Author's Note: To my readers: thanks for coming along with me on this journey. I've appreciated your reviews and support so much, especially considering how tiny this fandom is, and I sincerely hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed creating it.

TWO YEARS LATER

Pain. Such pain. You screamed, hoarse and despairing, long past caring about your dignity.

"I can't," you sobbed. You wanted the sides of the nest to curve over and swallow you up. "Please, I can't do it anymore."

"You can." Caesar's voice was a soft rumble in your ear. It was not ape custom for him to be present for such an event and yet for you, he broke it without question. "You will."

Another contraction seized your body and you clutched his fur, knuckles going white; it had to hurt even him. He didn't make a sound.

The ape midwife hooted a gentle encouragement and you grit your teeth, trembling, close to hyperventilating – and then a release, and the agony was gone, and in her hands had materialized a squalling creature with little flailing fists and cow-licked fur.

You stared and swore under your breath, awed and incomprehensible and exhausted, as the slippery and blood-streaked baby was placed on your chest.

"Hey... hi... shh, it's okay now." Your jaw ached from hours of clenching it and the words were mere whispers but the cries subsided, tiny dark head turning from side to side, eyes squinting against the late morning light beaming into the cave. The night had seemed an eternity, and through the crushing fog of pain you'd lost faith in Chuck's all-clear for you to deliver in the mountains instead of the city. He'd provided the midwife with an ample kit to cover almost every possible contingency, but in the end, none of the supplies had been necessary.

Above her beaded mask, the midwife's face crinkled with happiness as she signed to Caesar. A daughter.

A little girl. Yours; and his. Whole and healthy and wriggling. On the ultrasound you'd seen a mere silhouette in black and white, a collection of limbs and a blurry profile and kicking feet, pushing so hard you could feel the lump from the outside. The past nine months had been an exercise in anxiety but now she was here, squirming and making an O with her mouth. She was chubbier than an ape infant, her body furred but her features light in coloring and perhaps not so prominent or wrinkled as an ordinary chimpanzee – but it was hard to tell, with her face still scrunched from delivery.

It didn't matter. She was perfect.

With the back of a shaky hand you pushed sweat-damp hair from your temple, letting your head fall back on your pillow and glancing up at Caesar. His expression was hyper-focused yet reverent, eyes bright and unblinking as he reached out. His one finger was longer than her entire face, and impossibly gentle.

"What should we call her?" you said. You hadn't compiled a list of names when you were pregnant; it seemed strange to name someone you hadn't met yet.

"It is usual to think on it." He stopped, as if about to speak; his lips parted, like an idea had occurred to him, but he hesitated.

"What is it?" you pressed.

He smiled at the baby. Thinking. "Out of many prickles, beauty."

The normally gray courtyard was swathed in color, adorned with garlands of golden yarrow and bowl after bowl of fruit and heaped fish, along with fresh crusty loaves of bread and a basket of eggs – gifts from the city. Several trucks had come for the feast.

Around your head was a circlet of supple willow branches and delicate white blossoms, and the fresh scent of the greenery floated around you. Leaf and Robin had made it. Deep down you'd been apprehensive of any of the apes being resentful or jealous, but you shouldn't have worried. You had felt only love and support. Besides, Robin was newly pregnant again, and Chuck had prescribed a drug that might have a shot at helping it stick.

"I thought this would be useful." Ellie had brought a bundle of blue paisley fabric, and as she unfolded it you recognized it as a baby sling. Warmth infused her face as she crouched to look at the baby, nestled half-asleep in the crook of your arm and clinging to your shirt with tiny peach-fuzzed hands. "Does she have a name yet?"

Ellie visited often, and had become semi-fluent in sign, so you showed her – a fist, turned in a semi-circle as the fingers opened like that of a flower.

"Thistle."

Apes and humans alike paid homage with gifts and greetings bestowed on you and Caesar at your cave's entrance, and below you in the courtyard they ate together. Malcolm and Ellie and Alexander; Janet, another nurse you'd become close during your prenatal visits; Janet's teenage daughters, who were learning the tricks of the trade and who seemed fascinated by their surroundings; a handful of others you'd grown to know; even Dreyfus, who you weren't particularly close with, had come as a mark of respect.

Watching them, Caesar's face radiated utter contentment. The standard alertness in his posture was replaced with easy tranquility, the corners of his mouth soft. All he had hoped for was coming to fruition. With your free hand you reached for his, squeezing the calloused knuckles.

"Are you happy?"

"Yes." He flipped your hand over, brushing the pad of his thumb over the center of your palm. He tilted his head to look at Thistle, his eyes creasing as she yawned in her sleep. "Even if it was just you and me and my children, I would be happy."

Speaking of, your gaze drifted over the rather noisy assembly until you found Blue Eyes sitting with a knot of adolescents, both human and ape. Lately he'd been spending a lot of time with Lake. You wondered if anything would come of it. Judging by the way Lake kept peeking at him, you didn't think it was too much of a stretch.

Looking out at your adopted people, their conviviality buoyed you up like a bubble on the wind. You knew their names and faces, their scars and stories – as they knew yours. At the beginning the coexistence between them and the humans was stilted, and while there were still those among each group who remained skeptical of the other, the scales were weighted more towards tentative and respectful curiosity and over time they had reached a peaceful parallel.

Respect; peace; love. Jaded as you'd once been, you'd seen such notions as properties of an idyllic and bygone past. But they had been found – created, coaxed out, like a breath on a single flame – in a world you'd given up on as past saving. The bad would always exist, in the former world and this one and whatever was to come, but so would goodness, waiting just below the surface. And that was something worth fighting for.

Caesar's attention was on you now, and when you met his eyes one brow rose in a wordless request to share your thoughts.

How to express the immensity of your feelings? You considered all the words you knew in his language and yours. You reclaimed your hand and pressed it to your heart, then signed to him.

Family. Love.

Caesar's hand was steady on your lower back. He did not have to speak. He understood.

Everyone had gone. Through the cave's entrance the night was indigo, streaked with wisps of clouds over scattered silver stars. It was just you and Caesar now, and the crackle of the low fire in the pit. You'd appreciated the gifts and food and congratulations, both your heart and stomach full to bursting, but you were drained and still sore. The quiet was restful and welcome, like a clean and cozy blanket.

Thistle slept peacefully between you in the nest, snoring faintly, curled up on her belly with her hands by her face. Under your fingertips her fur was downy soft, like a duckling's. You knew her body was naturally recreating the position she'd been in snug inside your womb, but you couldn't help but note how Caesar slept that way, too.

"What are you thinking?" you prodded him; quiet, so as not to wake her. He lay propped on one elbow, eyes roving slowly over her.

"She is very small," he said solemnly.

"Chuck weighed her in at five and a half pounds and said that was fine." Caesar didn't seem convinced, and you giggled silently. "It's not like you haven't seen a baby before."

"It's been... a long time."

You took in the lines and ridges of his noble features, the gem-like hazel of his eyes, their mellow heavy lids and his serious, fascinated observation of her. Inscribing it onto your soul.

"I'm glad it was you," you blurted suddenly. You had to stifle a self-deprecating laugh. "When I first came here, and you made your proposal and I accepted... and I didn't know who I would, you know, have to..."

Caesar leaned over Thistle, careful not to disturb her, and slid his hand around to the nape of your neck. "It was always going to be me." His forehead lowered to yours. His lashes fluttered closed, but the set of his jaw was resolute. "And since that first night, it was always you."

You inhaled his scent, lulled into languor; when your arms came sleepily around his shoulders he adjusted his position so as not to break the contact, your bodies forming an inverted V around your child. His arm went above her like a bridge, settling steadfast and sure on your waist.

Home.

And on you went into the embrace of slumber, protected and loved and swayed by the timeless beat of three hearts in the night.

THE END