I stare at her, my tiny daughter, because I believe that if I stare at her for long enough, then I will believe that she is real. She lies in Grace's pale arms, awake but, miraculously, not crying. She stares at my wife (mywifemywifemywifemywife), her mother, with tawny yellow eyes.

"A name."

I turn my gaze to Grace, before flopping back onto the pillows.

"God, Grace," I murmur, exhale. She smiles and places the tiny girl onto my slowly rising chest. I let my arm lie across the pillows and Grace leans carefully back into my embrace, pressing her warm lips to the inside of my arm.

"I want Olivia," she whispers onto my skin,"but I don't think that I can.." She trails off and closes her dark eyes wearily.

"Handle it," I finish for her. Grace hums and I run my hand along her arm, the other grasped in our daughter's (ourdaughterourdaughterourdaughterourdaughter) tiny fingers.

"I miss her", Grace sniffs quietly, burying her face into my side. I don't speak, only press a soft kiss to her head and sigh. "Can Olivia be her middle name?" I glance down at Grace and smile.

"Olivia Roth," I say, testing the name carefully. "Brisbane Roth? Roth Brisbane?" Grace laughs and smiles up at me.

"Definitely Roth. I'm all yours," she says, and I grin before leaning down to gently kiss her mouth.

This is what our lives have become. Baby names and soft mouths and the memory of wolves long taken by snow. I sigh, imagining a cloud of breath hanging in the air before me, and shut my eyes.

"Why are baby name books so utterly unhelpful?" I groan.

Grace smiles, and begins tracing a careful finger along my chest. We lie in silence, the night outside growing dark, our minds falling slowly into slumber. My thoughts, as always in the presence of stars, fall to my pack, to the new wolves whose voices will have rose in sorrowful wails tonight, to the peninsula where they will lie, the cold keeping them prisoner in their fur coats. To Minnesota and to the house in Boundary Woods - to the well-worn crease of Beck's smile under his tired eyes and laugh lines.

"Wouldn't he be a great grandfather?" I murmur, and Grace frowns at her fingers as they travel around our daughter's now-sleeping frame. "Beck, I mean." This earns a sad little grin as Grace closes her dark eyes.

"Yeah, he would."

We lie in silence for a moment, before some part of my brain deciphers why the other won't stop shouting Beck, instead of whispering the name as it has since I met the man.

"Grace," I say simply. She kisses my jawline.

"Sam."

I poke her nose as I say, "Beck."

She makes a small noise of sleepy affirmation as her eyes fall shut and she nods tiredly. I prod her carefully in the stomach and she groan. "As a name", I tell her. "Dork." Her eyes widen as she realises what I'm saying.

"Rebecca?" she asks, grinning at the girl and smoothing down her tiny strands of pale hair. I smile.

"What about R-E-B-E-C-K-A?" She mouths the name, whispers it onto my chest, my neck.

"Beck Olivia Roth."

"What do you think?" I ask her. "Is this it?" What I don't say is, "is this it? Is this the name we've needed all along? A tie closer than our blood bonds, one that will link our daughter to the magic of our family, to her parent's best friends? To the father and sister who sacrificed their own human skins for their families, for the unknowable abyss of magic in which we wolves all live?" I don't need to say it.

Grace nods, and before she kisses me, whispers

"Yes".

AUTHOR'S NOTE
Hi WOW so I finally got off my arse and edited this. If you're new, welcome! This is a fanfiction that takes place after the events that occur in Maggie Stiefvater's 'Wolves of Mercy Falls' trilogy, so if you haven't read those books then I highly advise that you do. Otherwise, this is going to be very confusing.

If you're rereading this chapter, hey, welcome back! I might actually continue writing this fanfic! You're welcome.

BilboRoth 🐾