Alan lay awake, staring at the ceiling fan's slow whirl as night pressed soft and heavy against the windows. He'd thought—naively, maybe—that Charlie waking from his coma would snap everything back into place like a rubber band.

The team would breathe again, Babe would stop pacing the halls with red-rimmed eyes, the air would sweeten. But tonight had proved him wrong.

He'd seen it with his own eyes—the impossible flicker in Charlie's gaze, gold like a forge, unmistakable. Enigma.

The word had been whispered around their world like a myth; rarer than an apex Alpha, older than the old laws, and more dangerous in the way a storm is dangerous: not malicious, just too vast to be contained.

And it wasn't just Charlie—Jeff had quietly mentioned the lineage, a father's side threaded through with enigmas. A family of power that didn't need to brag about it.

Alan should have been rattled. Instead, he was oddly relieved. A nerdy, soft-spoken man had been hiding a crown under his hoodie. Their world, it seemed, had a sense of humor.

What unsettled him wasn't Charlie's nature. It was Charlie's quiet.

He replayed the evening in his head: Charlie awake, steady on his feet, Babe dozing against his shoulder. Charlie's eyes drifting to the window and then back to the swell under Babe's shirt—and only there.

When Babe wheezed—a tiny, hitching sound that usually had Charlie scrambling for pillows and water—Charlie didn't flinch. When Babe, half-asleep, reached for Charlie's fingers, Charlie let the touch land and then didn't return it.

Calm. Careful. Distant.

Angry? Alan wondered. Or simply... finished.

He rubbed a hand over his face and sat up, decision crystallizing.

In the morning, he'd talk to Charlie. No lectures, no judgment. Just the truth: Babe was seven months along and needed peace more than punishment. Whatever had bled between them could wait until the baby was sleeping in a bassinet and everyone's heart rate had come down from the stratosphere.

Tonight, they would rest. Tomorrow, Alan would keep the promise he'd made to himself years ago—to be the big brother when the boys forgot how to be gentle with each other.

He turned off the bedside lamp. The room sighed into darkness. Somewhere down the hall, a monitor beeped, steady as a metronome. Alan closed his eyes and let morning come for him.

Jeff eased the door open and paused at the threshold, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

Babe was a small island of blankets and pillows in the middle of the bed, curled on his side, one hand tucked under his cheek, the other resting protectively over the swell of his belly. Morning light poured pale and tender through the curtains, painting the room in hush and gold. He looked... different. Softer. Beautiful, even.

The razor-edged arrogance that used to bristle off him had smoothed into something luminous. His cheeks were a touch fuller, lips pink from sleep; there was a glow to him that had nothing to do with wealth or status and everything to do with the life rolling inside him.

Jeff's chest pinched with disbelief and a little awe.

"Is this the same legend racer who used to chew through handlers and reporters like they were breakfast?" he murmured to himself, shaking his head.

Pregnancy had sanded Babe's corners and set him shining.

But appointments were appointments.

He crossed the room and crouched by the bed.

"Babe," he murmured, gentle, like coaxing a dove.

"Hey. Time to wake up, Babe. Doctors are coming for your check-up."

Babe stirred, lashes fluttering.

"Mmm?" He blinked slowly, the fog of sleep clinging. Then his gaze focused, found Jeff—and something clicked behind his eyes. He shot upright as far as his belly would allow, breath hitching.

"Charlie?"

Jeff held up both hands.

"Easy, easy—"

"Charlie,"

Babe repeated, voice breaking. He looked wildly around the room, then down at the imprint on the sofa cushion across from the bed, as if expecting to find a warm dent and a familiar shape. Tears gathered fast, bright.

"He was here—he was with me—my baby—"

Babe grabbed his belly with both hands as the child shifted restlessly, agitated by the spike in Babe's heartbeat.

" My Baby, He's looking for his papa—Charlie—"

"Shh, Babe. Calm down,"

Jeff said, sliding onto the mattress edge, offering an arm.

"He's here. He's fine. He just woke up from a coma, remember? He has to be checked by the doctors, too. He'll be back soon, I promise."

"Where?"

Babe's eyes were huge and wet, the kind of eyes that made people soften against their will.

"My Charlie?"

"In the medical wing," Jeff said gently.

"Vitals, scans. Routine." He tipped his head, coaxing a breath from Babe.

"Freshen up, okay? Doctors will be here for you in twenty. Let's make it easy for both of you."

Babe nodded a little too quickly.

"Yes. Yes."

Babe tried to push himself upright and faltered; the belly changed his center of gravity, made every movement a negotiation. Jeff slipped an arm behind his shoulders and another under his knees, helping him sit.

"Thank you," Babe whispered, offering a small, wobbly smile. It transformed his whole face—made him look young and open.

"Of course," Jeff said.

"Take it slow."

"Charlie is coming, right?"

Babe asked, already reaching for the robe at the foot of the bed, fingers clumsy, awaiting a positive answer from Jeff.

"Yes, Babe. He will definitely come..He told me so "

Jeff met his gaze and gave a reassuring grin.

"He's coming." He hesitated, then added, "And... , you look good. Glowing, actually."

Babe's ears went pink.

"Do I?"

Babe asked, self-conscious, smoothing a hand over the curve of his stomach. The baby nudged his palm from the inside.

"Yeah," Jeff said, a little laugh escaping him.

"Don't make me say it twice."

Babe breathed out, tension loosening by degrees.

"Okay."

Babe slid off the bed with a careful waddle, hand braced at the small of his back, the other guarding the bump. The robe fell around him in soft folds; the morning light picked out the sheen on his skin and the softness along his jaw. He moved more slowly now, gentler with himself, and somehow that made him more magnetic—not less.

Jeff had to shake his head to clear the thought. Since when did I call this rude, arrogant Alpha cute?

"Thank you, Jeff. I'll be quick," Babe said, shuffling toward the bathroom.

"I'll be right here," Jeff promised.

"And I'll call the clinic, get an ETA on Charlie."

Babe paused in the doorway, fingers white around the frame. "I want him to hold my hand," he said, voice small.

After saying this, Babe thought Jeff would lash out at him because Jeff doesn't like him, but Babe knew Jeff had never been as rude to him as Thankhun was, and he was glad Jeff was making small talk with him now, not giving him the silent treatment and ignoring him like before.

Jeff's answer was immediate. "He will Babe."

Babe nodded, eyes bright. "He missed them," he murmured, more to himself than to Jeff.

"Every time they showed me our baby, I wished he were there with me."

"I know," Jeff said softly.

Water ran, the gentle sounds of Babe washing up drifting back into the quiet room. Jeff stood by the bed, straightened the pillows, smoothed the blankets, and collected the prenatal chart from the nightstand. He dialled the clinic and spoke in low tones, arranging timing, confirming Charlie's release back to the suite as soon as his checks were done.

When Babe emerged, he was fresh-faced and still dewy, hair combed back, a simple cotton shirt stretched tenderly over the swell of his belly. The glow was undeniable—health and hope and a softened pride that made Jeff's throat feel tight.

"Well?" Babe asked, trying for casual and not getting there.

"What did they say?"

"Charlie will be up right after his scan," Jeff said.

"Ten minutes, maybe fifteen."

Babe's shoulders loosened. He crossed back to the bed, one hand trailing along the frame as if to keep his balance, the other cradling his child.

"Okay," he whispered.

"Today he'll be with me. He'll see him. He'll hear him." His smile trembled.

"He'll hold my hand."

Jeff nodded, warmed by a helpless fondness he hadn't planned on feeling.

"Yeah. He will."

Babe settled onto the mattress with a careful turn and a soft grunt of effort. He sank into the pillows, cheeks flushed, eyes shining. Beautiful, Jeff thought again, and this time he didn't challenge the word.

The racing legend looked less like a storm and more like dawn.

There was a knock down the hall—orderlies with a portable machine, the soft murmur of nurses. Jeff squeezed Babe's shoulder once, steadying.

"I've got you until he gets here."

Babe laced their fingers for a heartbeat, grateful. "Thank you," he said again.

"Anytime."

He released Jeff's hand a second later, both palms returning to the round of his stomach as if magnetised.

"Today," Babe whispered to his son, to himself. "Papa's coming."

The cart rolled in—gel bottles, wires, the rounded belly of the portable ultrasound. Nurses in pale scrubs smiled and greeted Babe and bowed to him. The doctor checked the chart and lifted a brow at Jeff.

"We're ready when you are."

"Give us one minute," Jeff said, tipping his head toward the door. He knew why Babe's gaze hadn't left it.

Babe didn't move, didn't blink; his eyes were fixed to the handle as if will alone could turn it. "He'll come," he whispered, almost prayerful.

As if summoned, the door opened. Charlie stepped in—tall, steady, the quiet of him filling the room. Behind him came his parents, Khun Kinn and Khun Porsche, the air around them soft with concern and restrained pride.

And at the tail of the procession, a flash of impossible silk: Uncle Tankhun, resplendent in a luminous, flowing outfit that looked spun from sunrise.

Babe didn't spare the silk a glance. His smile exploded, wide and wet with relief, fixed entirely on Charlie. He lifted his hand toward him, fingers trembling.

"Charlie."

Charlie didn't rush. He moved with controlled calm, gaze already anchored to the swell beneath Babe's shirt. Gold threatened to lick at the dark of his irises—there and gone, a swallowed flare. He stopped beside the bed and sat near the headboard, leaving space for the doctor to work.

Babe's throat bobbed. He reached, seeking, and found Charlie's hand. He gripped it hard, knuckles whitening.

"You're here," he breathed.

Charlie's fingers curled back, not quite squeezing, not quite letting go. His focus stayed on the rise of Babe's belly, on the restless roll beneath the cotton. The room held its breath.

"Shall we begin?" the doctor asked softly.

Jeff took a small step back but stayed close enough for Babe to find him with a glance if he needed it.

"We're ready," he said, though his eyes flicked between their joined hands and Charlie's unwavering stare.

Babe swallowed and angled his face toward Charlie, trying to catch his eyes, choosing—just for now—to ignore the distance.

"Don't leave me again," Babe whispered. "Please."

"I'm here," Charlie said, voice even, the words settling like a weightless promise as the gel bottle clicked open and the machine hummed to life.

The probe kissed the curve of Babe's belly, cool and slick with gel. Charlie saw the baby bump uncovered for the first time and took in how Babe's belly had grown, how red and purple stretch marks webbed across the skin.

Charlie looked at Babe and wondered why he had allowed this—he who hated to see scars on his body and who, with expensive creams and lotions, had tended his skin like a temple.

The doctor's hand moved with practised assurance, tilting, pressing, chasing angles. Gray-white constellations bloomed on the monitor, then resolved into the liquid cradle of their child. A soft electronic thrum caught, galloped, steadied—heartbeat. The room shifted around that sound, as if furniture and lungs alike were drawn into its rhythm..

"There he is," the doctor murmured, smiling. "Active, as always."

Charlie's gaze never left the rise and roll under the shirt. His eyes were molten, mesmerised, a rapture held tight behind restraint. Gold licked at the edges again, retreating when he blinked, but the pull—gravitation, inevitable—kept him leaning in. He wasn't looking at Babe's face; he was orbiting the life beneath Babe's skin.

Babe watched him watching their son. Every time the baby kicked under the probe, Babe's breath hitched and his fingers tightened around Charlie's.

"He hears you," Babe whispered, even though Charlie hadn't spoken. "He knows you are here."

The doctor angled the probe; the screen painted a profile—nose, lips, the sweep of a tiny hand that floated, opened, closed. A chorus of soft awe circled the bed—nurses, Jeff, even Porsche's quiet exhale. Tankhun clutched a hand to his chest and bit back commentary, the silk of his sleeve whispering.

A courteous knock sounded, and Alan slipped in with Sonic and North behind him. Their presence softened the air. They always came when the doctors did; it kept Babe from feeling outnumbered by the formidable Theerapanyakul private guard of concern.

"Morning," Alan said, easy, nodding to the family with calm politeness.

Kinn and Porsche answered with dignified inclines of their heads; Tankhun sparkled his sleeve in reply. Babe brightened and lifted his fingers in a wide little wave.

"Hi," Babe breathed, then looked back at Charlie as if afraid he'd vanish if he glanced away too long.

Alan read the room in a second—the way Babe's happiness was a sunrise fixed on one star, and the way Charlie stared only at the horizon of the bump. He drifted to Jeff's side, voice low.

"How's he holding up?"

"Better with a hand to squeeze," Jeff murmured back.

On-screen, the baby rolled, a knee pressing outward. The monitor beeped as the machine captured measurements.

"Femur length is on track... heart rate excellent... placenta position stable," the doctor narrated, tapping keys. Lines of data stitched across the screen like neat little fences.

Charlie's hand twitched in Babe's grip when the baby pushed, a firm roundness bulging near the probe. For the first time his breath audibly hitched. He leaned closer—closer than his discipline meant to allow—until the gold in his eyes threatened to swallow the dark.

"Look at him," Babe whispered, eyes glittering with tears. He wasn't watching the screen. He was watching the way Charlie knelt to gravity.

"He's saying hi."

A soft, reverent sound escaped Charlie—almost a hum, almost a wordless yes. His free hand lifted, hovered above the curve as if afraid touch could set something fragile to flight. The doctor paused, gave him room.

"You can rest your hand here," Babe said gently, guiding him to a spot clear of the probe.

"He likes pressure there."

Charlie obeyed, palm wide and careful against the gel-slick curve. The baby answered with a roll that pressed into his touch. The gold in Charlie's gaze flared and steadied—mesmerised, caught in the tide of his son's reply.

Babe's lips trembled. "See?" he breathed, the words for Charlie alone.

The machine beeped softly; another angle, another measurement. A perfect little spine arced on the screen like a string of pearls. The doctor clicked to save the image, then toggled the audio louder. The heartbeat filled the room—swift, insistent, a drum beneath water.

Tankhun sniffled. Jeff cleared his throat. Alan's jaw worked once, then settled. Even Kinn's stern mouth softened at the sound.

Through it all, Babe watched Charlie. Watched the way awe broke like light through his calm. Watched restraint fight devotion and lose in small, human ways—the slow drift of Charlie's thumb against his skin, the way his shoulders bowed without thinking, bending toward the life they'd made.

"Everything looks excellent," the doctor announced, warmth threading her professionalism.

"He's measuring right on schedule. Strong, responsive. I'll print a few images for you."

Babe laughed, wet and relieved.

"Thank you," he said, breath shaking, eyes never leaving Charlie's face.

The probe lifted; the cool air kissed the place where their son had just said hello. A nurse wiped the gel with gentle swipes, tucking a towel into Babe's robe. The machine's hum quieted to a purr. The room exhaled.

Charlie's palm remained a moment longer, as if asking the silence to give the baby back. Then he withdrew, finally—finally—letting his gaze climb, stutter, and meet Babe's eyes. For a heartbeat, gold and brown held.

"I'm here," Charlie said again, softer than before, as the printer chattered and a strip of glossy images slid into waiting hands.

Porsche cleared his throat, eyes still on the sonogram printouts.

"Doctor, the growth looks excellent?" he asked, voice even but edged with command.

"Yes, Sir" the doctor replied, tapping the measurements.

"Well grown for the seventh month—he's tracking perfectly."

Porsche nodded once, decisive.

"Good. Then we can arrange the surgery soon."

The word cleaved the quiet. Babe's smile faltered. Alan's head snapped up; Sonic and North traded a startled look. Around the bed, no one else seemed surprised. Not Kinn, not Porsche—and not Charlie or Jeff, whose expressions remained composed, as if this had always been the plan.

Babe turned to Charlie. Charlie was still stroking slow circles over the curve of his belly, gaze fixed there, eyes molten with that restrained gold. The tenderness of his hand didn't reach his face.

Alan stepped forward, reading the shock pinwheeling behind Babe's eyes.

"What surgery?"

The doctor answered gently.

"Enigma infants don't require the full nine months. They accelerate in utero; by the seventh month, they are considered full term. A scheduled delivery is standard for safety. It will be straightforward," he glanced at Kinn and Porsche, who both inclined their heads, a silent, practised consent.

Babe stared, throat working. He looked at Charlie again, voice small.

"Charlie?"

Charlie didn't lift his gaze from the swell.

"It's a small surgery. Painless. The specialist will erase the mark—no scars on your body," Charlie said, tone flatly practical.

"You don't like scars anyway." His palm kept moving, gentle, absent.

"What? Why?" Babe's words tumbled out.

"I know he's full grown—maybe that's why I felt so... full—but why rush? Why not let him come when he's ready? Why can't I have a normal delivery?"

Babe caught Charlie's hand, stilling the circles.

Charlie sighed. From the corner, Tankhun exhaled theatrically into his shimmering sleeve. Sonic and North hovered, confused, their hands half-raised as if to catch a falling glass.

"You don't have to go through the pain,"

Charlie said, finally meeting Babe's eyes for an instant before sliding back to the bump.

"You're an Alpha. Full-term natural delivery is hard. We decided this with you in mind. The racing championship is at the end of the year—you'll need recovery time to train."

His calm was a pane of glass between them.

Babe flinched at the word decided. He turned to Porsche, searching.

"Khun Porsche... you're an Alpha. Did you have surgery?"

Porsche shook his head, a small, settled smile curving when memory touched.

"No. I carried Prapai and Charlie to term. Natural deliveries. Prapai came at seven and a half months; Charlie at eight."

Kinn's arm found his waist, a quiet bracket of pride and protection.

Alan blinked. New information. Prapai. Another piece of the enigma lineage slotted into place. They'd told them so little—and what they did tell came parcelled and polished.

Babe's eyes brimmed.

"If you carried them... why can't I? I don't want to force my child to come sooner." He squeezed Charlie's fingers, pleading.

"Charlie, please."

Charlie's gaze finally climbed, caught Babe's, and for the first time the gold didn't shy away. It filled his irises like sunrise through smoke.

"That's final, Babe," he said, voice low, implacable.

"Don't you want to go back to the racing world you adore? The sooner you give birth, the sooner you return to your world."

The words landed like a verdict—Enigma speaking through Charlie, or Charlie speaking with an Enigma's certainty.

Babe's breath hitched. For a beat, the steady beeping of the monitor was the only sound, quick as a sparrow's heart.

Babe wondered what Charlie meant—what did he mean by returning to the racing world? he reached up, held Charlie's face, and asked,

"What are you talking about, Charlie?"

Charlie gently removed Babe's hands and sighed.

"Babe, I know you don't like all this. This is not you. You don't have to force yourself to act like this. The sooner you give my son to me, the sooner you can return to your own world. I will make everything clear for you."

The room felt colder, shadows lengthening as uncertainty settled between them. Babe's trembling hands searched for hope in the silence.

Babe went numb, and tears fell