The Baxter Building had finally settled into rare quiet, humming with low night sounds — a soft breeze against the windows, the distant whirr of some experiment still running in the lab. Reed had been reviewing simulations in his office when he realized the quiet had stretched too long. No small feet running down the halls. No soft giggle from Franklin’s room.

He found you there — in the nursery, lit only by the gentle glow of a star-shaped nightlight.

You were curled in the rocker, Franklin asleep on your chest, his tiny hand clutching your shirt. Your fingers carded gently through his hair as you hummed under your breath, barely audible.

Richard stopped at the doorway, watching. You didn’t notice him yet. And he didn’t dare interrupt.

You looked so still. So soft.

So content.

He came to bed an hour later, his mind still caught on the image. You were already under the covers, turned on your side, reading something on your tablet.

“Did he go down okay?” Reed asked, sliding in beside you.

You nodded. “Out like a light.”

There was a pause before he added, voice quieter now, “Have you ever thought about having more?”