i would do anything for you

[stiles]

The house is quiet when Stiles arrives home from work. Too quiet.

In the aftermath of Ava’s first full moon, quiet should be welcome. A blessing, really, considering the chaos of that night and the trauma they had been left with in the aftermath. For days, it had felt like they were on eggshells, waiting for the baby to shift again unexpectedly. But since the full moon, Ava hadn’t shown any inclination towards shifting. Malia’s wounds had healed, and Stiles’s stitches had held, thanks to Scott’s handiwork. It was almost like the night had never happened… except for the revelation that Stiles still hadn’t breathed a word of to Malia.

It was constantly there in the back of his mind, the fact that Ava could be the most powerful werecoyote anyone in the pack had ever encountered. He’d wake up to Ava’s crying, and then lay there awake beside Malia as she nursed, consumed by the anxiety that came with raising someone who could grow to be more powerful than Scott. He worried his fiancee would smell the lie of omission in his scent, hear it in the uneven cadence of his heartbeat. But still, even with that weight, he couldn’t find the words to tell her. He couldn’t find it in himself to burden her with that same amount of fear.

And luckily for him, a week after that full moon, Malia’s own health became enough of a distraction that she probably isn’t scenting him at all. Which makes the quiet house all the more concerning.

“Hello?” he calls out as soon as the door closes behind him. “Mal?” Normally, Malia is right there inside the door. Some days, the baby is in her arms, immediately smiling at the sound of his voice as his fiancee settles their daughter in his arms. Other days, Ava is still down for her nap, and Malia is there alone, pressing her lips to his before he’s even all the way inside the door. Some days, they don’t make it past the welcome mat before she’s undressing him. Still others, when the weather’s nice, she’s sitting on the front porch with Ava or playing with her in the living room, the sound of a musical toy drifting all the way to the front door. But she’s always somewhere, her presence announcing itself immediately.

And today, there’s only quiet.

“Mal?” he calls out again as he sets down his keys and kicks off his shoes, heading for the kitchen. The kitchen, too, is empty. At least, of people. It’s the number of bottles across the counters and the island that leave him concerned. Each one is used, beads of milk still stuck to the sides. It’s a full day’s worth of bottles that didn’t quite make it into the kitchen sink, a sure sign that her breast is still bothering her. It had started with some pain when Ava nursed, then there had been a lump she had pulled his hand to to feel beneath her skin. Then, it had turned red. Last night, she had groaned her way through Ava’s first nursing session when he had gotten home, but then had had to pump instead before bed, tears rolling down her cheek. This morning, she had mumbled it wasn’t any better when he asked, but he hadn’t even thought to ask each time he had texted her today.

He ignores the bottles for now as he moves further into the house. The baby and Malia aren’t in the living room, either. He’s just about to head to their bedroom when he catches the sound of a coo coming from the nursery. He stops there, peering into the room to find both girls on the floor. Ava is on her tummy, rocking back and forth in excitement as her tiny piano on the playmat lights up and plays music. Malia is beside her, completely still. Her shirt and bra are missing, and he can see the angry red of her breast from here. One arm is thrown across her eyes, like she’s trying to block out the entire world. “Hey,” he tries again as that anxious feeling settles as a tight knot in the pit of his stomach. “You okay?”

[malia]

She hears him come into the house. The familiar sound of his footfalls on the hardwood floors, the scent of the Beacon Hills police station on his uniform. Normally, she would have already been up and waiting for him at the door, having missed his presence for the entire day. Knowing that he would be eager to take Ava into his arms. But this evening she can’t even bring herself to move from the spot she’s claimed beside Ava on the floor. She’s not sure how long they’ve been there. Ava is content, and she’s relieved for that.

The pain and heat radiates from her breast down her right arm and into her torso. She’s sure there must be some kind of fever under her skin, but she’s not really sure how to tell. It hurts far too much to try to nurse Ava from that side now, and she’s beginning to wonder if something is really wrong with her. The pain had been so bad the night before she’d barely slept. She’s swollen, her breast angry and red, her nipple crusty with fluid that is definitely not milk.

Even though she doesn’t get up to greet him at the door, she’s relieved that he’s home. And when he finally makes his way to the nursery where they’ve camped out, all she can do moan a hello. She’d taken her shirt and bra off a long time ago, the sensation of anything rubbing against her breast almost enough to make her cry. She finally pulls her arm away from her eyes when he directs a question directly to her.

“No…” she moans in response, looking up at him with pleading eyes as if there’s something he might be able to do to make her feel better. At least she wasn’t trying to tell him she was fine when clearly she wasn’t. “I think something might be wrong with me…like really wrong.” It’s not like her to admit this in such a bold statement, but she’s not sure how much more of the pain she can take. “I can’t even nurse her from this side anymore,” she tells him, looking down at her angry breast.

[stiles]

Malia moans as she pulls her arm away from her face. Like even that small amount of movement is enough to make her chest ache. That knot in the pit of his stomach tightens when she answers, No. His fiancee doesn't get sick, and she doesn't complain about physical ailments. Even when she was pregnant, it wasn't until the very end, when her insides and Ava were warring for enough space, that she even let on that she was uncomfortable. So even before she says it, he knows that something is wrong.

But it's the way she says it that makes him lose his breath. Really wrong. Something is really wrong, and it's all he has to hear for his mind to start to race. He had taken to google when she had started to complain about the pain, and it had seemed obvious that she had a clogged milk duct. He had read about it leading to something called mastitis, about infections that require antibiotics, but that had seemed like an impossibility, given her supernatural immune system. But now, his mind spirals, thinking about the lump in her breast and how unwell she seems now, laying there on the floor.

He steps into the room as he tries to shake himself free of that worst case scenario. "Did you try to nurse her?" he asks. Malia nods, and it elicits another groan. At the sound of his voice, now closer, Ava makes a sound, a mixture of excitement and frustration now that she can hear him but can't see him. But his attention is still on Malia. Up close, he can see how red and angry her skin is, her breast obviously more swollen than the other side. "Go put on a shirt, and we'll head to Urgent Care," he tells her.

Immediately, Malia begins to argue. Her voice is weak and tired, and he's about to point that out, but Ava makes another frustrated noise on her playmat. "Hi, Aves," he says, ignoring Malia for the moment as he violates his own rule and pulls the baby into his arms despite the fact that his gun is still in its holster. "I hear you. I love you, too." The baby calms once in his arms, nuzzling into his shoulder as he turns his attention back to Malia. He presses the back of his hand to her flushed cheek, then her forehead, feeling the heat that radiates from her skin. "You're burning up," he tells her, feeling that anxious knot grow tighter. "Have you taken your temperature?"

[malia]

Saved by the bell…or the baby.

It’s all she can think as Stiles attention is pulled almost completely away from her and focused on Ava. She recognizes his voice. It’s a new development. She’d always recognized it, but it’s a new development that she really responds to it physically. When she hears him, she wants to see him, she wants his attention. If she wasn’t it so much pain and feeling so miserable, it would make her kind of sentimental as she thinks about how fast their baby is growing up. But right now all she can think about is the searing heat and pain that radiates from her breast as she watches Stiles bend over to easily lift Ava up into his arms. All of the frustrated whines stop as soon as she’s in her daddy’s arms. He kisses her and she kicks her little legs with excitement. Even with the pain, she can’t help but smile as the baby nuzzles against Stiles’s shoulder. There is nothing she loves more than watching them together. They’re her favorite.

But he doesn’t keep his focus on the baby for long. He turns his attention back to her, reaching his hand out and pressing it against her cheek and then her forehead. She closes her eyes as he holds the back of his hand there, wishing she could just collapse into his arms and he could take her pain away. She hadn’t even thought about her temperature. She can’t remember the last time she’d had a fever. Had she ever had a fever? Surely she had. There was that one time when they’d gotten so sick in high school, when somebody had been poisoning them. She’d felt terrible then, but she can’t remember if she’d had a fever. She just didn’t get sick.

She shakes her head, scanning the room for her discarded shirt. The only thermometer she knows they have is the one they use for Ava, one that you can just press against her forehead and it will tell her temperature. They’ve used it before, but she hadn’t really been sick either. Outside of teething and shifting, she’d been the picture of health. She forgets about her shirt, making her way to the bathroom so she can find the baby’s thermometer. She grabs a cold washcloth while she’s there, pressing it against her breast with a wince. It’s the only thing that offers her any relief.

Stiles follows her and he’s waiting there in their bedroom with Ava in his arms when she emerges from the bathroom. She presses the button on the thermometer and holds it to her head, the same way they do with Ava even though she hasn’t ever really needed it. She realizes as she holds it there that she’s not really even sure what her temperature should normally be. Is it the same as a normal human? She’s distracted from her thoughts by the beeping letting her know that it’s finished and she pulls it away to look at the reading. “103.2,” she mumbles as she sets it down. “But I don’t know what’s normal. Do I always feel hot?”

[stiles]

Stiles doesn’t take his eyes off her as she sits up slowly and then gets to her feet. Her breast is clearly swollen and still that bright, angry red that makes him want to wince every time he looks at it. And now, he’s willing to bet that the coyote girl who never gets sick is running a fever. At least she doesn’t try to fight him on taking her temperature. She’s the one who leads the way towards their bedroom where the thermometer now resides because of how many times he’s checked the baby’s temperature in the middle of a middle of the night panic. For now, she’ll take her temperature. Getting her to go to a doctor is a problem for future Stiles.

He rubs the baby’s back, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as Malia disappears into the bathroom. It’s a comfort to have her there in his arms, giving his anxious hands something to do. And maybe he’s reading too much into it, but it feels like it’s a comfort for her, too. Malia had still been half asleep this morning when he left for work, which should’ve been his first hint that she really wasn’t feeling well, but she hadn’t seemed to be this uncomfortable then. Seeing her now, he can only imagine the day she and the baby may have had before he got home.

His attention is back on Malia as soon as she walks into the bedroom. He watches her closely again as she holds the thermometer to her forehead, keeping it pressed to her temple until it beeps. Even from a few feet away, he can see the angry red of the screen, and he feels nauseous with anxiety again. He steps closer to see the 103.2 on the screen with his own eyes. This is as bad as it seems.

“You run hot, but not this hot.” He doesn’t know the number off the top of his head now, but they had taken her temperature at every appointment throughout her pregnancy and multiple times with each hospital stay. Always, her temperature was below 100. Without a word, he takes the thermometer from her and holds the baby out to her, already slipping into solution mode. He gingerly touches the washcloth she has pressed to her breast, too, and even that is enough to make her hiss. “You need heat for an infection,” he tells her, falling back on all of the first aid they’ve collectively learned over the years in the pack.

Before she can respond, he slips back into the bathroom. First, he does send that text to Nat, looking for any and all advice. Then he fills the glass sitting beside the sink with water before turning the faucet as how as it will go, letting the water heat. While he waits for it to reach that scalding heat, he grabs two motrin and then heads back into the bedroom with the glass of water. He hands her the glass before taking the baby back from her and then holding out the two pills “Just humor me,” he says when he notes her expression. “I know this doesn’t work for you, but we’ve gotta try to get your fever down.”

[malia]

She takes Ava back from him gingerly, careful to hold her on the side of her body that isn’t currently throbbing with heat and pain. She rests Ava against her shoulder, kissing her head as she watches Stiles makes his way back to the bathroom. Heat for an infection, he’s right. She remembers that. And clearly that’s what’s happening. They’d spent a little too much time googling it the night before hoping that she would feel better by the time she woke up this morning, but instead she had felt worse. She likes to think she has a pretty high tolerance for pain, but this is beginning to wear on her. And it’s frustrating not really being able to nurse Ava the way she wants to.

She’s disappointed when he comes back with pills, and he must read that expression on her face because he sighs, asking her to humor him. She wants to argue and remind him that medicine like this doesn’t work for her, it never has. Just like drinking alcohol didn’t do anything to her. Her body just seemed to metabolize things too quickly for them to have much of an effect on her. But she does as he asks, letting him take the baby from her before she pops both pills into her mouth and swallows with a long drink of water. Even that seems to hurt at this point, her body telling her to lie down. But she doesn’t want to give in to the weakness that she feels. If she lies down, she feels like she might fall asleep, or just lay there in pain and neither one of those options sound really great to her. She wants to push through this, just like she always tries to do, and then when she feels better she can look back on it and wonder why she was being such a baby about it in the first place.

But her energy is drained, and it’s all she can do to keep standing as she makes her way over to the bed and sits down hard. Maybe she could just shut her eyes for a few minutes. Now that he’s home and can take care of the baby. She feels guilty since he’s been at work all day, but she’s starting to feel a little dizzy and nauseous. “Do you want me to take her so you can get out of your uniform?” She asks him. The water is still running in the bathroom and he glances over his shoulder before handing her Ava. She knows he doesn’t like to hold her when his gun is still holstered around his waist. She takes the baby again, resting her down on the mattress beside her as Stiles disappears into the closet. She can hear the rustling of his clothes and when he comes back into the room, the gun is gone and locked away and he’s dressed in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.

He moves to her side, pressing his hand against her forehead again, as if he’s going to be able to tell if her fever has broken at all. But she doesn’t feel like it has. She still feels just as miserable as she had when he walked in the door. But he doesn’t say anything as he makes his way back into the bathroom and comes back with a hot washcloth. She bites her lip, trying and failing to stifle a moan as he helps her press it against her breast.

[stiles]

Her cheeks are flushed, but the rest of her skin is pale. There’s dark circles under her eyes, and he realizes with a pang of guilt that she must have struggled to stay asleep thanks to the pain while he slept soundly beside her. When she sits down on the bed, she sits down hard. And when she blinks, it’s like she has to fight to make her eyes open again. She looks sick when she never gets sick. And it’s all Stiles can do to not order her out to the car, to insist that they go to a doctor before she can get worse than she already is.

He’s so distracted by her current state that it takes him a minute to realize that she’s spoken at all. “Oh. Yeah,” he says when her words finally sink in. “If you don’t mind.” She shakes her head in response, gingerly reaching for the baby and pulling her to her chest as far away from her swollen breast as possible. Stiles moves towards the closet then, stowing his gun away and changing quickly like her condition could change drastically in the three minutes it takes him to pull on jeans and a t-shirt. He checks his phone just before he heads back into the bedroom, finding a novel length response from Nat, and he texts back a quick thanks, making a mental note to thank her profusely later.

In the bedroom, Malia is still on the bed, leaning back against the pillows while she closes her eyes. It doesn’t raise his confidence as he heads towards their ensuite bathroom instead. The water is scalding hot now, and he wets a second washcloth for her before he moves back towards their bed. Her eyes open as he settles on the bed beside her, but she doesn’t say a word as he brings his hand to her forehead, finding her skin just as hot as before. The motrin hasn’t helped at all, at least not yet. He’s as gentle as he can when he brings the washcloth to her breast then, but she still moans, closing her eyes again against the pain.

When Malia brings her own hand there, he lets go, more sure of her own ability to know how much pressure is too much pressure. With his hands now free, he eases the baby from her arms, settling Ava against his shoulder again. “I texted Nat,” he finally tells her. Her eyes drift open at that, her expression wary. “She said that if you have a fever, it’s infected, and you’ll need antibiotics if the clog doesn’t come loose.” Malia opens her mouth to protest, but Stiles is quicker. “So she said to keep hot compresses on it,” he says with a nod towards the washcloth. “And to try massaging it. She said letting Ava nurse or pumping might get rid of it, too. But if it doesn’t clear up, you need to see someone.”

[malia]

The warm clothe pressed against her burning skin does actually feel good. It provides a little relief. Not enough to make her forget about the pain, but enough to allow her to breathe a little easier, the cold and clammy sweat that had broken out on her forehead and palms easing slightly. She’s not surprised when he tells her that he’d texted Nat. She was the go to when it came to anything related to her reproductive organs, boobs included. She’s not really sure when it happened, but it had and she just accepts the fact that anything that happens with her body Nat is probably going to find out about if it’s something they can’t answer themselves. She of course doesn’t love the answer that Nat comes back with. She hears the word antibiotics and she thinks doctor, and that is a word that she will never not put up a fight about. She opens her mouth to say something, but it’s almost like he knows her better than she knows herself and he beats her to the punch with other alternatives for them to try before they have to resort to the worst case scenario.

She winces when he mentions Ava nursing or pumping. Just the thought of either of those things make her feel like she wants to throw up. She had tried to nurse Ava from that side earlier in the day and it had ended up with both of them in tears. She wants to tell him that, but she can smell how anxious he’s getting about the whole thing and she doesn’t want to make it any worse. Ava easily holds her head up now when Stiles has her up against his shoulder and she gets frustrated over the fact that this is definitely hurting their baby as much as it is her.

“How do I massage it?” She asks, like he’s going to know the answer to that question. Of all the things he’s mentioned it sounds like it might be the least painful option, so she’s definitely gravitating towards that. He shrugs his shoulder as he sits down on the edge of the bed. I guess just do what I do when we’re…you know…” She stares at him, her fevered brain not really putting two and two together.

“When we’re fucking?” She asks finally, the pieces coming together. She looks down at her breast when she pulls the quickly cooling cloth away from it. It’s almost like it’s not even part of her body right now. She rests the washcloth on the night stand and she moves her hands to her breast. She grimaces as she touches it, feeling the heat radiating from her skin and into her fingers. Touching it hurts bad enough to make her want to throw up. She can feel the sweat beading up on her forehead as she clenches her teeth and moves her fingers to circle her nipple, whimpering as she does. Every touch is like someone is shoving a hot brand through her skin.

[stiles]

Stiles takes for granted that the clogged milk duct is inside her body, so she would know how to massage it away. So it’s only when she asks her question that he realizes that this is like so much of their experience surrounding her pregnancy and the aftermath: her knowledge is as limited as his.

His eyes dart back to her breast, still swollen and red and angry. When it had first started to bother her a few nights ago, she had pulled his hand over to her chest, pressing it down just slightly so he could feel the very obvious bump underneath her skin. Now, it’s almost visible, highlighted by the angry red of her skin. But even with that visual guide, it’s like his brain forgets every definition of the word massage. “I guess just do what I do,” he says as his hand comes up to rub the back of his neck, one of his many anxious tells. “When we’re… you know.”

He doesn’t want to associate times when it’s his hand or his mouth on her breast to this very clinical situation, so he winces when she fills in the blank. He manages to nod in response, though. Malia sighs, almost like she’s resigning herself to this fate, and he watches as she sits up, setting the washcloth on the nightstand before she brings her hand to her breast. And it’s like a nightmare playing out before his eyes. He can’t look away, but it also feels like something is shredding some part of his heart as he watches her fight to keep applying pressure there despite the pain. Sweat beads on her forehead as tears collect in her eyes, and it’s enough to make him again feel ready to go against her wishes and insist on a doctor. “Mal…” he says tentatively, but she insists that she’s fine. So he resorts to the only other tool he has: Google.

He shifts the baby’s weight to one of his arms as he pulls his phone out of his pocket again. A quick massage clogged milk duct search pulls up an article that he skims quickly, silently praying this alleviates some of that pain. “Try laying down.” Malia’s hand stops moving, and the pain fades from her expression for just a second as she stares at him, confused. “On your back,” he adds. “It’s supposed to help.”

With that vote of confidence, she moves just as gingerly as before until she’s flat on her back. “Then raise that arm,” he says with a nod towards the affected side of her body. “And move your thumb over the clog towards your nipple. Malia raises her arm, but her other hand moves awkwardly. It’s like she can’t find a rhythm, or her left hand can’t find the right place. He watches her try and fail three times before he gets to his feet.

“Hold on.” He leaves her side long enough to grab the boppy pillow from where she left it in the rocking chair. He places it on his side of the bed before he sets Ava down, her tiny back resting against the back of the pillow and the sides curving around her so she can’t roll off the bed. He moves back to Malia then, sitting back down beside her. He lifts his hand, but then it hovers above her breast while he stares at that angry red spot for a long, silent moment before his eyes find hers. “Can I?”

He waits until she nods before he finally brings his hand to her breast. He can feel the way she flinches the second he touches her, but she doesn’t tell him to stop. She doesn’t pull away. The heat that radiates from her skin makes him nauseous. The bump beneath his fingers is bigger than it was two nights ago. And that becomes the motivation he needs as he moves his thumb over it, pushing lightly towards her nipple. Malia moans, but she doesn’t flinch this time. So he does it again, and then a third time, both of which she’s silent for. But the bump doesn’t move, and it doesn’t feel like he has much of an impact. The next time, he pushes hard, and she cries out immediately in response. Stiles stills, his thumb still brushing against her nipple. “Do you want me to stop?”

[malia]

She follows his instruction without question, trusting him and his ability to navigate Google more than she trusts most other things in life. She lies down, even that action making her breast ache and sting. She doesn’t know what she’s doing and that must show because after a few pain filled attempts at running her thumb over the hard lump and trying to press it toward her nipple, nothing happens. She can’t press as hard as she knows she probably should because it hurts too bad. So it kind of ends up feeling like she’s just torturing herself for no good reason. She’s on the verge of tears when he rests the baby beside her on the bed, safely held in place by the little pillow that has become a lifesaver to them as she gets bigger and they need a spare set of hands.

She gives him the consent he’s looking for as he hovers his hand over her chest. She leaves her arm tossed above her head and she holds her breath as she feels his fingers make contact with her skin. Her brain is confused by the scenario. Normally when he touches her like this, it’s arousing. It’s in the middle of sex or before it, or even after. But now she doesn’t feel anything but pain, and her body is quick to remind her of that. She bites her bottom lip as he moves his thumb over the lump and pushes it toward her nipple…much more gracefully than she was managing. But his touch is gentle and even though it’s excruciating, she knows he’s not putting any real pressure on her breast. And when he does, truly massaging her with some firmness to his touch, she can’t help but cry out….loud. It’s a mix between a yelp and a cry and it seems to express exactly how she’s feeling. She can’t hold back any more and a tear does slip from the corner of her eye, sliding down her cheek. He immediately pulls his hand away, concern blanketing his face as he gazes down at her.

She nods in response to his question. “It’s not working,” She says….it seems less weak than It hurts too bad. And it’s not a lie, it really doesn’t seem to be working. The lump hasn’t moved at all and the pain is just as intense as it was before they started. She angrily wipes the tear from her cheek. “And if you keep going I think I might throw up.” Also not a lie. The pain is so intense it’s making her feel nauseous. He looks defeated, and guilty. It makes her feel sad and emotional, or maybe it’s just the fever. She reaches for his hand, squeezing it. “Thank you for trying,” She tells him sincerely. She knows it couldn’t have been the most pleasant thing for him either.

She sits up with a moan, resting her hand against her breast to try to keep it from moving when she does. “Maybe I’ll take a hot bath,” she tells him as she slowly swings her legs over the side of the bed. When she stands she gets lightheaded, and luckily he’s there in a split second to balance her. She nods as he offers to draw her the bath and she undresses and stays with Ava until he comes back to tell her it’s ready.

[stiles]

The tear that rolls down her cheek is almost more than he can handle. It’s a combination of his worry for her and knowing that he inflicted this pain on her. It hadn’t been his intention to make any of this worse for her. Still, Stiles has to bite his tongue to keep from arguing that it’s only been a few seconds when she says it’s not working. A stubborn part of him wants to take her by the shoulders and tell her that she can’t have it both ways: they can’t not try every option and also not see a doctor. But a much larger part of him hurts for her, and that’s before she tells him that if he keeps trying, the pain will make her throw up. His anxiety flares again at that admission. Even the pain of labor hadn’t been enough to make her vomit. So this must be terrible.

“We have to try something,” he mutters, mostly to himself as she thanks him for trying. He’s not even sure that she hears him as she sits up, her hand gingerly cupping her breast. But then she says she’ll try a bath, and he jumps up from the bed, grateful to have something to do. “I’ll get it started for you,” he says quickly. He notes the unsteady way she gets to her feet, though, almost enough to keep him rooted there to make sure she doesn’t fall as she undresses. But the bath also promises an end to all of this, so he hovers in the doorway instead as the tub fills, watching her as she slowly takes off her clothes.

By the time the bath is filled, she’s naked, sitting on the edge of the bed. Ava coos in the boppy beside her, but it’s like Malia doesn’t even notice her there, staring at the wall of their bedroom. Stiles tries his best to ignore his mounting anxiety as he clears his throat. Her eyes flicker over to them, and she blinks a few times, enough times to make him consider forcing her into the Jeep again. But instead he nods towards the bathroom. “Bath’s ready. I’ll feed Ava.”

She thanks him before slowly getting to her feet, and while he pretends to busy himself scooping up Ava, he tracks her every move. Only once she’s safely in the tub does he sigh, pressing a kiss to Ava’s tiny head. “Let’s go make dinner before Daddy pisses Mommy off, Aves.”

In the kitchen, he settles for simple comfort food and places the baby in her bouncy seat. His nervous energy makes him unable to just be, so he talks to Ava about anything and everything as he simultaneously feeds her and cooks. He tells her about his day, about her own day, about the neighbor’s new dog and his thoughts on Scott’s relationship. For her part, Ava listens intently as he spoon feeds her the rice cereal she’s finally gotten a hang of and then heats her a bottle. He’s moved on to telling her about the latest wedding plans by the time he’s scarfing down his own dinner in an attempt to get back to Malia, but she still just watches him wide eyed, a tiny fist in her mouth. The perfect companion for his anxious mind.

Just as he’s finishing up, he hears the tub begin to drain, and he breathes a sigh of relief. Still, he tries to give her some space as he cleans up the kitchen, leaving Malia’s dinner there on the counter before lifting Ava back into his arms. By the time he makes it back to their bedroom, Malia is back in bed. He’s willing to bet that she’s completely naked now under the covers, but the way she’s laying on her side and staring at the wall again leaves him certain the bath didn’t help without having to ask. “There’s soup and grilled cheese for you,” he offers instead. “Are you hungry?”

[malia]

She can hear him talking while she settles herself in the hot water. It feels good, momentarily, before the pain takes over again and then she’s just uncomfortable. It helps to focus on the sound of his voice as he talks softly to the baby. There are no whispers that can’t be heard, secrets to be kept, when you have supernatural hearing. There isn’t a thick enough wall for him to be able to keep his conversation to himself when she focuses on what he’s saying. But he knows that, so she doesn’t really feel like she’s eavesdropping. At least, not totally. In fact, most of the time she doesn’t even mean to do it. She’s just always a little alert of him and the baby, protective instincts keeping her hearing sharp.

She sighs as she rests her head back agains the edge of the tub, and she tries again to massage her swollen breast, but it hurts too much. It immediately causes her to break out in a cold sweat, the waves of nausea right there threatening to turn her stomach again. She doesn’t know if she’s ever really had a fever before, or an infection. But she knows that she doesn’t remember very many times when she’s felt this bad. Not only does her breast hurt, but her entire body aches, cold chills making her shiver when she’s not in the hot water like she is in that moment. She feels impossibly groggy and always a little sick to her stomach. She hates it. She curses under her breath, wondering why this has gotten the best of her when her body is generally so good at fighting things like this off. She’s never really been sick a day in her life. But then, a lot about her body had changed after she’d had Ava. She wouldn’t trade it, not for a minute, but she wishes her body could get its act together.

She’s not sure how long she sits in the hot water, but it’s getting cold by the time she gets out, and the cold shivering has started again. She drains the water, drying herself off the best she can as the pain burns down the entire right side of her body. And she doesn’t bother to put on any clothes as she makes her way back to the bed. She pulls the covers up as close to her head as she can, her entire body convulsing with shivers when she hears Stiles come back into the room with the baby. She turns her head to look at him when he speaks, but all she can do is shake her head. She didn’t have any appetite, and it’s almost hard for her to speak with the way her teeth are chattering. “Is it cold in here?” She asks him. Maybe it wasn’t just her, maybe it had gotten chilly outside and that chill had made its way into the house. She didn’t want Ava to be cold, but the baby seems find there in his arms. Perfectly content with a full belly. It makes her heart hurt a little knowing that she had been a terrible mother all day. She longs to have Ava in her arms, but it hurts to hold her right now.

Stiles shakes his head, assuring her that the temperature in the house is just fine. “Did she eat okay?” She asks him, her attention fully on the baby now. She would be getting sleepy. It was definitely close to her bedtime. It would normally be the time they’d give her a bath and Malia would nurse her one more time before they’d put her down, but she can’t even think about doing that at the moment.

[stiles]

It takes all of Stiles's self-control to not issue an ultimatum: You have to eat dinner, or we're going to Urgent Care. It would be so easy to match her stubbornness with his own. But it also would cause a battle of wills he knows neither of them have the energy for. Still, he can't stop the sigh he lets out when she shakes her head at the idea of eating, and he clenches his jaw to keep from responding too quickly when she asks about the temperature in the room. "It's fine in here," he says instead, fighting to keep his voice even when every part of him wants to insist that she needs to see a doctor.

But it's her maternal concern that quells his frustration. Her worry is written across her face as she asks about Ava, and he's reminded again of how hard this must be for her. "Yeah, she was fine," he says, dropping his gaze to Ava so he can miss any flash of hurt that crosses Malia's face. "Even ate her cereal tonight." His voice changes as he addresses Ava, bouncing her gently in his arms as she coos happily.

His expression changes again, when he looks back to Malia. Her bottom lip shakes as she shivers, even under all of the blankets on their bed. Wordlessly, he shifts Ava to one arm as he moves over to his dresser. He pulls out a pair of plaid pajama bottoms and then an old GWU sweatshirt, then brings them over to set them on the bed. "You'll be warmer if you wear something." He bites his tongue to keep from adding that it would help if she dried her hair because he knows she won't leave the warmth of their bed for that much.

He watches as she pulls the covers away from her bare skin to pull on the clothes, crying out as she tries to pull the sweatshirt down over her sore breast. "I think you should try feeding Ava again," he says before he can convince himself not to. Immediately, she starts to protest, saying she's too sore, and he sighs. "But Nat says that's your best bet to get the clog out. Ava can create suction with her little mouth. Hold on."

He leaves before she can stop him, going back to the kitchen and then returning with one of the ice packs they use to keep her milk cold when they're out. "Why don't you ice it first?" he suggests, but she shakes her head, reminding him of his own direction to use heat. "Heat will help break up the infection," he corrects, holding the ice pack out to her again. "But ice will help to numb it."

[malia]

She listens to him, she usually does. When he brings her clothing, she gingerly pulls it on. And it does help almost immediately. She’s still shivering with that fever, but the clothes do warm her up slightly almost immediately. And when he tells her to try to nurse the baby, she wants to protest that as well…and she tries, but she knows that she’ll listen. Even at her most stubborn, she knows that he’s usually right about things like this. He always had been her guiding force when it came to living life as a human. And she still relies on him for a lot of things.

But she’s not going to the doctor. And in the back of her mind she knows that if she wants that statement to hold true, she’s going to have to listen to him about what to do while they’re home. So when he tells her that icing it will help with the pain. That it might actually help to numb it…she just sighs as he leaves the room. He does all this while never putting the baby down. It almost seems like he’s a little scared of her, or frustrated. She’s not really sure which. That if he gets to close to her or if he leaves the baby with her, she might break, or die, or something equally as awful.

She takes the small ice pack they use for her milk from him when he hands it to her, grimacing as he presses it to her breast. It hurts. It hurst worse than pressing the heat to it did earlier. So she keeps it on top of the sweatshirt she’d put on, hoping that keeping it away from her bare skin will at least help a little as she shivers. “How long do I have to do this,” she whines. She knows she’s being unpleasant and she can tell he’s getting frustrated with her, but she doesn’t feel good and it’s not something she’s too familiar with dealing with. In fact, she feels really bad, and she’s even less familiar with dealing with that. He tells her to keep the ice pack pressed against her breast for as long as it takes him to go change Ava for bed.

She nods, biting her bottom lip as she watches him go. It’s strange to be on the outside of things with Ava. Even if Stiles is doing the caretaking, she’s usually right there beside him, never too far away from either of them. And now she feels distant and foggy and weak and she hates it. If this is being sick, she’s glad that it’s not something she deals with regularly.

In a few moments, he’s back with the baby in his arms. She’s dressed in a sleeper and Malia can smell the fresh scent of the Lavender baby lotion that Stiles has gently rubbed on her little body before he zipped her up in her clean sleeper. She’s so relieved to have Ava in her arms again she almost forgets about the pain for a moment, lifting her up and kissing her tenderly. She’d already taken the sweatshirt off again and Ava is clearly ready to eat as she almost immediately latches on before Malia can prepare herself for the sensation. “Shit,” She curses, sucking in a sharp breath as Ava begins to attempt to nurse. She sucks and sucks and her little face begins to get red and her body tense as she grows frustrated with the lack of progress. Malia doesn’t even realize that she’s crying until a tear slides from her cheek and falls onto the baby’s. And almost as if it makes Ava realize her own frustration, she pulls away with a smack and begins to cry loudly.

[stiles]

The way she winces as soon as the ice pack makes contact makes Stiles wince in sympathy. It's not that he's frustrated with her for being sick or being in bed or being so uncomfortable, Ava has been his all night. It's the fact that she's this sick and she won't do anything about it. At least, not anything that feels like enough for Stiles. The ice pack feels a little like putting a bandaid on a bullet hole - it'll make her feel better for a few minutes, but it won't do a thing for the infection causing her fever. Still, it's hard for him to channel any of that frustration when she looks up at him, eyes silently pleading with him as she asks how long she has to do this for. He presses his palm against her cheek, fearful of touching her anymore and causing more pain. "Try to keep it there while I get Ava ready for bed."

Malia gives a shallow nod, closing her eyes as she grits her teeth against the pain that must radiate from that spot. It's on the tip of his tongue to say it one more time. This time, it would be a question, bordering on begging, for her to just consider going to the doctor. But instead, he pulls his hand away from her hot cheek and carries Ava down the hall to the nursery. He takes his time changing her diaper and putting her in her pajamas, silently willing this last attempt to work. But when he returns with Ava and Malia slowly brings her to her breast, it feels less promising. Malia sucks in a sharp breath as soon as Ava latches, crying out each time the baby tries to burrow closer. But it's barely two minutes before Ava lets go, crying loudly over the lack of milk.

His eyes flicker to Malia's face, and he catches the tears coursing down her own cheeks. It's a moment when he wishes there was one more of him: one to console the baby, and one to console his partner. But instead there's only him as Ava wails and Malia holds her away from her chest, becoming more upset herself. "It's okay, Aves," he says gently as he settles onto the bed beside them, and he thinks a sob might slip past Malia's lips at the sound. Gently, he brings his hand beneath her chin, lifting her tear-filled gaze to meet his. "Why don't know you feed her from the other side? So it doesn't get engorged," he says, the once unfamiliar word rolling easily off his tongue after having navigated this nursing journey with her for so many months.

The tears continue to stream down her cheeks, but Malia moves Ava to her other side, letting the baby nurse from her good breast. Ava is quickly content, falling asleep as she continues to nurse. Their room is quiet, too quiet. His foot bounces as he sits beside her, fighting with every part of himself to not point out how much pain she's in. And how sick she seems. And how much better she'd feel if they just went to the doctor. But instead, he's quiet as she nurses, then kisses the baby before handing her to him to burp her. But that nervous anxiety hasn't let up by the time he lays Ava down in her bassinet. His chest feels tight again as he settles in the rocking chair across the room, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. She watches him, her cheeks still flushed without saying a word. So he fills the silence with the only thing he wants to say, the only thing he's wanted to say all night. "You need to see a doctor, Mal."