Ann Marie woke up sore and exhausted. If she could move a single muscle, she had no doubt it would all but kill her with pain, yet she did not regret the numerous hours spent struggling and straining.

"They're both doing well," spoke her husband from beside the bed, laying a huge palm over her own hand. "Doctors Elsi and Watson conferred to give them a clean bill of health. Forty fingers and toes divided up as they should be, good lungs… Your hair."

"The girl has your eyes," she chuckled, even though weak. She had glimpsed them before she had passed out; her daughter had wanted to see the world right away.

"So does the boy, though so far he hasn't kept them open for very long. But then, he had a longer time at it." Mycroft rubbed her shoulder gently, kissing her forehead. "Can I get you anything? Morphine…?"

"I'd rather not…"

"Some brandy, then?" At her reluctant nod and almost mischievous smile, he rose. "I'll be right back." He checked in on his sleeping children once on the way to his study and once on the way back.