A/N: Five scenes from Skye's pregnancy with Haylie. Pure, unfiltered Skyeward fluff, because I really needed it after the week we had in the fandom(s).
Rated: K+
Word Count: 2733
Disclaimer: [Insert funny text here that tells you I don't own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.]
Belly Chronicles
Six Weeks
He is watching, silently and undetected by her, as she studies herself in the mirror – facing the mirror, then turning sideways, sticking her stomach out and then sucking it back, pulling her shirt up and running her hand along the flat, slightly toned planes of her belly with a contemplative expression on her face. It's only when she grabs a pillow from the bed and tries to shove it under her top that he finally chuckles, betraying his presence.
"What are you doing?" he asks, stepping inside the room just as she freezes and then turns around, pillow still half-under her shirt. She huffs, pulls it free, throws it on the bed and then plops down on the mattress next to it, lying on the bed sideways, her arms outstretched above her head as an expression of total surrender. He walks over to her and sits down by her, waiting for her to talk.
"It's silly. I know it's silly, so please, don't laugh" she mutters and hides her face behind her hands, moaning softly. "It's just… I'm pregnant. It's still so hard to wrap my head around this idea, you know?" She lowers her hands and peeks up at him. "I'm pregnant. We are going to have a baby."
He grins down at her like the fool he is. Slipping his hand to her belly, just above the line of her jeans where her shirt has ridden up, exposing a strip of soft skin, he leans to her.
"Yes, we are," he says, then kisses her, feeling her hands on his cheeks and her giggles against his lips.
Eleven Weeks
"Grant!" he hears her calling from the bedroom, and it's only the excited edge in her voice that is keeping him from going into a full-blown panic mode. Instead he quickly wipes his face, and then steps out of the bathroom with a smile.
"Yes?"
She is standing between the bed and the mirror in jeans and a bra, swinging back and forth on the balls of her feet – unable to keep still –, her eyes twinkling, grinning at him.
"I'm finally showing," she says, biting into her lower lip and gesturing at her belly.
He frowns; she's not… well, he doesn't really see what he should be seeing. To him, her stomach still looks pretty flat, maybe a little curved right above her pubic bone, but not at all more curved than it was the day before, and it's not something he'd call showing.
"Hm…" he starts, groping for the right words (anyway, what is somebody supposed to say in a situation like this? It seems like a lose-lose scenario). "It's er… I'm…"
"What?" Her tone is suddenly sharp and her brows are pulled together. And so he knows he messed up, even without actually saying a word.
"It's just… I don't think it's really… obvious yet? I mean, I don't really see it." He can see on her face that he's just – somehow – dug a deeper hole for himself, so he takes a step towards her, hands raised, trying to placate her. "But it's okay – it takes longer for some people to show. It's completely normal."
It doesn't work.
She lets out an irritated groan, turns away from him, grabs her shirt laying on the bed and angrily pulls it on, almost ripping the fabric in her haste.
"You know what? Don't even say a word. If you can't… If you just can't… Ugh!" And with that, she storms out of the room, shutting the door behind her with more force than absolutely necessary, leaving him alone.
He lets out a sigh, plops down on the bed and pinches the bridge of his nose. He's just messed up, big time, apparently, and the worst of it is that he isn't even sure how.
This is going to be a long six months, that's for sure.
(But, just to be on the safe side, he shoots a text to Fitz, asking him to comment on how Skye is showing if he happens to meet her.)
It's hours later when he's cleaning his rifle in the armory when suddenly a pair of arms sneak around his waist, followed by a head resting on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry," she mumbles into his shirt. "I was an ass. A stupid, irrational ass. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that."
He smiles to himself, then turns around so he can look at her.
"It's okay," he says, taking her chin into his hand and lifting her face so he can give her a quick kiss. "Apology accepted."
"Still…" she starts, then buries her face in his chest. "I hate this. I'm all over the place."
"It's just the hormones," he reassures her, pressing a peck to the top of her head and holding her closer.
She snorts. "Shouldn't I be using this line?"
"You can, if you want. It's not copyrighted." She actually laughs at that, then pushes herself a bit away from him so she can look into his eyes.
"Anyway, thank you. I know you said something to somebody, because so far nobody missed the chance to tell me how radiant and glowing I am, and say other stuff you say to pregnant women. It was kinda nice."
(He thinks he owes one to Fitz.)
Nineteen Weeks
"How about this?" she asks, pulling an oversized sweater on and fluffing the hem up a bit, so it'll be as loose as possible. He regards her somewhat skeptically, tilting his head to the side.
It's not that easy of a question – he knows what's under the sweater, so he keeps seeing it, even if the knitted monstrosity (he swear it could even fit Mack) is doing a pretty good job hiding her bump.
"It's okay, I guess."
"Just okay? Are you sure?" she asks, stressing a bit.
He sighs and stands up from the bed, stepping to her and opening his arms, offering a hug.
"It'll be okay," he promises, although he's not exactly happy with what's happening.
It's just that she's run into a hacking problem she can't solve alone – "it's a two men job," she said, explaining the problem in such terms he only understood the conjunctions –, but it is kind of time sensitive, so they are doing the most logical thing: they are bringing in another hacker who can help Skye out, who is known to be good at this, and who can work well with her – Miles Lyndon.
To say that he is not happy about it would be an understatement – it's been two years since he has last seen Lyndon, and it's not been nearly enough –, and his displeasure is just heightened by the fact that Skye insists that Miles shouldn't know about their… predicament. Because it would throw him off, because it would make things difficult, because he might refuse to cooperate – these were Skye's reasons for wanting to keep their relationship and their little agent-on-the-way (Bobbi's nickname, one he's not all that thrilled about) under wraps for those couple of hours while Lyndon would be on the base.
Of course Grant would love to rub it all into the other man's face – let him know that Skye is not only with him now (hell, for all intents and purposes, she is his wife), but also that she is pregnant with his baby. It might be primal, and downright Neanderthal, and maybe even a jackass thing to do – as Skye'd tell him –, but he really wants to do that that. He really wants to establish the status quo.
But he also loves and respects her enough to take a step back and let her handle it.
"I just want to get over with this," she admits to him, stepping into his embrace for a moment, then pulling away quickly to stand in front of the mirror and adjust the sweater again (each time she does that, the fabric stretches over her stomach, highlighting her bump. But it should be okay if she stays mostly seated, he thinks).
"I know," he sighs, then steps behind her and starts massaging her shoulders. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, then continues, "You'll also have to pay attention to what you do."
"Yeah?" Their eyes meet in the mirror. "What do you mean?"
He sees his reflection smile softly.
"You have these little habits now," he says, a hand sliding down to the curve of her belly. "You keep touching your bump – I don't even think you notice it." She smiles too, placing her hand atop his. "And you sometimes flinch when she kicks."
"But what should I do if she catching me by surprise?"
He chuckles at that, then leans down and kisses where her shoulder and neck meet.
"It's adorable, by the way. Just try not to do it for a while."
She is just about to answer, but then her phone buzzes on the dresser. She steps away from him right away to pick it up, and then reads the message with a sigh.
"It's Trip – they'll be here in a couple of minutes." She pushes her hair back and looks at him. "It's time to face the music, I guess."
He squeezes her hand one last time.
"Good luck!"
"Thanks. I'll need it." She squeezes back, then turns around and leaves the room, smoothing down her sweater as she goes."
(She keeps the baby hidden for a total of fifty-one minutes. When Grant and Miles cross paths a little while later, the hacker regards him with a death glare. And Grant feels maybe a little bit smugger about it than he should.)
Twenty-seven Weeks
"You know," Skye says almost conversationally, sitting cross-legged on the bed, tablet in hand, "if she was to born now, she'd have an about ninety percent chance of survival."
Grant shudders and almost misses a button of his dress shirt.
"Please, don't be morbid."
"I'm not," she protests, setting the tablet down and bringing a hand to the small of her back. "I'm just stating a fact."
He frowns as he reaches for his tie; their eyes meet in the mirror as he lays it on his neck, under the upturned collar.
"Still, let's just not speak of the devil – or, you know, premature babies, in this case."
"I was just trying to be reassuring – that, you know, if she was born tomorrow—"
"Skye?" he interrupts her. "Happy thoughts, please."
She actually rewards that with a slight smile, then stands up from the bed – it's getting a little difficult for her –, and steps to him, reaching for his collar.
"Sorry," she says, tightening the knot of his tie and smoothing his collar down. "I'm just a little scared sometimes and so I'm trying to convince myself that things would be alright even if she–"
He leans down and kisses her, effectively silencing her.
"Everything's going to be alright, okay?" he tells her, looking into her eyes, foreheads almost touching. "She's going to stay nicely inside as long as she's supposed to." His hands slide down to her belly, palming the firm curve of it. "Did you hear that, baby girl?"
He gets no response, and Skye chuckles.
"Yeah… I guess she's sleeping."
One corner of his mouth turns upwards. "That's okay. We'll talk about this issue when I get back then," he says, then steps away from her and reaches for his suit jacket, slipping it on.
"You'll be careful, right?" she asks, leaning against the dresser and resting her hand on her belly.
"It's just surveillance, basically," he says, adjusting his cuffs.
"Yeah, and I have been knocked into a ditch in a van while on "just surveillance,"" she retorts, scoffing, making him let out a chuckle.
"Yeah, I remember that," he casts a sideways glance at her. "You hit the magazine release instead of the safety release, letting the Amador flee" he teases her.
"Ugh, I'm so going to hit you!" she growls, but at the same time she can't wipe off the grin from her face. "That was a long time ago, okay?"
"I know," he says, stepping to her again and giving her another, quick kiss. "You have learned the difference by now." This actually earns him a playful punch on the shoulder, which he laughs off. "I love you."
"I love you too, you jackass," she smirks.
"I have to go now – but I promise I'll be careful," he promises, reaching for his phone and slipping it into his pocket.
"I know. And I'll be listening," she says, tapping her ear.
"I'd be disappointed if you didn't."
She chuckles at that and crosses her arms in front of her chest.
"Now, off you go, save the world, have fun – just be home for dinner!"
Thirty-six Weeks
"Sometimes," she starts, wiggling on the bed, trying to find a comfortable position – half-sitting, propped up against pillow, "I feel I'm having an alien, not a baby."
He looks at her with an eyebrow raised as he folds back the covers and starts to climb into bed.
"Sweetheart, technically speaking, you are having an alien. Well, part-alien."
She sticks her tongue out at him and he chuckles.
"Very funny," she scoffs, a small smile hiding in the corner of her mouth. "But I meant the clawing its way out of your stomach, eating the whole crew of the spaceship kinda alien. Not the kind with cool powers."
"Well, I hope you don't, because I wouldn't be thrilled to have an alien-baby like that. Changing nappies would be a nightmare," he goes on just to amuse her; and his efforts are rewarded by a carefree laugh tearing free from her throat.
"Gosh, you are such a dork," she chuckles, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "But really, look, that's what I meant…" She pushes the cover down and pulls her PJ top up, exposing the taut skin of her belly. "Now watch this!" And with that, she taps her belly.
A moment after her finger touches skin, he sees what she meant: suddenly a little hand appears where she touched her stomach, nudging her from the inside. Like an actual hand – he can see all the five little fingers pushing against the skin, searching for what caused her disturbance before disappearing again. When Skye taps her belly one more time, the hand appears again.
"Wow," he breaths, laying his palm on the hard curve of her bump – and it's enough for their daughter to start wiggling again, pushing against his hand. "You know, this really is a bit scary," he says, staring at Skye's stomach, then glancing up at her. "How long has it been going on?"
"She's been moving more and more – I think she's getting frustrated by the lack of space, honestly – but I just realized that she's doing this, like, yesterday. But it's kinda cool – I mean, kinda scary, sure, but… so cool," she chuckles, then clears her throat, his hand still on her belly. "But I've read up on it, and apparently it's completely normal, so… I'm more concerned about the fact that she's still up and wreaking havoc inside."
He smiles, gently rubbing her belly (their daughter keeps moving around under his palm). "I guess we won't be getting too much sleep for a while."
"I'm sure we won't," she snorts. "I think the universe has enough irony that we'll have our hands full with this little lady." (He can only agree on that.) "So…" she yawns, "I'm going to get as much sleep as I can while she's still inside," she says, sliding lower in bed and turning on her side, getting ready to sleep.
"Good idea." He takes one of the pillows and pushes it under her bump, helping her to get comfortable, then pulls the covers over her. "Sweet dreams, beautiful."
She smiles into her pillow with her eyes closed.
"You too, handsome."
She's asleep within minutes, even with the lights still on, her breathing evening out, that smile still on her lips. He keeps watching her for a while, his hand sliding under the blanket once he knows she's fallen asleep, seeking out her belly once again – feeling their baby still wiggle around inside, then finally settle down, falling asleep herself. Only then does he turn off the lamp and closes his eyes too.