Written for fuckyeahdwightcaroline's first prompt week on Tumblr. The prompt for this week is life.
She shakes him into consciousness in the middle of the night.
"Dwight…" comes the faint, though somewhat urgent, hiss, "Dwight!"
He sits upright, startled into wakefulness and, automatically, begins looking for his clothes.
"What is it?" he asks through the fog of sleep, his eyes bleary with fatigue, "Am I needed?"
Caroline clutches at his arm to better gain his attention, and Dwight finally turns to look at her. He can see that she managed to light her bedside candle while he slept and that, in this faint light, her face appears pale and drawn.
"Yes," she says and looks around, looking rather sheepish, "I need you."
Dwight frowns.
"What is it, Caroline?"
She blushes in mortification and clutches the edge of the blanket in her slender fingers.
"Well, Dr. Enys, this is all rather embarrassing…" she begins, "something strange has occurred, and at first I thought I had a bit of an accident…oh, how mortifying….well, I thought I had best notify you…"
Caroline, now incredibly red in the face, sits up a little straighter and pushes the blanket off to the side.
The faint, familiar smell hits his nostrils first, even before he sees that his wife is sitting in a rather large wet stain and that the front of her nightgown is damp.
"I…I" she stutters, and he turns to stare at her with large eyes and a slightly gaping mouth, "It doesn't smell like urine and I- I thought I saw a bit of blood…"
His mouth curves into a wide, excited grin when he does, in fact, notice a few blotches of red on the nightgown and the sheets.
"Well, my dear," he says, and his voice quivers slightly with anticipation, "it is time."
She stares at him a bit stupidly, her brows creasing.
"Time?" she echoes, clearly puzzled at his reaction to her queer predicament.
Dwight's smile is close to becoming manic in its nature, and he squeezes her raised knee tightly.
"Yes," he explains, "your time. It is here."
Caroline's eyes grow wide with panic.
"What," she cries, "you cannot mean now?! Surely this is- this is…"
"This," says Dwight and points to the large stain on the bed, "means that your waters have broken and that the child is ready to be born." He places his hand on her lower back and rubs her sore muscles; Caroline arches into his touch with a whimper, "It is rather fascinating, really," he adds in an excited afterthought, "I've never actually seen a birth that began with the waters breaking! I have read about such cases,of course; but they are deemed rather rare…then again, I've never been present at a birth from the very beginning of it, so-"
"Dwight."
He turns to look at his wife and notices that she's gotten over her shock and that a rather amused expression has already replaced the look of panic from moments before.
"I apologize," he amends sheepishly, "I am rather excited."
Caroline smiles brilliantly at him and squeezes his hand lovingly.
"So am I," she says quietly.
"I have changed my mind!" Caroline cries into the pillow, "I do not want this; I do not want this!"
A few hours in and Dwight is no longer excited.
The birth is difficult, and Caroline has been laboring for an entire day without seeing any outcome. The pains are very strong, wringing her body with each spasm as she writhes on their bed, unable to find release. Dwight decides to check on her progress and asks for her maid to hold his wife's shoulders, while he lifts her nightgown and nudges her thighs apart.
Caroline howls in pain when his fingers stretch her inflamed flesh. Dwight's heart stops beating altogether at the sound, and he's ashamed of how close he is to vomiting.
"Forgive me, my love," he mutters, pushing deeper still; trying to reach her, hopefully, dilated cervix, "just a little longer, my darling; please, bear with me."
He reaches the womb and is utterly disappointed. Caroline is not making progress; at least, not the kind of progress he expects her to make at such a stage. According to his fingers, the cervix is only about halfway to being fully dilated, and this means that they still have hours of hard, painful labor ahead of them.
"I'm dying, Dwight," she cries when he wipes his bloody hand on his apron, "I'm dying!"
"You are not dying," he says firmly and wipes her face with a cool cloth, "You are not dying." But his physiognomy is deathly pale and sweat beads on his forehead, "you are in a great deal of pain, but you are not dying, Caroline."
He wishes to add I will never let this happen, or I have you, and everything will be well, but he knows better than to make promises that he cannot keep. For, if life as a country doctor taught him anything, it is that nothing was ever certain.
As the day grows dark around them and morphs into the night, Dwight grows anxious. Caroline's lost a substantial amount of blood in the past few hours, and he understands that if the child does not make an appearance soon, she may well be in dire straights. The realization that he may lose both wife and child unless something changes, hits him in the gut like a bag of bricks.
His usually steady hands are shaking as he turns to look down at the young woman on the bed. Sweaty, panting and half-crazed with pain, Caroline bites her forearm and cries.
Dwight'd rather endure another year in Quimper than see her go through this.
When the spasm ends, and she can open her eyes and fix her suffering gaze on him, he smiles unsteadily and bends to kiss her cold fingers.
"I need to fetch something from my study, dear one," he lies softly, "be brave."
Caroline's eyes widen in fear, and he curses himself vehemently.
"No, no…" she pleads and grabs his wrist weakly, "No, Dwight; don't leave me…please!"
He bites the inner side of his cheek enough to draw blood and brings both of her hands to his mouth. His lips are shaking against her clammy skin.
"I will only be a minute," he reassures her and tries to smiles, "a minute; and then back by your side."
Dwight leaves her lying listlessly on the bed and exits their bedchamber. The moment the doors close behind him, he leans against the wall, slides down to the floor and buries his face in his hands.
He tries to talk some encouragement into his agitated self. He needs to compose himself; must calm down and get a grip on his senses. He is a qualified surgeon, survivor of two wars and of the French Revolution; he's seen dozens of children brought into this world, this one is just one of them-
Except it is not. It is not just one of the many children he helped into life; this is his child and the woman lying, painful on the bed and fighting to deliver it is his wife, and he must see this through. He must see this through.
He rises from the floor, slaps himself across the cheeks and reenters the bedchamber.
Caroline stands by their bed, gripping one of the bedposts and hanging on to it for dear life.
"Caroline!" Dwight exclaims and rushes towards her, but the look on her face urges him to forget the reprimand for the moment. Her eyes are closed, and she's biting on her bottom lip in an attempt to stay quiet. In a middle of a contraction, then, Dwight thinks and places one of his hands on her large abdomen to confirm his suspicion. The muscles beneath his palm are rock-hard, tight.
His eyes caress her form lovingly and with so much compassion that her maid needs to look the other way and dab her tears frantically. After a few moments, Caroline breathes out and looks up at him.
"What are you doing out of bed?" he asks sternly, his hands moving from her abdomen to the small of her back, "you must return there at once."
Caroline leans against the bedpost and closes her eyes.
"I couldn't lie any longer, the pain is worse when I'm not moving. Please, Dwight; let me stand awhile."
He looks at her, and a wave of undying love suddenly rises in his chest and threatens to drown him from within. His wife stands before him in a damp, sweaty nightgown; her face swollen and blotchy, hair unkempt and eyes puffy from crying. And yet…she's never seemed more alive, more ferocious, and Dwight can't help but be awed by her will and endurance; for surely, no man alive could withstand such pain for so long.
"Alright, my lioness," he says, and she smiles weakly at the nickname, her eyes still closed, "you may stand for some time; but as soon as I instruct you to return to bed, you do so. Do I have your word?"
She chuckles faintly, and her eyes open slowly.
"Yes, Dr. Enys," she promises him sweetly, and Dwight bends down to kiss her salty lips.
The next contraction hits her hard, and she nearly falls to her knees, but Dwight is quicker and catches her in his arms.
"Alright," he mutters against her ear, "enough of standing. In bed, now."
"No!" she exclaims wildly, clutching his hand, "I…ungh!"
He understands her meaning and stands still with her in his arms. She can't move, and she can't rightfully speak, and for the first time in hours, Dwight can breathe again. She's getting closer, and there is hope.
When Caroline is safe in bed again, Dwight risks another examination. This time he is much more pleased with the results. The womb is nearly fully open and almost ready to expel the child; the ordeal will soon be over.
"You are so close to seeing this through, my love," he says to her, encouragingly, and kisses her knee, "almost there, not long to wait now."
Caroline laughs in relief.
"Really?" she nearly sobs with joy, "will I soon be delivered of the child?"
Dwight nods and grabs her hand as her face tightens again in pain.
"Yes; your pains are frequent and very strong. Soon it will be time to push. You must tell me when you feel pressure in your pelvis; can you do that, my love?"
She nods abruptly, her eyes screwed shut and lips pursed in pain.
"I- I feel it now!" she gasps and squeezes his hand painfully, "Oh, Good God!"
Dwight kneels by her feet on the bed and spreads her thighs as far apart as he can. This time, Caroline doesn't even feel his probing fingers when he tries to determine her progress. He nearly crows in triumph when his digits find the child's head.
"Caroline," he manages, "Caroline, can you hear me?"
A nod and a whimper of pain from the direction of his wife confirm that she's still capable of understanding his instructions.
"Alright," he says and motions for the maid to stand ready with a towel, "Caroline, when the next spasm comes, I want you to bear down on it as hard as you can. Can you do that?"
"Yes!" she gasps and pushes so hard that her face becomes red with effort.
"Good!," he cries in encouragement, "very good, my love; now breathe, and save your strength for the next round."
It doesn't take long for the head to crown, and Dwight's eyes mist momentarily at the sight of the wet, dark fair curls plastered across the tiny skull. He squeezes Caroline's knee for reassurance.
"Another long push and the head is out, Mrs. Enys," his voice is husky with restrained emotion, and she cries and shakes her head.
"Oh God," she whimpers, "I'm so weary…"
"One last time, then; one last time, my dear."
Two long pushes see the child – a girl! – in Dwight's welcoming arms. She's small, and frail-looking; a tad blue, but alive- very much alive- and crying faintly.
"Good God!" he cries, and if his eyes are shining with unshed tears, no one holds it against him, "Caroline, we have a daughter!"
She reaches out with her hands to receive the whimpering baby and holds the tiny girl close to her heart.
"I've never seen a thing more fair in all my life," Caroline sighs contentedly, caressing one soft cheek with her finger, "Oh, Dwight; she is perfection itself."
He looks up at his girls from the task of delivering the placenta and smiles widely, heart full to the brim.
"You both are."