Gift Fic For mousapelli
To: mousapelli
From: santa_johnny
Title: Aurora Borealis
Pairing/Group: Totsuka/Hashimoto
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: AU, space aliens, weird biology, babies, assorted weirdness
Notes: Happy Holidays, mousapelli!
Summary: Totsuka’s world is about to change and he doesn’t mind one bit.
Totsuka wakes up slowly, the familiar shff shff of Hashimoto’s wingtips scraping against the blankets the only noise in their shared home. He feels faintly dizzy, a sign that it’s still early; his body hasn’t quite worked his allergy medication out of his system yet. He sits up slowly, blankets gliding down, exposing his skin to the air. The cold serves to wake him up a bit more, enough to stretch and yawn. Stretching makes his skin pull unpleasantly. There are dried up gunks of the clear goo Hashimoto uses to protect his skin from burning at Totsuka’s touch stuck to the bed and to his body, but Totsuka doesn’t regret forgoing his customary shower before going to bed; falling asleep while he can still hold Hashimoto’s hand, with afterglow coursing through his veins, is definitely worth a bit of stickiness.
Totsuka looks over at Hashimoto, asleep at the other end of the bed. Their nest is custom built, big enough they don’t have to worry about accidentally touching in their sleep. Hashimoto sleeps on his stomach, his wings moving lightly as he dreams. If Hashimoto’s species could snore, he would likely be snoring now, making the cutest little noises. Totsuka giggles at the mental image, the sound louder than intended, because Hashimoto stirs, sitting up and yawning cutely. Nictitating membranes flick over Hashimoto’s eyes as he adjusts to the light levels in the room. “Morning.”
“Good morning,” Totsuka replies, suppressing the urge to ruffle Hashimoto’s hair with the ease of long practice. Hashimoto blows him a kiss and Totsuka catches it in his palm, then brings his palm up to his cheek.
“Hey!” Hashimoto objects, trying to look stern but his smile keeps slipping through. “That kiss was intended for your lips. Obviously.”
“Obviously,” Totsuka agrees, attention drawn to Hashimoto’s hair. Most of the blond Hashimoto gained during his pregnancy has faded in the weeks since he laid his eggs, only the tips of his soft brown hair still show hints of a lighter colour. A strand of Hashimoto’s hair shivers as Totsuka watches, each individual hair twitching until the gunk stuck to it falls off, leaving Hashimoto’s hair clean and free to shift lazily. “Any chance of a second kiss?”
Hashimoto huffs, pretending to be put out, but the pink-red flicker of his antennae gives him away. “Only cause it’s Tottsu.”
Totsuka kisses the air, catching Hashimoto’s air kiss with his lips and Hashimoto collapses in a fit of giggles. As tempting as the thought of taking another dose of allergy medication and spending the day in bed with Hashimoto is, Totsuka knows he shouldn’t. He has work to do, they both have, and when the eggs hatch in a week or so, he won’t have time or attention to spare for bullets and gunpowder or anything related to the rebellion. He climbs out of their nest and down to the floor, hissing at the cold under his feet. Running a hand through his hair, Totsuka winces. Half his hair is stuck together, glued into a firm mess by the dried goo. With any luck, it’ll come out in the shower, or perhaps he’ll just find a pair of scissors and cut the whole thing off.
Hashimoto’s work alarm flares up suddenly, orange-purple-orange light flickering through their home, accompanied by a high peeping noise. Hashimoto jumps out of bed with his wings spread, not bothering to use the ladder. He can’t actually glide, but the wings catch just enough air that jumping from that height is not too much of a stupid idea. By the time Totsuka turns the alarm off, Hashimoto’s already wearing pants, boots and his shirt with the padded stripes of protective leather down the sides. “I’ll be back for lunch, if I can,” Hashimoto calls back over his shoulder and then he’s climbing up the ladder out of their home with a speed Totsuka can only envy.
One thing Totsuka will never admit is how much of a turn-on Hashimoto’s casual competence is for him. He remembers with fondness the months he spent traveling alone with Hashimoto, Hashimoto keeping their tiny space ship running with spit and duct tape and not much else; if Totsuka hadn’t already been in love with him before, he definitely would have been by the time they crashed on the colony. The work Hashimoto does here is important too, keeping the machines that make the planet habitable running with technical skills, determination and a good portion of luck.
Totsuka shakes his head to stop the woolgathering. He can’t let his thoughts wander like this, he has work waiting for him as well, though not as urgent. The piece of goo glueing his hair together doesn’t come out in the shower, no matter how long he scrubs at it. In the end, Totsuka gives up and simply cuts it out. Then, to even things up, he cuts the hair on the other side of his head as well, then the back. He stares at the mirror for a moment before reaching for his razor. Might as well do it properly.
Kawai’s nose ridges flutter in surprise at the sight of Totsuka’s shaved head, but he clearly decides against commenting on it, which is unusual in itself. It likely means that whatever brings Kawai to the armory is important, but Totsuka waits patiently for him to speak up. While he waits, he fills up another bullet, soldering it carefully shut.
Not even half an hour later Totsuka finds himself in the infirmary, taking notes while Kawai prepares everything for Iwamoto and Sakuma’s eggs to hatch. He sits quietly in a corner, taking notes as Kawai measures egg temperature, hardness of shell and a dozen other values. Goseki is the only one actually touching the eggs at this point; since Sakuma’s favourite foods make Iwamoto sneeze, Doctor K rules that the proud parents need to stay at a safe distance, observing without touching anything, until he has a chance to test for possible allergies between the crossbred babies and their parents.
One of the eggs shakes lightly, a short movement that is easily missed. Totsuka makes a note of the time. A moment later, a second egg starts shaking and soon the whole clutch is rocking in place inside the incubator that was borrowed from Senga for the purpose. A few minutes of rocking later, the first crack finally appears. The baby is clearly shoving from inside, determined to get out. With an especially strong push, the crack in the shell of the first egg widens and a flash of pink, the same colour as Sakuma’s hair, becomes visible.
Goseki reaches in with gentle hands, carefully peeling the shell apart to free the baby. Even after months of working with Goseki, Totsuka’s mind refuses to believe the number of joints in Goseki’s fingers is actually possible, but Totsuka is too distracted by the birth of Sakuma and Iwamoto’s first baby to get freaked out by Goseki’s clearly impossible hands. It’s pink. A pink caterpillar, and completely adorable. It wriggles in Goseki’s grasp and Totsuka can’t quite stop himself from going “Awwww”.
A corner of Totsuka’s mind notices that the movement of Kawai’s tail becomes more relaxed at his reaction, but he’s too busy taking down numbers and other data to think about that just now. Goseki carefully cleans the pink baby from bits of eggshell and gunk, then places it in the carrying basket Sakuma weaved before turning back to the eggs to help the next caterpillar break through. The caterpillars are very fragile at this stage, their exoskeletons still soft. The next baby is pink and yellow, very pretty and amazingly adorable and fuzzy. Totsuka finds himself cooing along with Sakuma as baby after baby is born. They are so cute and Totsuka finds himself longing for next week, when his own babies, his and Hashimoto’s babies, are due to hatch.
Iwamoto’s arm is still partly immobilized by the bone shield that grew from shoulder to elbow during his pregnancy to protect his eggs; Iwamoto laid his eggs a week earlier than Hashimoto, but because he spent most of his pregnancy on a ship without gravity instead of on a planet, his bone shield grew a lot stronger and it’s clearly not dissolving properly, while Hashimoto’s is already completely gone. Both Iwamoto and Sakuma can barely hold themselves back while Kawai runs tests, antennae blinking impatiently. When Doctor K gives his okay, they are instantly on their feet, petting and caressing all nine of their babies a moment later.
It’s late afternoon by the time Totsuka climbs down the ladder into the home he shares with Hashimoto. Tsukada built it after Hashimoto’s specifications, to imitate the living tree houses of Hashimoto’s homeworld. It’s not actually up in a tree; the planet is barely habitable and the storms are too strong to build hanging nests, but even if it’s build on the ground and partly below, it can have the door at the top. Hashimoto is napping in his hammock, wings fluttering as they hang over the sides. He looks so cute that Totsuka doesn’t have the heart to wake him. Fighting the urge to run his fingers through Hashimoto’s curls, he instead uses the long metallic tongs they keep on hand for just such occasions to pull a blanket over Hashimoto from a safe distance.
Instead he starts dinner, a complicated affair when they actually want to share a meal. Working quickly and silently, Totsuka prepares cold fruit soup for both of them, with honey on the side for Hashimoto and a nawler steak for himself. It’s in domestic moments like this, comfortably in the home he shares with the love of his life, that even Totsuka with his pessimistic nature can’t deny that he’s happy and that Hashimoto just might be right, that perhaps he deserves this happiness.
Hashimoto wakes up adorably rumpled and Totsuka’s heart squeezes with happiness. Hashimoto’s eyes widen at the sight of Totsuka’s bare head. “Tottsu! What happened? Doesn’t that hurt?” Hashimoto asks, clearly anxious. Hashimoto’s hair is a lot more active than human hair, taking care of part of his oxygen supply and constantly in motion.
Totsuka shakes his head, a reassuring smile on his lips. “I only cut my hair, it’ll grow back.”
During dinner he tells Hashimoto all about the hatching, about how cute and fuzzy and colourful Sakuma and Iwamoto’s babies are. Hashimoto hums agreement, nodding along happily as he sips his soup. While Hashimoto finishes the last of his honey with little flicks of his tongue that are entirely distracting to look at, Totsuka repeats what Kawai told him to expect when their own babies hatch next week, about the milder allergy medication Kawai has developed, that should be enough for Totsuka as long as the babies have their exoskeletons.
Hashimoto grins. “Babies are a handful even when you’ve got all eight senses together,” he comments when Totsuka explains about the adjusted allergy medication, “they’d run rings around anyone half out of his mind on allergy meds. But I’m sure Tottsu can handle them!”
“I’m looking forwards to it,” Totsuka replies mildly, and he is. He didn’t know how much he wanted children, especially Hashimoto’s children, until Hashimoto brought it up the first time, but now he can barely think about anything else anymore. Hashimoto’s thoughts are more on baby-making though, and Totsuka isn’t averse to that either. Half an hour later, when Totsuka’s allergy meds kick in and Hashimoto is covered head to toe in the protective goo, Totsuka finally gets the kiss he’s been craving since morning.
Time seems to crawl, but when it’s suddenly hatching day, Totsuka wonders where the time went. As it turns out, Hashimoto can’t weave a carrying basket to save his life, his attempts only marginally more respectable than Iwamoto’s. In the end, Sakuma teaches Totsuka how to weave. Hashimoto looks so proud when Totsuka produces a functional basket, even if it’s nowhere near as ornamental as Sakuma’s pink, glittery basket.
Kawai takes a voice recording instead of writing down notes, working through egg temperatures and shell density while Totsuka fidgets. Somehow, Totsuka finds that the waiting is a lot harder now that it’s his own babies that are about to hatch, and he doubts it’s just his new, weaker allergy medication talking. Hashimoto looks just as nervous. They’re sitting as far apart as Kawai could manage and Totsuka can see the wisdom in that; there are few things in this world he wouldn’t give away without a thought for the ability to hold Hashimoto’s hand right at this moment. When Hashimoto catches his eye and smiles there is nothing Totsuka can do but smile back. Things will be alright.
“There!” Hashimoto exclaims, pointing at a crack in the shell of one of their eggs. Hashimoto’s antennae are blinking like crazy, flickering through colours and patterns too fast for Totsuka to make sense of. When Goseki picks the lime green baby out of its shell, Totsuka makes a noise he’s not at all embarrassed about. His firstborn baby is fuzzy, much fuzzier than he expected, and so cute as it twists in Goseki’s grip. Goseki places it carefully in the padded basket and Totsuka has to grip his chair with both hands to stay seated and give Doctor K a chance to do the necessary check for allergies. Their babies are a mixture of human and alien DNA, nearly impossible to predict, though Kawai made a few educated guesses. By the time Goseki places the third baby, a darker pine green, into the basket, Hashimoto’s eyes are the only thing keeping Totsuka in his chair.
“Alright,” Kawai says, snapping his tool case shut, “I’m clearly a genius.” Hashimoto huffs impatiently and Kawai grins. “Knock yourselves out, it should be fine. But lemme know if you start dying.”
Totsuka is on his feet before the last word even leaves Kawai’s mouth. He reaches the basket at the same time as Hashimoto, who smiles at him. Hashimoto’s soft brown eyes are full of love. “You first,” Hashimoto says and just this once Totsuka can’t help being selfish.
He reaches into the basket and gently, oh so gently, touches one of their babies with just the tip of his finger. Its fur is so soft, fuzzy and soft and fuzzy and oh, his baby turns into the touch. Totsuka is vaguely aware that he’s babbling, cooing at his babies and crying, but all he cares about is how soft his babies are, how they lean into his touch, how all five of Hashimoto’s babies press up against his hand and arm at the same time as if drawn to him. There is no containing his love, it all bubbles out at once, words spilling over his tongue as he pets and caresses their fuzzy, little green caterpillars.
Two of the caterpillars finally climb onto his hands and Totsuka picks them up carefully, stepping back to give Hashimoto a chance to touch his babies too. Hashimoto reaches a green hand into the basket and pets the three babies remaining in the basket, cooing at them. Hashimoto’s nictitating membranes keep flicking over his eyes and his antennea seem to be stuck on pink, giddy with happiness. Attention divided between the two caterpillars resting on his hands and the basket, Totsuka doesn’t hear Kawai’s congratulations until about the last quarter of the speech. He thanks Kawai, his voice shaky with emotion. Hashimoto’s not holding up much better, but neither of them wants to put their babies back into the basket just yet.
In two days, when their exoskeletons have hardened, their babies will be able to join Iwamoto and Sakuma’s older babies in the nursery, but for now they need the protection of the padded basket. Goseki is already preparing food for the caterpillars, pulping fruits and mixing the thick juice with honey. In a few minutes, the babies will have to be fed with tiny funnels, but for now there is nothing but Totsuka, Hashimoto, their babies and their shared love. For once in his life, Totsuka knows with irrefutable certainty that all is right with the universe, that everything is exactly the way it should be.
From: santa_johnny
Title: Aurora Borealis
Pairing/Group: Totsuka/Hashimoto
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: AU, space aliens, weird biology, babies, assorted weirdness
Notes: Happy Holidays, mousapelli!
Summary: Totsuka’s world is about to change and he doesn’t mind one bit.
Totsuka wakes up slowly, the familiar shff shff of Hashimoto’s wingtips scraping against the blankets the only noise in their shared home. He feels faintly dizzy, a sign that it’s still early; his body hasn’t quite worked his allergy medication out of his system yet. He sits up slowly, blankets gliding down, exposing his skin to the air. The cold serves to wake him up a bit more, enough to stretch and yawn. Stretching makes his skin pull unpleasantly. There are dried up gunks of the clear goo Hashimoto uses to protect his skin from burning at Totsuka’s touch stuck to the bed and to his body, but Totsuka doesn’t regret forgoing his customary shower before going to bed; falling asleep while he can still hold Hashimoto’s hand, with afterglow coursing through his veins, is definitely worth a bit of stickiness.
Totsuka looks over at Hashimoto, asleep at the other end of the bed. Their nest is custom built, big enough they don’t have to worry about accidentally touching in their sleep. Hashimoto sleeps on his stomach, his wings moving lightly as he dreams. If Hashimoto’s species could snore, he would likely be snoring now, making the cutest little noises. Totsuka giggles at the mental image, the sound louder than intended, because Hashimoto stirs, sitting up and yawning cutely. Nictitating membranes flick over Hashimoto’s eyes as he adjusts to the light levels in the room. “Morning.”
“Good morning,” Totsuka replies, suppressing the urge to ruffle Hashimoto’s hair with the ease of long practice. Hashimoto blows him a kiss and Totsuka catches it in his palm, then brings his palm up to his cheek.
“Hey!” Hashimoto objects, trying to look stern but his smile keeps slipping through. “That kiss was intended for your lips. Obviously.”
“Obviously,” Totsuka agrees, attention drawn to Hashimoto’s hair. Most of the blond Hashimoto gained during his pregnancy has faded in the weeks since he laid his eggs, only the tips of his soft brown hair still show hints of a lighter colour. A strand of Hashimoto’s hair shivers as Totsuka watches, each individual hair twitching until the gunk stuck to it falls off, leaving Hashimoto’s hair clean and free to shift lazily. “Any chance of a second kiss?”
Hashimoto huffs, pretending to be put out, but the pink-red flicker of his antennae gives him away. “Only cause it’s Tottsu.”
Totsuka kisses the air, catching Hashimoto’s air kiss with his lips and Hashimoto collapses in a fit of giggles. As tempting as the thought of taking another dose of allergy medication and spending the day in bed with Hashimoto is, Totsuka knows he shouldn’t. He has work to do, they both have, and when the eggs hatch in a week or so, he won’t have time or attention to spare for bullets and gunpowder or anything related to the rebellion. He climbs out of their nest and down to the floor, hissing at the cold under his feet. Running a hand through his hair, Totsuka winces. Half his hair is stuck together, glued into a firm mess by the dried goo. With any luck, it’ll come out in the shower, or perhaps he’ll just find a pair of scissors and cut the whole thing off.
Hashimoto’s work alarm flares up suddenly, orange-purple-orange light flickering through their home, accompanied by a high peeping noise. Hashimoto jumps out of bed with his wings spread, not bothering to use the ladder. He can’t actually glide, but the wings catch just enough air that jumping from that height is not too much of a stupid idea. By the time Totsuka turns the alarm off, Hashimoto’s already wearing pants, boots and his shirt with the padded stripes of protective leather down the sides. “I’ll be back for lunch, if I can,” Hashimoto calls back over his shoulder and then he’s climbing up the ladder out of their home with a speed Totsuka can only envy.
One thing Totsuka will never admit is how much of a turn-on Hashimoto’s casual competence is for him. He remembers with fondness the months he spent traveling alone with Hashimoto, Hashimoto keeping their tiny space ship running with spit and duct tape and not much else; if Totsuka hadn’t already been in love with him before, he definitely would have been by the time they crashed on the colony. The work Hashimoto does here is important too, keeping the machines that make the planet habitable running with technical skills, determination and a good portion of luck.
Totsuka shakes his head to stop the woolgathering. He can’t let his thoughts wander like this, he has work waiting for him as well, though not as urgent. The piece of goo glueing his hair together doesn’t come out in the shower, no matter how long he scrubs at it. In the end, Totsuka gives up and simply cuts it out. Then, to even things up, he cuts the hair on the other side of his head as well, then the back. He stares at the mirror for a moment before reaching for his razor. Might as well do it properly.
Kawai’s nose ridges flutter in surprise at the sight of Totsuka’s shaved head, but he clearly decides against commenting on it, which is unusual in itself. It likely means that whatever brings Kawai to the armory is important, but Totsuka waits patiently for him to speak up. While he waits, he fills up another bullet, soldering it carefully shut.
Not even half an hour later Totsuka finds himself in the infirmary, taking notes while Kawai prepares everything for Iwamoto and Sakuma’s eggs to hatch. He sits quietly in a corner, taking notes as Kawai measures egg temperature, hardness of shell and a dozen other values. Goseki is the only one actually touching the eggs at this point; since Sakuma’s favourite foods make Iwamoto sneeze, Doctor K rules that the proud parents need to stay at a safe distance, observing without touching anything, until he has a chance to test for possible allergies between the crossbred babies and their parents.
One of the eggs shakes lightly, a short movement that is easily missed. Totsuka makes a note of the time. A moment later, a second egg starts shaking and soon the whole clutch is rocking in place inside the incubator that was borrowed from Senga for the purpose. A few minutes of rocking later, the first crack finally appears. The baby is clearly shoving from inside, determined to get out. With an especially strong push, the crack in the shell of the first egg widens and a flash of pink, the same colour as Sakuma’s hair, becomes visible.
Goseki reaches in with gentle hands, carefully peeling the shell apart to free the baby. Even after months of working with Goseki, Totsuka’s mind refuses to believe the number of joints in Goseki’s fingers is actually possible, but Totsuka is too distracted by the birth of Sakuma and Iwamoto’s first baby to get freaked out by Goseki’s clearly impossible hands. It’s pink. A pink caterpillar, and completely adorable. It wriggles in Goseki’s grasp and Totsuka can’t quite stop himself from going “Awwww”.
A corner of Totsuka’s mind notices that the movement of Kawai’s tail becomes more relaxed at his reaction, but he’s too busy taking down numbers and other data to think about that just now. Goseki carefully cleans the pink baby from bits of eggshell and gunk, then places it in the carrying basket Sakuma weaved before turning back to the eggs to help the next caterpillar break through. The caterpillars are very fragile at this stage, their exoskeletons still soft. The next baby is pink and yellow, very pretty and amazingly adorable and fuzzy. Totsuka finds himself cooing along with Sakuma as baby after baby is born. They are so cute and Totsuka finds himself longing for next week, when his own babies, his and Hashimoto’s babies, are due to hatch.
Iwamoto’s arm is still partly immobilized by the bone shield that grew from shoulder to elbow during his pregnancy to protect his eggs; Iwamoto laid his eggs a week earlier than Hashimoto, but because he spent most of his pregnancy on a ship without gravity instead of on a planet, his bone shield grew a lot stronger and it’s clearly not dissolving properly, while Hashimoto’s is already completely gone. Both Iwamoto and Sakuma can barely hold themselves back while Kawai runs tests, antennae blinking impatiently. When Doctor K gives his okay, they are instantly on their feet, petting and caressing all nine of their babies a moment later.
It’s late afternoon by the time Totsuka climbs down the ladder into the home he shares with Hashimoto. Tsukada built it after Hashimoto’s specifications, to imitate the living tree houses of Hashimoto’s homeworld. It’s not actually up in a tree; the planet is barely habitable and the storms are too strong to build hanging nests, but even if it’s build on the ground and partly below, it can have the door at the top. Hashimoto is napping in his hammock, wings fluttering as they hang over the sides. He looks so cute that Totsuka doesn’t have the heart to wake him. Fighting the urge to run his fingers through Hashimoto’s curls, he instead uses the long metallic tongs they keep on hand for just such occasions to pull a blanket over Hashimoto from a safe distance.
Instead he starts dinner, a complicated affair when they actually want to share a meal. Working quickly and silently, Totsuka prepares cold fruit soup for both of them, with honey on the side for Hashimoto and a nawler steak for himself. It’s in domestic moments like this, comfortably in the home he shares with the love of his life, that even Totsuka with his pessimistic nature can’t deny that he’s happy and that Hashimoto just might be right, that perhaps he deserves this happiness.
Hashimoto wakes up adorably rumpled and Totsuka’s heart squeezes with happiness. Hashimoto’s eyes widen at the sight of Totsuka’s bare head. “Tottsu! What happened? Doesn’t that hurt?” Hashimoto asks, clearly anxious. Hashimoto’s hair is a lot more active than human hair, taking care of part of his oxygen supply and constantly in motion.
Totsuka shakes his head, a reassuring smile on his lips. “I only cut my hair, it’ll grow back.”
During dinner he tells Hashimoto all about the hatching, about how cute and fuzzy and colourful Sakuma and Iwamoto’s babies are. Hashimoto hums agreement, nodding along happily as he sips his soup. While Hashimoto finishes the last of his honey with little flicks of his tongue that are entirely distracting to look at, Totsuka repeats what Kawai told him to expect when their own babies hatch next week, about the milder allergy medication Kawai has developed, that should be enough for Totsuka as long as the babies have their exoskeletons.
Hashimoto grins. “Babies are a handful even when you’ve got all eight senses together,” he comments when Totsuka explains about the adjusted allergy medication, “they’d run rings around anyone half out of his mind on allergy meds. But I’m sure Tottsu can handle them!”
“I’m looking forwards to it,” Totsuka replies mildly, and he is. He didn’t know how much he wanted children, especially Hashimoto’s children, until Hashimoto brought it up the first time, but now he can barely think about anything else anymore. Hashimoto’s thoughts are more on baby-making though, and Totsuka isn’t averse to that either. Half an hour later, when Totsuka’s allergy meds kick in and Hashimoto is covered head to toe in the protective goo, Totsuka finally gets the kiss he’s been craving since morning.
Time seems to crawl, but when it’s suddenly hatching day, Totsuka wonders where the time went. As it turns out, Hashimoto can’t weave a carrying basket to save his life, his attempts only marginally more respectable than Iwamoto’s. In the end, Sakuma teaches Totsuka how to weave. Hashimoto looks so proud when Totsuka produces a functional basket, even if it’s nowhere near as ornamental as Sakuma’s pink, glittery basket.
Kawai takes a voice recording instead of writing down notes, working through egg temperatures and shell density while Totsuka fidgets. Somehow, Totsuka finds that the waiting is a lot harder now that it’s his own babies that are about to hatch, and he doubts it’s just his new, weaker allergy medication talking. Hashimoto looks just as nervous. They’re sitting as far apart as Kawai could manage and Totsuka can see the wisdom in that; there are few things in this world he wouldn’t give away without a thought for the ability to hold Hashimoto’s hand right at this moment. When Hashimoto catches his eye and smiles there is nothing Totsuka can do but smile back. Things will be alright.
“There!” Hashimoto exclaims, pointing at a crack in the shell of one of their eggs. Hashimoto’s antennae are blinking like crazy, flickering through colours and patterns too fast for Totsuka to make sense of. When Goseki picks the lime green baby out of its shell, Totsuka makes a noise he’s not at all embarrassed about. His firstborn baby is fuzzy, much fuzzier than he expected, and so cute as it twists in Goseki’s grip. Goseki places it carefully in the padded basket and Totsuka has to grip his chair with both hands to stay seated and give Doctor K a chance to do the necessary check for allergies. Their babies are a mixture of human and alien DNA, nearly impossible to predict, though Kawai made a few educated guesses. By the time Goseki places the third baby, a darker pine green, into the basket, Hashimoto’s eyes are the only thing keeping Totsuka in his chair.
“Alright,” Kawai says, snapping his tool case shut, “I’m clearly a genius.” Hashimoto huffs impatiently and Kawai grins. “Knock yourselves out, it should be fine. But lemme know if you start dying.”
Totsuka is on his feet before the last word even leaves Kawai’s mouth. He reaches the basket at the same time as Hashimoto, who smiles at him. Hashimoto’s soft brown eyes are full of love. “You first,” Hashimoto says and just this once Totsuka can’t help being selfish.
He reaches into the basket and gently, oh so gently, touches one of their babies with just the tip of his finger. Its fur is so soft, fuzzy and soft and fuzzy and oh, his baby turns into the touch. Totsuka is vaguely aware that he’s babbling, cooing at his babies and crying, but all he cares about is how soft his babies are, how they lean into his touch, how all five of Hashimoto’s babies press up against his hand and arm at the same time as if drawn to him. There is no containing his love, it all bubbles out at once, words spilling over his tongue as he pets and caresses their fuzzy, little green caterpillars.
Two of the caterpillars finally climb onto his hands and Totsuka picks them up carefully, stepping back to give Hashimoto a chance to touch his babies too. Hashimoto reaches a green hand into the basket and pets the three babies remaining in the basket, cooing at them. Hashimoto’s nictitating membranes keep flicking over his eyes and his antennea seem to be stuck on pink, giddy with happiness. Attention divided between the two caterpillars resting on his hands and the basket, Totsuka doesn’t hear Kawai’s congratulations until about the last quarter of the speech. He thanks Kawai, his voice shaky with emotion. Hashimoto’s not holding up much better, but neither of them wants to put their babies back into the basket just yet.
In two days, when their exoskeletons have hardened, their babies will be able to join Iwamoto and Sakuma’s older babies in the nursery, but for now they need the protection of the padded basket. Goseki is already preparing food for the caterpillars, pulping fruits and mixing the thick juice with honey. In a few minutes, the babies will have to be fed with tiny funnels, but for now there is nothing but Totsuka, Hashimoto, their babies and their shared love. For once in his life, Totsuka knows with irrefutable certainty that all is right with the universe, that everything is exactly the way it should be.