A/N: I didn't think this story would ever see the light of fanfiction. But I've gotten incredible feedback on it elsewhere and I figured why not? Basically the birth of Etta, slightly of canon because Lincoln is mentioned, I started writing this before 4x19. I've never had kids so everything here is based off what I know from books, so go easy :) The location of the story kind of came to me in a dream so I just rolled with it. Now here we are. Enjoy!
Olivia really couldn't figure out how she got suckered into an investigation a week and half before her due date.
Probably the same way she made the decision to hide out the women's restroom twenty minutes ago, and still hadn't come out-intuition.
Though, these two situations were on entirely different ends of the intuition spectrum.
She knew that soon enough Peter would come looking for her, there weren't many other places for her to be. They were locked down to one wing of a college campus, because of a killer that may or may not be in the area.
And today of all days. Today of all days a felon decided to surface; today of all days she decided to actually work an investigation; and moreover, today of all days her baby decided it wanted to come a week and a half early. She thought about how she really should have just stayed in bed that morning, like Peter had forcefully suggested. But no, the part of her brain that still controlled her workaholic side was in full force that morning, even at a miserable 9 months pregnant, and even though she was technically on maternity leave. But she had decided to get herself out of bed, and pull on one of those maternity skirts that she hated, because that was the only thing that still fit that was mildly appropriate for her job. Usually that would be reason enough not to go in. But not today apparently. Not today.
All of the books said that her contractions would most likely start long before her labor actually began. 'Fuck the books.' she found herself thinking, because everything seemed to start so quickly, and all that was going through her head was 'why now?' Though, the books were always more of a reference point to her, looking something up every time the smallest thing seemed to be wrong. It was Peter who did most of the intensive reading anyway, having read all of them cover to cover at least twice. But like the books were doing her much good now. She had thought that she was prepared for anything; but that was easier said than done.
She didn't even react when someone knocked on the bathroom's door. She knew who it was. There was another knock, followed by Peter's familiar voice, "Olivia?" He called, sounding concerned. Again, she didn't move. She tried to answer him, but nothing came out. There wasn't much she wanted to say at that point.
Peter came in instead, slowly, peering around the door to make sure she was in there. Not even the squeak of the door made her want to look up. Their gaze only met in the mirror, once Peter was standing behind her. He started to ask if she were okay, but the answer to that was already written all over her face and her body language, slightly hunched over the sink, both hands gripping its sides. "What's wrong?" he decided to ask instead. She just shook her head, her breathing picking up intensity. "Olivia," he said again, "What is wrong? What's going on?" He emphasized, underneath his concern she could hear genuine comfort, and she was grateful for that.
"I don't know," she rasped. That was a lie, she knew exactly what was going on. She was holding her breath, knowing that it would be a minute at best before another contraction, and that would give it all away.
"Is the baby okay?" Was Peter's next question.
"Oh, she's great," Olivia replied, maybe sounding a bit too aggravated, because the baby was just great in her mind, so great she was rearing to make an entrance-or exit-depending on how you looked at it. Peter's response was silenced when Olivia's pain returned. One hand moved to hold her stomach while the other remained holding onto the sink. Peter places his own onto that hand, and she welcomed the comfort as best she could. Somewhere between when the contraction started and ended-her position over the sink had assumed more of a ninety degree angle, Peter doing his best to hold her up more.
"You're in labor." He said deadpan when she settled back down. He hushed her then before she could thank him for stating the obvious, "how long has this been going on?"
Olivia's face softened when she saw his truly unsettled look, she straightened herself back up as best as she could, her back now leaning against the sink she was facing him. Biting her bottom lip she said, "a little while after we got here."
Peter frowned, "Why didn't you say anything?"
"Nothing felt out of the ordinary at first, I thought…I thought it was false labor, and then we got stuck here. And then it wasn't stopping," she shrugged, "I panicked, and I didn't want to alarm you right away."
"Me," he reiterated, almost laughing, "you know, you really don't have to worry about me right now."
Olivia offered him a broken smile, "And I know we have no choice, I know we can't risk leaving right now, but…I don't want to be here."
"I know you don't," he comforted, "none of us want to be here." Olivia just inhaled sharply, holding onto Peter's upper arms, now, as if they were the only thing holding her up. "Is there anything I can do?" He asked then.
"Bring us back in time to where I decided not to leave the house this morning…" she joked, "then again, you probably could do that if you really wanted to."
Peter knew this mood of hers wouldn't last long, same way he knew that it was just a front for what she was really feeling. He laughed sympathetically, "I'm afraid I can't offer that much."
She pressed the side of her face into his chest, "It was worth a shot," she really wasn't ready to do this, not now, "can we just hide out in here for a while? I'm really not up to facing the questions of concern from the other forty-eight some odd people we're trapped with here…and Lincoln."
Peter couldn't help but laugh lowly again, rubbing her back in a soothing motion he answered, "yes, we can stay here."
They did just that. They stayed there for maybe an hour-maybe longer. Time was irrelevant, as there seemed to be no commotion stirring on the outside, and no one had come looking for them, they weren't going to bother checking in with anybody else. Olivia took the contractions as they came, focusing on nothing but just getting through each one individually, and trying not to think about how the worst was yet to come. Eventually she somehow felt too confined by women's restroom she had retreated to, and found herself pacing around the barren hallways instead.
It was so quiet, eerily quiet. If it weren't for Peter's occasional question or comforting gestures, the only sounds would be the blood rushing in her own ears. It was also so quiet that it seemed like if she made even a peep, the whole building would hear it. But there were the painful cries that would escape her every so often that she couldn't prevent if she tried.
Olivia was growing anxious in every sense of the word. At one point she found herself sitting against the wall, because her legs just did not want to hold her up anymore. She was tired, and incredibly wary of the fact that this was only the beginning. And she knew that this baby would be born before they ever got out of there, it was inexplicable, she just knew. All of her instincts wanted her upright at that point, to expectantly move things along quicker, but she was too shaken to even move. And she was scared, a fear that caused a physical pain in the pit of her stomach, entirely unrelated to the contractions.
Peter sat down next to her, observing her slouched posture. "You don't look very comfortable," he graciously stated.
She laughed viciously to herself, "I haven't been very comfortable for months now."
Peter hummed sympathetically, "I know," he comforted, "I'm sorry."
"It's okay," she rasped in a hardly audible voice, both of her hands fell to her lower stomach, then, "I'm aware of how pathetic I probably look right now." She looked up at him, offering a strained smile.
"You don't look pathetic," he professed, bringing a hand up to her shoulder, he stuttered some before asking, "are you sure there's nothing I can do?"
Olivia shook her head, "I wish there were," she desperately told him, sighing heavily.
The same hand that was on her shoulder then came up to stroke her face, gently, and brushing away some of her already somewhat disheveled hair. This action was just enough to make her smile softly again, never breaking eye contact with him. But as quickly as the smile appeared, it was gone, and all of her characteristics were taken over by panic. And Peter didn't even have to question it, without thinking, he wrapped one arm around her in support, and used the other to hold her hand, letting her clutch it as hard as she wanted to. The pain came on full force, giving her not even a second to anticipate it. Suddenly her slumped position against the wall was the single last place she wanted to be. Peter helped as she feebly tried to position herself onto her knees. She was now facing him, her forehead resting against his chest. He did all that he could, instructing her to breathe and massaging her lower back with his free hand.
She didn't move once it was over, taking the relief for what it was worth, knowing that the pain would return soon enough, and be slightly more intense than this last time. Olivia attempted to stand up, and Peter helped her accomplish the task before she could even ask for his help. She began pacing again, in the process removing the long sleeved blouse she had on, that left her in just the black tank top she had on underneath. It was hardly appropriate attire for an FBI agent who was supposed to be keeping a large amount of people under control-or an FBI agent in general-but she was so far beyond caring. Of course, that reminded her of why they were trapped there in the first place, she had somehow buried the thought that they could still be in potential danger.
Then she obliged to another thought, that, there were so many people here, and maybe there was someone there who could help her. Though she was not even close to the point in her labor where all of her dignity would typically be thrown away, but she knew something had to be done. Not that she wanted anyone delivering her baby other than her own doctor; even having Peter do it was debatable. But at the same time she was so desperate for the comfort of a professional. "I want you to try to find somebody," was all she told him then, without much elaboration.
"I'm sorry?" Peter cocked his head in confusion.
"Somebody, here, that knows more about delivering a baby than you or I do," she was straight forward, mostly because they were mildly pressed for time in this certain situation.
He nodded, "If that's what you want…this, this is your decision."
"I know," she replied a bit firmly, "and I've decided that I want you to go find somebody to help us. It's not that I don't trust you, Peter, but-"
"I understand," he replied before she could finish, "I would honestly be more comfortable with having someone who knows what they're doing around, too."
Olivia figured that it would only be her luck that they would be on their own in this anyway. She couldn't help but think that way, "I don't know what else to do," she told him, her voice choked up.
"You can start by just, trying not to panic anymore," he consoled, "because it won't help you any, and it's probably not helping the baby either." Olivia nodded rapidly in agreement, lightly gasping for air over the lump that was building in her throat. "Come on," Peter gestured, "let's start heading back that way," he was referring to the conference room that everybody was hiding out in. The same one that Olivia had fled quite some time ago, now. Somehow they had wandered just about as far as possible from there.
"You know I'm the one who was supposed to be keeping all of those people calm," Olivia told him when they reached the conference room doors, "that turned out well…"
Peter shrugged, "Lincoln's got them. It gives him something to do." Olivia was about to fake a laugh until something else struck her. She froze, and from the way she tensed up Peter assumed it was another contraction. She stepped away from him, slipping out of the supportive hold he had on her. There was not the expected doubling over in pain, but she did look frantic, "what is it?" Was all Peter could ask at that instant.
And it became evident before she could answer him, but she said it anyway, as if she needed to hear her own voice, "my water broke," Olivia rasped, stating the obvious as she stared down at the clear liquid puddled on the floor. "I…I'll be right back," she stuttered, walking away as hurriedly as her physical state would allow. He watched the door of the bathroom she had retreated to earlier shut behind her, and allowed himself a few seconds to manifest his state of mind. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, then remembering why they came back over this way in the first place. He opened the doors to that room, and every single eye averted to his entering. Peter raised a hand to calm everyone, basically implying that he had no news for them. He had momentarily forgotten how anxious everybody probably was to get out of there.
There was nobody to help them, anyway. A med student or two volunteered to help in any way they could. But Olivia came to terms then, that this wasn't something she just wanted people to 'volunteer' for. Then she took back her request made to Peter earlier, and they made refuge on their own. Just the two of them.
Now time was both their friend and their enemy. On one hand, at least things were quiet for now, there may have been commotion stirring on the outside of the building, but inside it was calm. But on the other hand, the longer this took, the higher their chances of this baby making an entrance to the world amongst a heavy uproar. Frantic people, telling them to leave when they absolutely couldn't. Although, what if this baby were born sooner rather than later? Then how long would they be waiting with their newborn for things to go awry. All in all, this child was better off tucked safely in Olivia's womb, for now. But that wasn't really up to them.
Besides, the only amount of time Olivia really could care about at that point was the mere minute of alleviation she got between contractions. With them now bringing upon her a pain that she never could have quite imagined. And even if she were just as stubborn and determined as always, she began to harbor the thought that if she were at a hospital right now, she may have given a second thought towards not having some sort of pain relief. Even if she had insisted on doing this naturally since early on when birth options were just small talk between the two of them. Peter had never questioned her choices once. Never gave his input one way or another. Only insisting the entire time that everything was up to her.
But again, how much of this was really up to her anymore?
She tried to get up from the nest of acquired blankets they had on the ground, and Peter was there to help her before she could say anything. He could feel her trembling underneath his grasp, and her face began to crumble as soon as Peter looked her in the eyes.
"What is it?" He asked, as gently and comfortingly as he ever could have. She just shook her head, too choked up again for words, Peter brushed a damp and tangled lock of hair away from her face. She wasn't even trying to hold it together for him anymore, that much of her pride had long escaped her by now. She tried to keep from losing it but for herself, because she did not want to subject to the panic that was rushing through her veins at that very moment. It was completely irrational, and had no real explanation anyway, other than that her entire thought process was compromised by pain and raging hormones, now. And rationality and explanation were no longer really necessary. Before she could attempt to say something, Peter simply pulled her in close. Holding her securely against himself, and differently than he had been before throughout the day. For at least that moment he was not there to soothe physical pain, but to just bring her comfort.
Tears spilled over as she pressed the side of her face into his chest, "I'm just scared," she managed.
In that moment he didn't know exactly what it was that she was afraid of, but he knew why she was afraid. It didn't make much sense at all, like most of what had been happening throughout the day. "You're going to be fine," Peter consoled then, knowing it was the truth, "and I'm right here." For a moment he just held her, awkwardly at best, because her protruding stomach only allowed him to get so close. But he didn't mind all.
He was caught off guard, however, by the sharp sensation he felt in his shoulder in the moments that followed. It was Olivia, of course, grasping onto him reflexively with torment, and probably with more force than she realized. But this was an immeasurable sensation compared to what Olivia was experiencing, and he forgot about it within seconds. Now he only cared about mending Olivia's own discomfort. Somehow, eventually she found herself sitting backwards in one of the desk chairs, her face resting on the tops of her hands. Peter continued gently-yet effectively, massaging her back. She really did appreciate all that he was doing, but as time went on Peter began to feel more and more useless. That eventually presumed to be true. The more intense her pain got, the less there was really for him to do, except be there. There were even a few particular times when she had hissed for him to get away from her. When all of her senses seemed to be screaming at her, and the smallest touch became unbearable.
The hours began to accumulate. Though there were no windows in the room they were in, Peter could tell by the light in the hallway that the sun would be setting soon. They had encountered lockdowns that lasted longer in the past, sure, but none had ever felt this long. Peter now sat against a desk with his legs extended, Olivia's head in his lap. After attempts upon attempts to find a comfortable position, this was the best she could do. One of her hands held tightly onto Peter's, and she was adamant on not letting go of it. "What time is it?" She breathlessly rasped, realizing that she really had lost all sense of time by now.
Peter craned his neck to look at the clock behind them, "it's almost seven," he answered. She nodded and accepted his answer, not having time to commentate on it. Her next contraction hit, slightly harder than the one previous, as they had all been. She rolled slightly, and Peter could now see more of her face. He used his free hand to stroke her cheek, as if to somehow relax her pained expression. She was miserable in every sense of the word. And even though she had been surprisingly quiet through the whole ordeal, that didn't stop the low whimpers of pain that she was emitting now, so far beyond caring who heard. Every cry and every groan becoming louder and more frequent as time went on.
"Peter…" She groaned out at one point. Not really requesting his attention, but more pleading, for him to do anything. And he absolutely hated that he couldn't. Instead he just wiped down her face with one of the wet paper towels he had retrieved from the bathroom. Olivia relished in those few moments of relief that the cool water offered to her skin. It was short lived relief, but anything would do at this point. "Help me up," she directed, and Peter did so with no question. Additionally, she braced herself against the desk, "I have to pee," she added, swiftly leaving the room. Peter followed her not far behind, and simply waited for her outside of the door. She stumbled out after a minute, both arms wrapped tightly around her middle. Without saying anything she rested the top of her head on his chest, and he intuitively adjusted himself to support her.
Promptly, they were back in their hideout in the classroom. Olivia now pacing through the rows of desks, a convenience given she'd always have something to hold onto when her contractions hit. Lying on the floor wouldn't cut it anymore. Not that it ever really did. She knew the only thing that could provide her with any sort relief now was giving birth to this baby, and nothing else. Another hour passed offering her no reprieve.
It was dark by then, and she was starting to feel irrationally yet unavoidably hopeless. Not to mention, she did not want to be trapped in that damned classroom through the night. Though she didn't have much time to really make a fuss out of it. Soon she was impelled with new instincts, and with what her brain and body were now telling her. Peter took note of her change in demeanor and the new anxious atmosphere that enveloped them. He cocked his head in question during the quick second they made eye contact. But Olivia quickly looked back down at her hands. "I need to push," she informed him, urgently, seemingly out of breath.
"Okay," Peter drawled, possibly saying it more to himself than to her. He put his hands out in a comforting motion. He could see her falling apart already.
And it was true, because suddenly she felt as if she knew nothing, once again, everything she had ever read in the books, everything her doctors had ever told her, felt obsolete. Suddenly her brain didn't want to remember how to take on this next step. "I need you," she pleaded.
He smiled comfortingly, "I'm not going anywhere," he told her softly, gently holding her face.
It wasn't until now that it hit her that Peter possessed all of this knowledge about childbirth. Or moreover, it wasn't until now that she questioned it. He really seemed to know what he was doing, or if not he was faking it quite well. That was probably it. But it wasn't like her to doubt him, especially now. He instructed her through her pushing, little by little. Another hour passed, and she felt like she was making no progress, but Peter was always quick to assure her that she was doing just fine.
She was about to have another breakdown; she was so tired, and she couldn't believe that they had only been here since that morning. It had started to feel like days. He could see her beginning to crumble, "hey," he soothed, "you're doing great." And he kissed her cheek, not caring about sweat or anything else.
Olivia frowned, though, shaking her head. "No," she cried, "no, nothing's happening."
Instead of answering, Peter just placed one of his hands behind her back, encouraging her to sit up. "Maybe you should try changing positions again," he suggested.
"I already did that," she said between breaths, being endlessly consumed by her contractions, now.
Though he continued to help her sit up, "it can't hurt to try."
She glared at him, "I beg to differ." And he swallowed his regret at his poor choice of words. He knew she'd forgive him later. Olivia wasn't even sure if she could manage standing up again. Instead she pulled herself up putting one had on the desk she was leaning against and the other on Peter's left shoulder. She was suddenly grateful for how strong he was, because she was pretty sure she was hardly using any of her own strength by now. She found her way into a squatting position, and Peter helped prop her up the rest of the way.
Peter didn't even have to ask if she were ready to push again, she just gave him a knowing look, and he positioned himself accordingly. She started, and this time she couldn't have stopped if she tried. The hand that was gripping the desk somewhere made it's way to Peter's other shoulder. She fisted the fabric of his shirt until her hands turned white, her torment reaching a new level of unbearable. She leaned forward just so slightly, so that she could rest her forehead on his. Peter was now in as deep a state of concentration as she was, but still telling her to breathe and offering other words of encouragement, even if she were mostly deaf to them by now. She let out a mangled breath after pushing for so long, tossing her head back so it was no longer touching Peter's. Even in their close proximity, Peter could see that look in her eyes. She knew that she was nearing the end of this, she could just tell. Without saying anything Peter gave her the slightest nod, telling her that he was ready for her to keep going. Not that he ever wasn't. Though underneath her determination he could see that she was still scared, and honestly he was too. He took one of her hands in his, then, and pressed his mouth to her knuckles. "Hold my hand, okay." It wasn't a question. And no matter how small, or even cliché, it was exactly what she needed. That single small gesture that through the years, could temporarily eliminate any fear she possessed. She started again, pushing with every last bit of strength she had. Clutching Peter's hand to match the pain and neither of them caring.
He started to pull away from her eventually, though. And in a daze she was reluctant to do so. However she quickly realized why.
There was the top of her baby's head, and Peter helping guide it out. She didn't have to look back up at him to know that soon the hardest part of this would be over. With a few more strong pushes, an a cry that was probably the closest she had reached to a scream all night, not just the top, but the rest of her head was out. It was surreal moment, and Olivia managed to even smile. Just a bit. But she kept going, now. Knowing it was now that she was in the homestretch of what she had been waiting for for hours. Hell, not even hours, but the last nine months.
And probably a good amount of time before that, too.
Now she pushed one last time, with all of her might. Her face was red and contorted as ever, but she wasn't stopping now. She could hear Peter telling her to keep going, that she was almost out. Then in a few seconds, she felt the almost wild sensation of her child completely leaving her body, and then relief. The discomfort that was there just seconds ago was their no more. She rocked back so she was sitting, then laying almost entirely on her back again. All while Peter went to place his newborn daughter on Olivia's chest. The infant's cries soon filling the room.
And as she held her child, she couldn't get over how perfect she actually was. Peter watching them bond as he cleaned the baby off with a towel. Through all he had seen, there had never been a moment as unreal as this one. He watched as Olivia took in every part of her, moving her free hand as if counting all of her daughter's fingers and toes, and then brushing her tiny face. Hushing her and telling her not to cry. Though, the newborn wasn't the only one. And Olivia finally let out every emotion she had tried so hard to hold in through this whole ordeal. Even if she had failed a few times.
Peter moved so that he was sitting next to them, and she pulled herself up just enough so that she could lean against him. She wept into his side for a moment, but for once it wasn't out of any sort of emotional distress. It was a feeling she couldn't even describe, it wasn't even joy. Joy would be an undermining description of what she felt now.
Peter brushed a still damp lock of hair out of her face, and as she gazed up at him she could see he was hardly holding it together either. Then she placed one of her hands on his face for a change, to let him know it was okay. He grasped it and kissed her palm, and she felt his own tears spill over, then. "Sorry," he choked, but Olivia just shook her head.
"You don't need to apologize," she told him, smiling. And she moved her hand back to hold her daughter, now. Whom evidently had stopped crying, when now neither of them could stop.
Peter touched the side of the baby's face, who was now curled contently onto Olivia's chest. "She's so small," he commented, and Olivia just laughed a bit.
"She didn't feel this small," she stated, and they both laughed then. Then she hesitated, thinking realistically for a moment. "You know we're gonna have to get out of here eventually," Olivia told him, though she didn't sound the slightest bit concerned. As impractical as the situation was, neither of them were ready to be bombarded by paramedics, or cops, or whoever else would be there when they did get out.
Peter smiled in return. And just motioned towards their daughter that had now fallen asleep. Delicately, he wrapped her in a clean towel, and kissed the top of her little pink forehead. He looked at her, and then at Olivia, and said "I think we'll be fine for now."
Maybe it was the birth of his child to make him feel so hopeful in a situation like this, but so what? He had never known there to be so much hope in the world, until now. All of that hope now sound asleep, hope that was soft and warm and that he loved unconditionally.
A hope that made the world feel like not such a bad place, anymore.
reviews make me happy :3 and I may encourage me to write what happens after this.