You know the exact moment it happens. The way Jane just sort of freezes with a confused look on her face before her eyes go wide and fearful as she raises her head to find you. You are across the room in a matter of seconds, gently coaxing Frost out of the way so you can take her in your arms and promise safety. You move her out of the center of the room and behind her desk, using your body to block out everyone else in order to give her even the slightest bit of privacy. Having her water break in front of her fellow detectives is not helping Jane's already present fear of labor. You can feel her heart rate picking up and her breaths becoming shorter and faster as her fingernails dig into her palms.
"You're alright," you whisper, tucking your forehead against hers, "Relax for me. I've got you. I promise I'll take care of you."
"Maur-" She chokes out your name, voice high and unsteady and then grabs onto your hands. Tight, tight, tight.
"Shh, sweet girl, it's alright. Do you trust me?" You know that she does. Every ounce of her soul trusts you, even more than she trusts herself sometimes. She wouldn't have offered to carry the baby if she didn't know that she could depend on you when the time came to actually bring the child out and into the world.
Jane nods and whimpers, and you release one of her hands to pull her along to the car, keeping a steady hold on her other scarred palm. It is up to you to get her moving, to help her with this, to do all that needs to be done. She has done all of the hard work up until this point, and now it is your turn to offer a bit of relief and help shoulder some of the burden of creating a new life for your family. You know that without your insistence, Jane would have stayed, petrified, right over the place where her water had broken, stubborn until the very end of this entire frightening, albeit exciting journey into motherhood.
At the car, you pull a blanket out of your backseat and smooth it across the front chair, urging her to sit. She grabs for your hand again, tight, tight, tight the second you make it around the vehicle and into the driver's seat. She's still whimpering, gasping out breaths like she's forgotten the simple process of in and out she has known since birth.
You bring your joined hands up to your lips, holding hers against you to try and help her focus, help her calm down. "Breathe, sweet love. Slow, easy breaths. You're okay. Everything's okay. I've got you."
You have her home, cleaned up, and changed into fresh clothes by the time the midwife arrives, carrying in everything you might need in a matter of two short trips to her car. Jane has insisted it be you, only you, touching her, checking her, delivering her baby. Because of course you know how to deliver a baby, she'd said. "You're Maura, the dumbest genius I know. You know everything."
Apparently, not quite everything. Despite her open fear and the vulnerability she only ever lets you see, you still miss things. You know her contractions worsened shortly after getting in the car only because she told you, not because you were able to pick up on it on your own. It does not matter how afraid she is, Jane's high tolerance for pain is still persistent even in the height of her distress.
In the end, Jane had conceded to your idea of a midwife only so that you would never have to leave her side throughout the entire laboring and birthing process. After the child was born, the midwife could clean the infant and check her over, but Jane was persistent you do everything up until that point. She did not want the certified woman anywhere near her until she held her child in her arms, and she had made you sign a contract for the front of the fridge as proof of your agreement. You were aware, even without her admitting it, that a big reason for her demands was her dislike of being vulnerable in front of others, but you also appreciated the idea that only the two of you would be present for the moment your child entered the world.
By the time Jane reaches six centimeters, she is calmer, finally used to the routine of pain and release. You start to see each contraction in the way that she scrunches up her face, and when she reaches that seventh centimeter, she allows you to lie behind her and massage her lower back. Jane has been clingy throughout her entire pregnancy, but as her discomfort grows, so does her desire to have you closer, to have you hold her tight, tight, tight.
You listen intently as she distracts herself, marveling about how quickly the human body can make a whole other person. "Nine months. Ten fingers, ten toes, a heart, tiny arms and legs. Can you believe it, Maura? Just nine short months. That's all the time it takes to grow another human."
Shortly after her body stretches another centimeter, the two of you move to the large bathtub. Jane is leaning against your chest, hands still tight, tight, tight in your own. You encourage her to let go of one, reassuringly shushing away her reluctance as her pain builds to an almost unbearable strength. You slide around to her side, keeping your legs encircled around her waist while you gently check her progress and then return to your former position. You press a soft, comforting kiss right above her ear before resting your chin on her shoulder and smiling. "Whenever you are ready, sweet girl. She's ready now, too."
At your declaration, her eyes become wide and fearful once again, but she squeezes your hand tight, tight, tight, squares her shoulders, and pushes with every ounce of courage she can pull up from within herself. You whisper sweet nothings, promising love, an end to her pain, and best of all, your baby girl. Jane had clung to you for the entire nine hours and thirty seven minutes it had taken for her to gasp and shudder her way to ten centimeters. All of that time, all of that progress for this one moment.
Jane releases a sharp breath as the baby finally enters the world, then lets go of your hands to gather the child up onto her chest. She is so beautiful, both of them really, and already so loved. You wipe away your own tears and kiss away Jane's, reaching out to hold onto one of the newborn's tiny hands. Jane is so proud. "I did it, Maur. Look at her. We made that, this new tiny person. Can you believe it? She's our baby."
"I love you, Jane," you say instead, hardly daring to believe that this is your life. That everyone in this bathtub is yours to love and cherish and hold onto for forever. "I love you so, so much." You pull them closer and hug them just a little bit tighter, feeling as your heart grows for this new life, for Jane, for everything you have together.
Hours later, you are spooned up beside Jane in your bed, the baby sleeping comfortably on her stomach, and your arms holding onto both of them. Tight, tight, tight.