Darcy felt badly staying with Clark, now. Things between the two of them hadn't really changed at all. If anything, she felt closer to him than she had before. It was impossible not to; he'd been there, letting her squeeze his hand and scream obscenities and hate slurs against Marcus in his ears while birthing her twins. Granted, she felt the same closeness to the Doctor, he hadn't exactly invited her and the boys to crash out in the TARDIS. Clark's it was.
She'd thanked Clark for the billionth time as he'd helped her bring their things into his bedroom and then he'd left her to tend to dinner while she meant to change and feed the twins. Only, this was the first time ever she'd been completely alone with them. Even with Clark in the next room, it made her nervous. There had always been Clark, or a nurse, or Florence, or Martha, or the Doctor, or some visitor or another hovering. Even when she'd been nursing, the nurses had stayed in the room to keep the waiting twin occupied.
Ethan wasn't crying, which was a miracle of sorts, as he only ever seemed to quiet when he could hear a male voice or Florence. So, Darcy didn't want to jinx it. She said nothing as she checked the doorway to see that Clark was actually gone from sight before carefully taking him out of his car seat and settled on the edge of Clark's bed, cradling Ethan in one arm while using her free hand to unbutton her shirt. She wouldn't have actually cared if Clark saw, but something told her he might care. Darcy rocked Sammy's car seat on the floor gently with one foot, making a conscious effort not to wish, as she looked down briefly at the sleeping twin, that they were a little more alike, at least in some aspects. That wasn't fair and she refused to allow herself to choose a favorite.
Sammy slept so much. He'd barely opened his eyes at all the first couple of days, whereas Ethan had briefly done so to stare at she and Clark. And Alice. And Florence. He seemed more alert to his surroundings than his more blase-mooded little brother. Part of Darcy wondered if that was normal. The very same part of her hoped it was.
Once she'd finished feeding Ethan, wincing slightly when she had to all but pry him off, Darcy sat him carefully on her knee and wrapped one hand gently around his neck, however counter intuitive it felt, just like the nurses had shown her, and then tapped on his back with her other hand until he made the tell-tale sound that was less a burp than anything Darcy had ever heard before her babies were born. One down, one to go.
But as soon as Darcy laid Ethan down on his receiving blanket which she'd already spread out on Clark's bed and turned to pick Sammy up for his turn, Ethan started wailing like it was the end of the world. Which, of course, woke Sammy and he joined in with his older brother for a rousing chorus of we hate you, Mama, now we'll make your ears bleed. At least, that was how Darcy heard it.
"I know, baby, I know," she cooed sympathetically at Sammy as she lifted him out of the carseat and sat back down on the bed, rubbing Ethan's back with one hand and shifting Sammy into feeding position with the other. She opened her mouth to call for Clark's help and stopped herself. Clark was not their father; they were not his responsibility. She wasn't his responsibility. She could handle it. She'd have to. Clark wasn't going to be with her every waking moment of every single day. This was the part where she envied Jo her husband...even if it was Chuck and the only impression she'd gotten of the guy was the freaked out, mostly useless alternate version of him.