AN: Thank you to all who have been reading my stories, and especially those who have been leaving reviews. I appreciate your feedback and thoughts and am working on some your suggestions for editing. J Also, I am working on a proposal story at the request of Lindsay and the guest who asked for one as well as continuing 'Reliving the Past', however this little scene would not leave me alone.

He looks at the tiny bundle resting in the bassinet, a mix of wonder and bewilderment on his face. It is still early – or late depending on one's view of such things – and Grace is sleeping deeply in the large bed behind him. The thirty-six hours of labor had been long as they anxiously awaited the birth of their second child, and she had all but passed out the hour before. Still, he keeps his voice a low rumble as he hesitantly slides his hands under their newborn son.

Feeling the solid weight under his hands, Oliver lifts upward, bending at the waist to shorten the distance he's holding the child in free air. "This is all new to me," he mumbles, awkwardly tucking the boy against his chest. "So I hope you will forgive me any mistakes I'm sure to make." Unable to keep a smile at bay, he glances from his son to the seating area, judging the distance and the probability of his making it without dropping the child. "I think we can make it," he says aloud as he begins shuffling forward, his stomach twisting in knots.

It's a slow process, his sock covered feet barely moving across the wooden planks, and as he reaches the settee, he gingerly lowers himself down. Fully settled, he lets out a breath he was unaware he was holding, moving around until David is lying against his knees, dark blue eyes blinking open at him. "I don't know if you can understand me, but I'm your father," amazement is evident in his voice as he speaks, his eyes taking in the tiny lips moving in a little yawn and the small arms moving about, "and I'm going to do everything in my power to ensure you never want or need for anything. Both you and your sister."

The protectiveness he feels for his oldest daughter, Annie, rushes through him, growing even stronger as the realization that there are now two children totally dependent on him. Yes, Annie is going on twelve now, but the need to ensure no harm should ever come to her runs deep, just as it does for Grace, and now David. For so many years, he had feared letting anyone get close to him, and yet, the arrival of a ten-year-old girl orphan had changed all that.

He'll never be able to describe exactly how thankful he is to her for that.

"You'll meet her in a few hours' time," Oliver says, his right hand moving to gently pat David's blanket covered stomach. "You're all she's been talking about for months, wanting to know as much as possible about you. Asking the most random of questions one could possibly come up with. Why I think she would have stayed up with your mother and I had we allowed her," he says, chuckling at the thought, "wanting to see your birth in all its detail. And that's not something I think a girl of her age needs to see!"

He's quiet now, his fingers tracing over the warmth of his son, trying to take in every possible detail. The wisps of chestnut hair on his tiny head, the fullness of his round face, the miniature eyelashes resting against red skin. Each and every feature is memorized, burned to his mind as intricately as a new business deal, though with much more joy than the latter has ever brought him.

"She reminds me of your Uncle Davey," Oliver says out of nowhere, a finger slowly running down the side of David's cheek. "So full of life. Of wonder and energy and curiosity. Just like he was. Always wanting to know why something worked as it did, getting into scraps with the bigger boys in the neighborhood because they just couldn't understand him, or because he was protecting the smaller children from their bullying. How I wish you both could have met him," he says on a sigh.

Thoughts of his younger brother fill his mind, forever the nine-year-old he'd been that winter's day when pneumonia had claimed him, no money for a doctor or medicine available. How cold he had been to the touch, and how fragile he had looked lying in their bed. "I won't fail you," tumbles from his lips, full of agony as he looks at his son. "Nor your mother or your sister. No matter the cost, you will always be protected and loved."

It's the dipping of the cushion that has his gaze shooting up, hands automatically moving to ensure David does not fall, as Grace settles beside him. The agony gives way to worry as he sees the tiredness in her eyes, the discomfort and pain from giving birth in how she moves. He wants nothing more to wrap her in his arms and tend to her. "You should be in bed my love."

"My men needed me," she says softly, leaning into his side.

"We're okay." His eyes never leave their son as he moves his arm to hold her close.

"You're not," she answers back, curling into his side and sighing at his warmth as she too watches David. "Talk to me."

"I'm okay," he insists again, his gaze finally shifting to look down at her. "Honest," he mutters as her eyes move to his. "Just thoughts of Davey and all that he has and will miss."

"He's not missing anything," Grace says softly, moving her hand to rest lightly against Oliver's chest. At his confusion, she continues. "He has always been right here with you."

"Grace," he begins on an emotional sigh, the struggle to put into words what he is feeling tripping him up.

"Shhh," she whispers, moving to press her lips against his. "Don't say anything. Just remember your brother is always with you. As am I and the children."