Note: Art imitating life...sort of. Enjoy! (Repost)

Timeline based on age: Jo is 19, Eric is 22.

Jo

I'm getting dizzy watching Eric's pacing around the birthing room in the infirmary. It's driving me crazy. "Would you stop doing that?"

He stops in his tracks, "What?"

"Your pacing. It's not making him come out any faster. You're annoying me."

My contractions are becoming more frequent and intense. The doctor says I'm almost fully dilated and I can start pushing soon. It's too late for any pain medication.

I had no idea I was experiencing labor pains earlier in the day. I thought I just had an upset stomach from the large slice of chocolate cake I ate. But when I walked down the hall to our apartment, I nearly collapsed from the searing pain that throbbed and tensed my entire abdomen.

Eric is now sitting in a chair next to me holding my hand. However, when a contraction comes on he quickly drops my hand and pushes a towel into my fingers. This pisses me off even more. Asshole. I'm wringing the towel but I really want to wring his neck. He gets punched in the face or round housed in the flank and he doesn't even flinch or let out a grunt but me gripping his hand during a contraction, he cries out like a little girl.

I've had it. I turn and menacingly glare at him. "Get out!"

He scowls at me. Without even hesitating, he stomps out, slamming the door behind him.

The moment he's gone, I feel the emptiness. I'm regretting his absence already but I tell myself to not care. He probably won't be back until the baby is born. Or maybe he won't come back at all realizing he doesn't want to deal with any of this crap. The thought has crossed my mind before. It's fine. I've gone through worse without him. Edging off another contraction I rub my hand over my belly, "It's just you and me baby."

Eric

"Get out!"...

I don't trust myself to say anything without regretting it later and steel out the door. If I'm annoying her, she's driving me mad. What the hell is going on in her head? She's up and then down. I'm getting whiplash from her moods.

I have no idea what I'm supposed to do. I need to hit something...anything. I charge into one of the training rooms making a beeline for the punching bag. I'm pounding away but each hit does nothing for me. I'm as frustrated when I first arrived.

A voice behind me calls out, "Hey! Hit me...if you can." I turn on the person without caring who it is and begin my attack.

Riley is one of my best patrol commanders. He's one of the few people who can actually knock me on my ass. He's also the only person besides Jo who I trust with my life. He's goading me to attack after he slams me down on my back. As I jump back to my feet, Riley knowingly guesses, "She kicked you out of the room didn't she?"

It pisses me off that he can read me so easily. I'm raging now and start an onslaught of punches and kicks. He takes a few hits but continues to speak while blocking my assault. "Speaking from experience, you need to go back. Don't question it. Just go back. She's gone through a lot of shit the last 9 months. She's probably already doubting your devotion to her and the baby so you better go now."

I stop in mid swing. "What the fuck? Everything I do -she just yells at me." I cover my eyes with my fists and growl in frustration. Riley lets his guard down and laughs. Laughs!

"Just go back. It's pain, hormones, and fear talking. Read between the lines man. She needs you there. Besides you're the one who knocked her up!"

"She wanted me to," I retort even though I know that was really weak especially when I wanted the baby too.

"No offense man, whether or not she wanted you to, she's scared and in pain. It's only fair you get a taste of it too. It'll blow over. Completely forgotten the moment the baby is in her arms. Trust me. How do you think I can actually stand here and tell you this?"

He's far too amused with my situation.

I sigh, defeated. Riley's right. I nod in acceptance. He grabs my shoulders and pushes me toward the doors of the training room. I sprint back to the infirmary. But when I arrive outside her room, I'm a puddle of nerves. I take a deep breath and tell myself, "don't be a wuss" and walk in.

Her eyes pierce through me and anger flashes across her face. "I thought I told you to get out." I can hear the threat behind her words but I don't care. I walk over and take her hand, turning it to kiss her palm and wrist.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"You're such an ass."

"I know." I can't argue with that statement. It's completely true.

"I hate you." I see her start to grit her teeth and squeeze the life out of my hand. Another contraction. My hand hurts but it doesn't register. In that moment looking at her I see just how amazing she is. The pain she inflicts on me is nothing compared to the agony afflicting her entire body. She doesn't even cry out. She endures it. She never concedes. For as long as I've known her she's always fought through and endured it. She's brave. I love her. And she needs to know.

No you don't. "I love you."

As the contraction diminishes I can see a faint smile tugging at her lips. And I know I'm forgiven.