Thes the was was was was wase first light of dawn had begun to creep through the hospital windows when Hope finally stepped out of the delivery ward. Her movements were slow, hesitant, her mind still reeling from the chaos of the night. A kind nurse with kind eyes met her at the door and spoke softly. "Miss Mikaelsotrieduld you like to see your babies now?"
Hope blinked at her, startled out of her haze. For a moment, she couldn't form words. Her heart raced and her vision blurred with tears. Then she nodded quickly, clutching her chest as emotion surged through her—relief, disbelief, awe all tangled together. "Yes," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Please... I need to see them."
The nurse smiled gently and gestured for her to follow. "This way, dear. The NICU is just down the hall."
Hope turned toward the waiting rooa sense of a sense of a sense of a sense of a sense of a sense of m, where every face she loved looked up the moment she appeared. Her father's posture straightened instantly, and Hayley was on her feet before Hope could speak. "They said I can see them," Hope managed, her voice hoarse from hours of crying. "The babi,es."
Without hesitation, Haywould Lydia, Derek, Malia, Josie, and Lizzie rose to follow her. The others stayed behind, giving quiet nods of support. Together, the small group trailed after the nurse down the long, sterile hallway, their footsteps echoing against the tile.
Every step felt heavy and surreal to Hope, her heart pounding with a mix of nerves and anticipation. She clutched at her chest as if steadying herself, afraid that if she breathed too hard, the moment might shatter. She was finally about to meet her and Nova's daughters—their miracles. It wasn't the meeting she'd imagined, surrounded by bright lights and sterile walls instead of a quiet nursery. But as her excitement and love swelled, she realized none of this had gone as planned—and yet it was still theirs, still real, still sacred.
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The NICU was a world of hushed voices and rhythmic beeping. The aiweremelled faintly of antiseptic and new life. Hope's senses sharpened as she entered—every sound amplified, every heartbeat syncing with the monitors' soft rhythm. Her pulse raced in her ears, mirroring the steady electronic chirps. The cool air brushed her skin, carrying the scent of sterilized metal and the faint sweetness of baby powder. For a moment, she stood perfectly still, overwhelmed by the quiet reverence of the place, afraid that even breathing too loudly might disturb its fragile peace. Then her gaze lifted and her heart clenched—
Two tiny incubators sat side by side beneath soft, glowing lights. The sight hit Hope so hard that her knees nearly buckled. Her breath caught, and for a moment, everything around her disappeared—the qutransparentparentparentparentparentparenturmur of nurses, the faint beeping of monitors, even the reassuring presence of her family. There was only the light, the warmth, and the breathtaking reality of what she was seeing. Her daughters. Tiny, impossibly fragile, but alive. The world seemed to stop spinning, suspended between awe and disbelief as her heart filled with a fierce, endless love. They were so small, their skin almost translucent, their chests rising and falling in shallow, careful breaths. Hope's mind whirled with emotion, awe intertwining with disbelief. In their tiny, fragile forms she saw living proof that love could endure anything—that even through chaos and pain, life had found a way. Her daughters were the embodiment of every promise she and Nova had ever made to each other, of every whispered dream they shared in the quiet hours of night. She pressed a trembling hand against the glass, her tears falling freely, thinking that even in their fragility, they were stronger than the world that tri,ed to break them. Pink beanies covered their heads, and impossibly small oxygen masks rested on their faces. Tiny wires and tubes trailed from their arms and chests, each connecting to monitors that recorded the fragile rhythm of their lives.
Hope's breath caught, her hand flying to her mouth as tears welled in her eyes. "They're so small," she whispered, voice trembling. "So perfect."
Hayley stepped beside her, her own eyes misty. "They're beautiful," she said softly. "Look at them, Hope... your girls."
Klaus moved forward slowly, his usual pride tempered by awe. "Granddaughters," he murmured, a rare smile breaking through his hardened features. "Two of them. I never thought..." His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat roughly. "They're strong. I can feel it."
Derek stood at the end of the glass, his arms crossed but his eyes soft with emotion. "Nova woul d be yelling at us right now for crying," he muttered. "But she'd be crying too."
Malia nodded, sniffling as she brushed away a tear. "Yeah... she'd say we're being dramatic, but she'd be a mess the second she saw them."
Josie and Lizzie pressed closer to the glass, their faces glowing with quiet wonder. "They're perfect," Lizzie whispered. "Like tiny dolls." Josie smiled faintly. "They're strong too. I can feel their magic—it's small, but it's there. Just like Hope's."
Hope swallowed hard, her fingers tracing the outline of the glass. "Hi, my loves," she whispered, voice shaking with emotion. "You don't know me yet, but I'm your mama. And you're both the best thing that's ever happened to me."
Hayley's hand came to rest gently on her daughter's shoulder. "You're already an amazing mother, Hope."
Hope leaned forward, pressing her forehead against the glass, her tears streaking the surface. "I just wish Nova was here to see them," she whispered. "She'd love them so much."
"She will," Hayley said firmly. "She's still fighting."
Klaus nodded slowly, his eyes still fixed on the tiny forms behind the glass. "And she'll win. Because she knows you and these babies need her."
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After several minutes of quiet awe, the nurse stepped forward again. "Would you like to go in and see them more closely?" she asked softly.
Hope hesitated, then nodded. "Please."
The nurse opened the small glass door and guided them inside. The group moved carefully, their voices hushed as if afraid to disturb the fragile peace. Hope stepped between the incubators, her hands trembling as she reached for the clear walls.
"They're so small," she murmured again, eyes filling. "Smaller than my hands."
Hayley stood beside her, resting a steadying hand on her back. "You'll get to hold them soon. They just need a little more time."
Hope nodded, blinking back tears as she studied the first baby—their tiny fingers twitching in sleep, their chest rising and falling. "She looks like Nova," Hope whispered. "The shape of her nose... her little mouth. She's her mother's daughter."
Then she turned to the other incubator. "And this one—she's like me. She's got my stubbornness already, I can tell." A watery laugh escaped her. "They're perfect."
Behind her, Hayley and Klaus exchanged a soft, knowing look. Lydia sniffled, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. Derek folded his arms again, his expression full of love and pride. "They're Hales through and through," he said. "Strong and loud when they want to be. Just wait till they start howling."
The room filled with quiet laughter and sniffles as each person took a turn looking closer, whispering words of love and congratulations to Hope. Lizzie and Josie each pressed gentle kisses to Hope's shoulders. "They're going to be spoiled beyo at a timend reason," Lizzie said with a grin. "Between your family, our family, and the pack? These girls are set."
Hope gave a soft, tired laugh. "They'll never have a quiet moment, that's for sure."
As time passed, the group began to trade places with others waiting outside so everyone could see the twins. Freya came in first, whispering a blessing in old Norse. Rebekah cried openly, pressing a hand to the glass and whispering, "Welcome to the world, little ones." Even Kol, who pretended to be disinterested, had glassy eyes when he saw them.
Hours later, the group had quieted. The hum of machines was the only sound as Hope remained near the incubators, watching every tiny movement. She couldn't tear h,er eyes away; her gaze was filled with awe and overwhelming love for her daughters. Every tiny breath, every twitch of their fingers felt like a miracle she couldn't stop witnessing. Her heart ached, full and fragile at once.
Hayley and Lydia exchanged a look before approaching. "Hope," Hayley said gently, "you've been here for hours. You need rest. We'll stay with them, sweetheart. I promise we'll wake you the second there's news about Nova."
Josie nodded in agreement, her voice soft. "We'll keep an eye on them, Hope. You've done everything you can tonight."
But Hope shook her head, her eyes never leaving the incubators. "I can't," she whispered hoarsely. "Not until I know Nova's okay. I need to be here... with them. For her."
Klaus sighed quietly from where he stood by the doorway, his expression torn between pride and worry. Hayley reached out, brushing Hope's hair back. "All right," she said softly. "But at least sit down, Little Wolf. Rest your body if not your heart."
Hope nodded faintly, lowering herself into the chair beside the incubators, her eyes still locked on her daughters. Even as exhaustion pulled at her, she refused to look away, her heart beating in sync with the fragile rhythm of their lives.
The door opened quietly behind her. Hope turned to see Dr. Elena Gilbert-Salvatore step inside, her expression kind but serious. "Hope?"
Hope's heart skipped. "Dr. Gilbert—Nova?"
Elena exhaled slowly, offering a soft smile. "She made it through the surgery. It was close—she lost a lot of blood—but she's stable for now."
A sob of relief burst from Hope's chest. "She's alive?"
"She's alive," Elena confirmed gently. "But she hasn't woken up yet. Her body's in recovery, and given everything she's been through, she needs rest. She's still very weak."
Hope pressed her hands to her face, tears spilling freely. "Thank God," she whispered. "Thank God."
Klaus stepped closer, resting a hand on Hope's shoulder. "You see, little wolf? She's fighting."
Elena nodded. "And she's got good reason to. Her vitals are holding steady, and she's already responding better than we expected. It might take time, but she's got every chance to recover."
Hayley wrapped an arm around her daughter's shoulders, whispering softly. "You see? She's coming back to you."
Hope looked through the glass once more at her daughters—their tiny hands twitching beneath the glow of the incubator lights—and then back toward the hallway where Nova was recovering. Her voice broke softly as she turned to Dr. Gilbert. "Can I see her?" she asked, the question trembling in the air like a prayer. "Please... I need to see Nova."
Elena's expression softened with empathy but remained professional. "She's in recovery right now, Hope. No visitors for a couple of hours until we're sure she's stable enough. After that, only a few people at a time will be allowed to see her. A nurse will come to let you know when you can visit."
Hope's shoulders slumped, disappointment flickering in her eyes, but she nodded in understanding. "Okay," she whispered, her voice tight.
She exhaled shakily, her voice trembling with equal parts love and exhaustion. "We're all waiting for you, Nova," she whispered. "Our family's waiting."
Hope stayed where she was, still seated before the incubators, her gaze tracing the faint rise and fall of her daughters' chests. Every small sound made her heart clench. Around her, the others spoke softly, the rhythm of their voices like distant waves. Klaus tried to convince her again to rest; Hayley reminded her she needed strength too. Even Lydia whispered that they'd stay by the babies and wake her if anything changed. But Hope only shook her head again, eyes glistening. "I can't sleep while she's out there without me," she said. "I'll rest when she wakes up."
So she remained there, the light of the NICU wrapping around her like a fragile cocoon, her love fierce and unyielding. Every heartbeat of the monitors felt like her own. She leaned close, whispering through the glass, "You're so loved, my girls. And your mom... she's going to come back to us. She has to."
Outside, the dawn grew brighter, washing the world in pale gold. Hope's eyes fluttered, heavy from exhaustion, but she refused to close them. Her mind drifted with memories—Nova's laughter, her warmth, the way she whispered promises against Hope's skin late at night. Those memories were her anchor now.
When a nurse returned to check the babies' vitals, she offered Hope a small, sympathetic smile. "They're doing well," the nurse said softly. "They're fighters—just like their moms."
Hope nodded, her heart swelling. "Yeah," she murmured. "They are." She glanced toward the door again, a quiet ache deep in her chest. "So is Nova."
She leaned a little closer to the incubators, her voice soft and full of tenderness. "Your mommy's the bravest person I've ever known," she whispered to the twins. "She fought so hard to bring you into this world, and she's still fighting. Mama's right here, but Mommy's the reason you're here. She's strong, and she loves you more than anything."
Hayley, standing just behind her daughter, listened quietly and felt tears fill her own eyes. She stepped closer, her voice barely above a whisper. "She's going to hear those words soon, Hope," she said softly. "Your baby mommy is strong, and she'll find her way back to you and these little ones. I promise." Hayley's hand found Hope's shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. "You have her heart. She'll always come back to you."
Hope turned to her mother, eyes wet but shining. "You really think she'll hear me?"
Hayley smiled through her own tears. "I know she will, and if not, you can tell her yourself, when she wakes up."
The others stood beside her, silent and united as the dawn's first full light filled the room, painting everything in shades of gold and rose. It was a fragile peace—one held together by love, faith, and the quiet strength of a family that refused to give up.