The nurse looked over at the well-dressed man in the waiting area for what must have been the tenth time in as many minutes. She always sympathized with those who were stuck in this purgatory. She thought of asking him if he'd like any tea or something, but catching his eye she reconsidered. Worry, no, something closer to blind panic emanated off of him and he had a hard time keeping still. Her initial impression was that he was a banker or accountant or something, except that he had an unusual air of authority that one didn't often come across.
It's too soon. It's too soon. Harry could scarce believe his eyes when he had read the text from Dimitri. He had only vague memories of walking out of a meeting (he wasn't entirely sure he even excused himself) and none whatsoever of the drive over to the hospital. If he had to guess, he was pretty sure he owed his driver an apology and a bottle of something as a peace offering later. He couldn't help but pace the non-descript waiting area until a nearly forgotten comment surfaced from the fog in his brain. After all this time, he still had no idea what constituted good pacing from bad pacing, but the recollection calmed him a bit, and he sat down and tried to keep himself together. The concerned looks from the nurses' station were enough to make him want to scream. Where the bloody hell were the doctors? Rational thought briefly overcame raw emotion when he realized that he'd much rather have the doctors doing whatever they needed to, rather than pandering to him. He wondered how she was doing, and thought that he had never wanted to see her more than at that very moment.
Dimitri was worried. He knew something was up when she came in, looking like death. In her usual way, she shrugged off their concerns and plowed on with her work. It was when he was coming back from the Registry and Beth told him of the fainting that he made an executive decision. He called for an ambulance, and then texted Harry. SBS or not, there was no way Dimitri wanted to be anywhere near Harry's crosshairs should anything happen to Ruth.
As the minutes grew to an hour, Harry was trying, unsuccessfully, to quell the panic within him. He rationalized that the longer he was there, the worse the situation must be. If this were something minor or routine, surely someone would have let him know by now. For one of the few times in his life, he found himself praying – to whatever god out there that would listen. He had seen enough horrors of the world in his lifetime to not be particularly religious, but this was a situation when one couldn't be too careful. He couldn't help but think of how he found himself in this situation in the first place, and smiled faintly. If someone had told him years ago that this is how things would turn out for him, he would've laughed in their face and asked to have a swig at whatever bottle they were drinking from. He had never intended remarry after the train wreck that was his first marriage. Affairs, although unsatisfying in the long run, kept his work life free from entanglements and he had resigned himself to that. Slowly, she had worked her way under his defenses until it was far too late. It had taken both of them a long time, far too long, to admit to how much they needed each other.
Unbidden, a memory of her filled his mind. They were dancing at Catherine's wedding, and she had been nervous, as this was the first time she had met Jane, his ex-wife. He couldn't even remember what he had said to her to reassure her, but he had been rewarded with such a private, shy smile that made his heart turn over. Another memory surfaced, from much earlier. They had only been dating a week or two, and she had been surprised by the presence of his mother's piano in his house. After dinner one night, he put some jazz on the stereo.
"I thought you were going to play for me tonight?" she asked.
"If I did, I wouldn't be able to do this…" and he took her into his arms to dance with her in the middle of the living room.
A phone buzzed somewhere, and Harry looked at his watch. It was nearly two hours now. He looked over towards the nurses' station and an impossibly young nurse looked back and understanding his silent question, shook her head.
Their wedding had been quiet and simple, with just a few close friends and family. Most of it was a blur to Harry, but a few details stuck in his mind – like how Malcolm had to whisper in his ear to remind him to breathe, and how impossibly blue her eyes were, even in the candlelight. Against her prediction, Ruth neither cried nor babbled during the short ceremony. Not that he hadn't made her cry, of course, at other times.
They were kissing furiously, and she was playfully leading him by his tie towards her bedroom.
"Are you sure?"
"Harry, we're not teenagers…"
"No, but I'm feeling rather like one at the moment. I just don't want to rush if…"
"Who's overthinking things now?" she smiled at him, and then kissed him deeply. Encouraged, his hands wandered their way down from her shoulders and worked on removing her blouse while his mouth tasted her skin on her neck. She had succeeded in relieving him of his tie and was pushing his shirt off of his shoulders when she suddenly stopped.
"Oh, Harry…." She had seen the angry scar he received on his shoulder from a shotgun blast years ago and tears started to roll silently down her cheeks.
He pulled her close, and murmured into her hair.
"It looks much worse than it was…"
"I had no idea…" She looked back up at him, and he kissed away a stray tear.
"I love you…"
"Sir Harry?"
The doctor held out his hand and motioned for Harry to sit down. A lump was rising in his throat as he tried to read the face of the doctor.
"How…?" He was incapable of a complete sentence at this point.
"Your wife is doing well. It was a bit touch and go there for a bit, but everyone is going to be just fine."
"Everyone…"
"Your son was just a bit impatient to get out into the world."
The weight that Harry hadn't even realized he was carrying was suddenly lifted off his frame. A son. Ruth's OK. I don't deserve this. When he finally managed to string some words together, Harry managed to ask if he could see them.
"Your wife is still sedated, but you should be able to see your son in a few minutes. We're just running some tests – the lungs are the last things to develop, so we're just being cautious…"
Lately, Harry thought he had a pretty good idea of what joy felt like. Being with Ruth seemed to make up for all the deception and despair he had to deal with in his career. But that was nothing compared to the emotion that flooded him when he held his newborn son. This tiny, screaming being with his shock of dark hair elated him and terrified him at the same time; not unlike when Ruth told him that she was pregnant, but about a hundredfold now that he was actually here.
They hadn't been married very long. It was a cool, but gloriously clear Sunday afternoon, and they were walking on the Heath in companionable silence. He started to worry when he noticed she kept fidgeting with her wedding ring.
"Harry, remember that house you were talking about?"
A few months back, he had tried to convince her that maybe they should move house; have something that was both of theirs, rather than just his that she moved into.
"What about it?"
"Well, maybe we should reconsider…we'll need the room." The implications of what she was saying finally dawned on him when he took a good look at her slightly panicked expression.
"Oh, my love," and he pulled her into an embrace. After a bit, he pulled away slightly.
"When?"
"Midsummer. Are you pleased?"
"Good God, Ruth! How could I not be?" She couldn't help but chuckle at him, as he was grinning like a fool.
He had reluctantly surrendered his son temporarily to the care of a nurse; Ruth was due to wake up soon, and he was anxious to see her. He could just imagine how she'd be feeling after her surgery. She was still sleeping, but stirred slightly as he sat down and took her hand. He brushed a strand of hair off of her face and kissed her forehead gently. A few minutes later, her eyelids fluttered open.
"Hey, you," he said softly. Once she realized where she was, here eyes filled with panic.
"Harry, the baby…?"
"He's absolutely perfect."
"He?"
"Yes. You're outnumbered now, Ruth. Expect a lot more rugby in your future. They'll bring him in a few minutes. Just wanted to make sure you were awake…" his voice hitched.
"Oh, Harry," she reached up and brushed a tear off his cheek.
"I very nearly lost you – both of you – today."
"You won't get rid of me that easily, Harry Pearce…."
The Grid was tense. It had been hours, and no news. No one dared to try to call Harry. Tariq toyed with the idea of hacking into the hospital's records, but thought better of it. His life would not be worth living if Harry had ever found out. Just before 4:00, everyone's mobiles simultaneously buzzed into life. The text message read:
James Simon PearceBorn 6 June, 11:47 a.m.
6 lbs. 10 oz.
Everyone's doing fine.
I jumped on the baby bandwagon! I actually had this in outline form for awhile now, but I really needed some fluff. Couldn't decide if they had a boy or a girl, so I flipped a coin…