A/N Yeah, definitely shorter than the other one. Sorry about that, jsut couldn't drag it out enough...
Thanks to my deux reviewers, mintparsleyoreganothyme and Anonomon13!
Disclaimer: Not mine. N.O.T. M.I.N.E.
It was February the 13th, 1987. Helen Rider had been pregnant with a child for months now, and the doctor had told her and her husband, John Rider, to return that day. It was coincidentally Friday the 13th, which the couple had considered an unlucky day, not like they could do anything, though.
John Rider was speeding down the road at three in the morning, thankful that the road was relatively empty. He was way over the speed limit, and wasn't going to stop anytime soon. But just as he let that thought swirl its way into his mind, he heard sirens following his lead.
He heard poor Helen moan and groan in pain, and knew he had to hurry up. Speeding ticket or not, he had to get her to the hospital, fast. But, yet again, he was caught by the police.
"Excuse me, you know that you were speeding, right?" a middle-aged policeman with choppy sandy blonde hair, bushy brows, and spring green eyes said, tapping on John's window, demanding that he roll it down.
"Excuse me, you know that my wife needs to go to the hospital fast because she is going to give birth, right?" John shot back, using the man's phrase against him. The policeman's eyes bugged, mouth forming a small 'o'. John let himself bathe in an unneeded smugness for a moment, before his gaze wandered to Helen, who was pale.
"Come on, let's get you to the police car," the policeman said, opening the door for Helen, gesturing for John to carry Helen. Complying, John carried Helen bridal-style, frowning.
"What are you doing? We need to get to the hospital!" he scowled.
"Yes. If you speed with your car, you'll be stopped again; but if you're with me in my police car, you won't be stopped," he replied, urging the couple into his car. John made a noise of understanding, Helen curled in his arms. Her dark blond hair was falling in waves around his arms, her chocolate brown eyes staring into John's emerald green orbs trustingly.
The streetlights were on, casting a spotlight on the two, the road empty. The one-storied houses around them were dark, and a soft breeze ruffled John's soft, fair hair. He set her head on his lap when he gently laid her down on the leather seats of the police car. John tucked Helen in his arms, holding her close while the policeman sped down the road, telling him where the hospital which they were headed before was.
John burst through the hospital doors, entering the white-washed lobby after bidding the kind policeman thanks. He babbled to the bewildered secretary about how his wife is going to give birth sometimes soon, and—
"John, honey! Don't scare her like that!" Helen scolded, even if her face was pained. Then, she turned to the confused secretary, and said gently, "Sweetie, sorry about that. But yes, I think I'm going to give birth soon. Can you…?"
"Yes, yes, of course!" the girl said, catching on. She led the pair to the emergency section, and told them to stay there until the doctor came.
"A boy or a girl?" Helen asked, excited. It scared the doctor and her husband how quickly she had recovered from labour.
"The baby is a boy, congratulations!" the doctor said, smiling warmly.
"Oh my gosh, John, did you hear that! The baby is a girl! I can't believe it! I can dress her up in a cute, frilly dress, and—"
"Helen, the baby is a boy," John sighed. What had gotten his wife so hyper? She hadn't used drugs to give birth to the adorable infant that was currently wrapped up in soft white blankets. The fragile newborn melted John's heart.
"What? But then I can't dress him up in a cute, frilly dress," Helen whined. You'd think she was a teenager, not some twenty-something-year-old woman who was married to a spy.
"Helen, you can dress him up in a cute, frilly suit," John countered, feeling bad that he had condemned his son to the fate of wearing the insult-to-suits-and-manliness.
"Suits are no fun, though!"
