummy. “I wanna see please, Aunt Er’ca!”
“Sure thing, Dilly,” she said, ruffling his hair.
Derek helped his husband pull his shirt up, taking time to rub the pregnant belly and delighting at the kick he felt against his hand. He kissed the spot, delighting at Stiles’ little wriggle of contentment. Stiles was due sometime after Christmas, so very close, and Derek was excited.
In no time at all, the gel was applied and Erica was waving the wand around and showing them a view of their new baby boy.
“Baby!” Dylan squealed, small hands reaching out to the screen. Derek had to keep a hand around him lest he dived for it.
“Ready, steady, Dill Pickle,” Stiles said.
“I can’t wait to meet him, Papa,” Dylan said, waving at the screen. “Hi, Tyler!”
Derek felt his heart melt at the sight. He glanced at Stiles, who was smiling widely.
Derek leaned over and kissed his husband’s cheek. “I can’t wait to meet him too.”
It was a Saturday the week before Christmas and Derek had the weekend off, which he was happily spending with his husband and son.
Derek was on the living room floor with Dylan and they were building a house out of Legos, or rather Derek was planning it and lining up the Legos properly before letting Dylan whack it with a squeaky toy hammer. Sometimes the Lego pieces ended up flying and sometimes Derek had to just push it in, while his son whacked the Lego, the floor, his foot and Derek’s head.
Stiles was of no help. He was reclined on the couch under a thick blanket and was switching between watching television, drinking tea and making suggestions about the house. Then Dylan would get excited and demand Derek help him build whatever it was Stiles said and now Derek had to find some way to build a Lego house that was three stories high, had a pool, a garage, a front and back lawn, a greenhouse and a planetarium. Never mind that Dylan didn’t know what a planetarium was, just that Papa said it was cool.
“I think our Lego house would look good with an underground lair,” Stiles said, finally abandoning the television to pester his husband and son.
“Yes!” Dylan yelled. “Dada, let’s make that too!”
Derek glared at Stiles, who simply giggled behind his cup of tea.
“No, baby. We can’t,” Derek said patiently. “Papa said it was under the ground, which means we have to put it below the house, and we can’t do that.”
“But we have to make a nice house, Dada!” Dylan insisted, pursing his lips in an expression of stubbornness that was so similar to Stiles it almost made Derek laugh. He held back though.
“Dada, we have to build the bestest house in the whole widen world for Papa and Ty-Ty and it gots to be prettyful and it should come with all the things Papa and Ty-Ty have to get!” He finished that off by hitting his toy hammer against the floor.
Derek chose his words carefully and noticed Stiles snickering in the corner, that traitor.
“Dylan, when Tyler is born, he’ll still be too little to understand the house.” Derek continued on when he noticed Dylan gearing up to argue. “And Papa and Tyler don’t really have to get or need a lair in the first place.”
Stiles clicked his tongue against his teeth. “How can you say I won’t need an underground lair, Dada? How can I be Batman without a lair?”
Dylan jumped up. “Tha’s right, Dada! Batman needs a… a… lee…ar.”
“A lair, Dill Pickle.”
“Yeah, that!”
“Dylan, your Papa is not Batman, and Papa, you stop that,” Derek chastised, glaring at his husband who kept snickering behind his probably-already-empty mug of tea.
Stiles pouted, and he looked so cute and traitorous that Derek wanted to kiss and tickle him to death. “But what if I cry?” He punctuated that with a sniffle.
That, more than anything, got Dylan going. He gasped and pounced on Derek. “Dada! Papa’s gonna cry! And if Papa cries Tyler will get sad too!”
“Son, I’m very sure Tyler won’t cry,” Derek paused when Dylan made a stricken face and said instead, “And Dylan, your Papa cries about everything anyway, even when he’s happy he’s crying.”
Stiles squawked loudly. “I do not!”
“You do too,” Derek said. he turned to his son. “Remember how Papa cried when you put the star on top of the tree? And when you almost – take note Stiles, almost – tripped over the snow yesterday? And when Dada made hot chocolate? And when he heard “Santa Baby” on the radio? And when he–”
“He gets your point,” Stiles interrupted, crossing her arms and pouting. “We all get your darn point. Darn hormones.”
Dylan, who had been nodding along, giggled and rolled around on the floor.
Derek crawled over to his husband, chuckling and then leaned up to kiss that cute nose. Stiles just hid his face behind his big hands.
“Even when the hormones kick in and you cry, get all runny-nosed, and upset over the little things, I still love you,” Derek said, stroking his pregnant tummy. “And Dylan does too and so does Tyler. Very, very, very much.”
“Whatever, losers,” Stiles scoffed, though he actually sounded a bit teary-eyed.
“Papa are you crying again?” Dylan asked as he moved closer to them.
Derek chuckled, pressing a kiss to Stiles’ face. “Papa just needs a kiss.”
“Ok!” Dylan shouted, leaning forward to smack a wet kiss against his dad’s cheek. He then pressed one to Stiles’ stomach. “Dada, Ty-Ty too!”
Derek did so.
“Stupid happy tears,” Stiles murmured, a smile stretching across his face.
The “12 Days of Christmas” could be heard throughout the house, accompanied by Stiles’ cheerful voice, Dylan’s warbling, and the playful jingle of a baby tambourine. Derek was in the kitchen, loading up the dishwasher and ticking off his mental checklist of things to do before tomorrow’s Christmas Day lunch with his and Stiles’ family at the Hale house.
They promised to bring desserts so he had to make sure not to forget the cupcakes and ice cream in the fridge. He also had to pack an extra bag for Stiles just in case, as well as the baby bag, even though they had everything they needed at the Hale house.
Derek was in the middle of contemplating which of Stiles’ thick socks to bring, when he heard footsteps.
“Dada?”
“Yes, baby boy?” Derek wiped his hands on a rag and turned to his son.
Dylan was wide-eyed. “Papa’s leaking.”
Derek dropped the rag just as Stiles walked in behind Dylan. He looked both excited and fearful as he cradled his pregnant tummy and pointed at the growing stain on his yoga pants.
“Love, I think my water just broke.”
Tyler Enzo Stilinski-Hale was born on Christmas Day and looked like a mini Derek from head to toes, save for his amber eyes and his pale skin. He was also as quiet as his Dada, settling quietly and sleepily against whoever was carrying him.
“Another beautiful boy,” John said, looking teary-eyed. “Happy birthday-slash-Merry Christmas-slash-congratulations, son. I’m happy for you both.”
“Thank you so much,” Derek said, not looking away from the little bundle in Talia’s arms. He’d been in such a state of euphoria since the moment he heard his baby cry.
“Thanks, Daddy-o,” Stiles said, smiling weakly. One hand was wrapped around Dylan, who was quiet and running his little hands through Stiles’ hair.
Dylan had been told that Stiles needed to rest and relax and he had been rubbing Stiles’ head for a while now like Stiles did to him when he couldn’t sleep. However, it looked like it was working more on Dylan than on Stiles as he yawned on the bed beside him.
“I’m guessing your new baby boy wanted to spend your birthday and Christmas with you,” Desmond said, laughing as he rubbed Derek’s shoulder.
“I know,” Derek said. His speech had degenerated to mostly one-sentence replies, still too awed at his newborn.
“Ty-Ty’s the cutest,” Dylan whispered, eyes looking heavy. “Ty-Ty’s awesome and itty-bitty and we’re gonna play Legos and build a house for Batman and drink hot chocolate and…” he rambled off.
“And Dylan is going to join Ty-Ty in dreamland,” Derek said, slowly lifting his boy and laying him down on the other hospital bed where they already put his favorite fox plushie and his squeaky toy hammer.
Talia handed Tyler over to Derek and everyone watched as the newborn looked up at his Dada, little fist curled around Derek’s finger, before he drifted off to sleep.
“We’ll see you tomorrow, ok?” Melissa said. “I’ll have the staff make sure to keep an eye on you guys.”
“Abuse of power, I love it,” Stiles said drowsily.
Talia grinned. “Well, it is our hospital anyway.”
“Bye kiddo.” John kissed Stiles on the temple
After a few more goodbyes, all that was left was Derek and his family of four. He and Stiles spent a few moments looking at their son.
“Best gift ever,” Derek said, kissing Stiles’ temple. “Thank you.”
Stiles grinned, looking tired but happy. “Nuh-uh. No way, hubbie. This is just one among many presents. Give it a few weeks and I’ll have part two of your Christmas-slash-birthday gift all ready, which will happen in many different positions in all the surfaces of our house.”
Derek grinned. “I’m looking forward to it.” He kissed Stiles. “Rest now, love.”
Stiles smiled and was asleep within minutes.
Derek sat there, his newborn in his arms, his son and his husband happily asleep, and felt like the luckiest man in the world.