Title: Nocturnal Dawning
Author: bana05
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Mercedes/Sam
Spoilers: Up through Glee S2.
Disclaimer: Glee ain't mine, unfortunately; otherwise, Mercedes would have a harem.
Summary: It was a dark and icy night ready and ripe for a beautiful day.
Author's notes: Yeah, so, hey...'sup? It's been...a few minutes since I was in this universe so please forgive the rust and crust. I tried to keep it as true to the Then Came You universe as possible, especially since there's been MUCH development since I ended this story almost three years ago! Anyway, I hope you all - but especially chorrd, since this is her prompt - enjoy and please forgive any lingering errors!


A hearty knee to the rib snatched Sam from his blissful, restful sleep, and a loud grunt and moan filled the air.

"Jesus, God, that was…entirely…unnecessary…"

Sam pouted and laid his cheek back down, his hand smoothing over the pillow he'd been using, but it shifted out of the way. That was fine with him, because his new pillow was even softer—an old standby from days of yore.

A whimper had Sam frowning even as he snuggled his cheek onto his wife's hip and bottom.

"It's too hot for all of this! Can I breathe? Can I live?!"

Now Sam sat up and clicked on the light at his nightstand, a groan answering the move. He leaned over to view his bed partner's face, who was clutching another body pillow with the might of his namesake and scowling quite fiercely, eyes clenched tightly shut. He was really concerned; because just a few hours ago, she'd been frigid—like he was right now.

"Uh—"

"Don't you even think about talking to me right now, Sam Evans! This misery is all your fault!"

Sam knew better than to snicker, to even smile, because he was convinced his wife had eyes in the back of her head. Those must sprout when women hit puberty or something, for Stacy Evans had started using hers—for evil—if Stevie (Steve) had anything to say about it. But his wife's were another level, because they could see through the headscarves she'd wear to bed. And truthfully, he'd rather be in here with her having interrupted sleep instead of the couch or guestroom and having no sleep for wanting to be with her again. However, he scooted up so he could press a light kiss to a silky-smooth shoulder, then rested his chin upon it.

"Did you get up and turn off the heat?" he asked.

"Yes! It was sweltering in here! I woke up completely soaked—I'm not even surprised you didn't notice. You'd sleep through Armageddon!"

He ignored the crack against his sleeping habits. "And you're still hot?"

"I feel like I'm in hell," she said flatly.

He scooted closer to her, mostly for her comfort and partly for her body heat. "If I turn on the A/C, icicles will start formin'."

"I swear to God—!"

"It's already freezin' outside," Sam continued over his wife's growl. "I'm just sayin'."

"I can't sleep!" she cried. "And get away from me, you living, breathing furnace!"

He pulled back with a pout, not liking his wife's discomfort now meant no snuggles for him when earlier she'd been his personal barnacle. "We'll turn into popsicles, I just know it," Sam insisted, shuddering a bit, "but I'll see what I can do."

There was a huff, then a grumble when Sam kissed the bare shoulder again, and Sam grinned, recognizing that as a reprieve from banishment. He scrambled out of bed, re-donning the sleep shirt he'd flung off himself sometime during the night, and hurried out the room to the utility closet a few doors down, where an unplugged fan sat in wait. He brought it into the bedroom and turned it up high, positioning it so it blew directly upon his wife. She sighed, for once without irritation, and he silently fist pumped the air before leaving the room again to gather items for the second part of his plan.

He shivered as he walked through the upstairs hallway despite the fleece thermal undershirt and flannel bottoms he wore, and he thought he could see a sheen of ice on the walls anyway as he made his way downstairs, thus deciding not to turn on the air. Of course he'd never tell his beloved that; but if he didn't get her cooled down, he just knew they'd be frozen like Bucky and Captain America and they'd wake up seventy years in the future and all of their loved ones would either be dead or suffering from Alzheimer's.

But, maybe by then there'd be flying cars. That would be cool…

He didn't bother turning on the light when he reached the kitchen and started for the cabinet, glad he'd worn socks to bed because the tile was freezing even with the extra wool protecting his soles. So focused on the floor's chill he didn't avoid danger and thus rammed his foot into the rolling stepstool during his approach. He gasped and cursed as quietly as he could, the big toe on his right foot now throbbing in rhythm with his pulse, but he finally loosed the snicker that had been climbing up his throat for the past fifteen minutes.

His wife needed that stool, although he didn't really like it when she used it nowadays.

Sam's muscles stretched and he felt his bones creak as he reached for the top shelf to pull down a mixing bowl. He rinsed it out from habit, then pressed it against the refrigerator's external dispenser for ice. He winced and ducked at how loud the clunking was, waiting for a yell telling him to cut down on the racket, but it never came.

"Yes," he cheered under his breath, especially when the mixing bowl became full of long, crescent-shaped frozen water. Once he deemed there was enough, he took the steps two at a time and re-entered the room, but now his wife was sitting up with a fierce scowl on her face and her camisole ruched up to her chest, exposing her stomach. All of her shirts had a tendency to ride up on her; she was an active sleeper on a good night, doubly so when it was bad.

Even though she sat on the side of the bed with her cell phone cradled in her hands, frowning at the time displayed on it, her feet didn't quite make it to the floor because of the bed frame's height. Sam hid his smile in his shoulder as he came closer and sat next to her, not wanting to further irritate her because of it.

But she really was too adorable for words.

"All right?" he asked, taking an ice cube in his hand and rubbing it along her neck and back. This moan was full of pleasure instead of pain, and Sam mentally patted himself on the back.

"I need a coat," she said, leaning her head so her temple rested against his shoulder.

"Oh, are you cold again?" he asked, his other hand palming another ice cube and caressing her belly with it.

"Was that shade?" she asked, lifting up her head a little. "Was that your ill-timed attempt at shade?"

"No!" he promised, kissing the top of her head and gently pressing her back against his shoulder. "I meant it. I want you comfortable."

She snorted at that. "Yeah, well, that won't be happening for a minute!"

The last word came as a strangled burst from her lips and her nails dug into his muscled thigh. Sam jumped causing the ice he'd just gathered to dump on the hardwood floor of their bedroom.

"Jesus—!"

"Get the damn coat, Sam!"

He spurred into action, never really liking it when she got all demon-voice on him, and pulled one of his parkas for her, slipping on an ice cube or two as he went. She looked completely miserable and he helped her into it before trying to get her to lie down again.

"No," she refused, but in her normal voice this time. "No lying down."

"But you're tired—"

"Exhausted," she corrected, "but maybe I'll be better if you take me for a drive."

"Okay," he said, letting go of her to pick up the ice and putting it in the bowl. Some of it had already melted and he used his foot to mop up the moisture. He didn't like the feel of wet sock against his feet, but it was better that than his wife slipping and falling.

They'd done this a lot before, although usually he was the one begging her to drive with him. There was something about the stillness of the night, the deserted roads, that calmed his overactive mind, but his wife would never let him stray too far from home. They would stop at a twenty-four–hour fast food joint or diner and order malts or frosties, and they'd sing to the classic rock or old-jams satellite station at the top of their lungs once their bellies were full of cool sweets and enough energy and alertness to get them home. They'd crash in bed together, Sam wrapped around his love's generous form, and he'd wake up to the smell of frying pork and coffee hours later.

Lately, he'd have to take the midnight jaunts alone, but he always made sure to bring back something for her—although her requests had become more eclectic as the months had passed. Sam welcomed this foray into nostalgia, however, but he was super careful about driving since the roads were slick from the freezing rain that had happened earlier.

Salt trucks were already out and about, their flashing orange lights making him squint occasionally. His wife was breathing carefully and grunting and gasping every so often. She'd been sore and achy a lot the last few weeks and he'd do his best to alleviate her discomfort, usually sitting behind her and rubbing her back and shoulders. He liked doing that for her. Any excuse to touch her was always a plus; but easing her distress was something he took great care and pride in doing.

"Are you sure this is helpin'?" he asked as he came to a stoplight, especially when she pitched forward and gripped the arm rest of the passenger's seat. Her breath hissed slowly through her teeth even as she eased back against the seat and nodded tiredly.

He spotted the Wendy's and clicked on the turn signal.

"No."

"Oh, okay," he replied, turning it off and continuing ahead. Sometimes his wife wanted a Slurpee instead of a Frosty, the irony of that not inescapable. She still preferred cherry, too, just as he would always get blueberry.

They stopped at a light, the 7-11 on the left. He made the turn and flipped on his right signal now, but his wife told him to keep going straight.

He frowned, licking his lips mournfully at the Slurpee he was being denied. "Really?"

"Really, really," she said tightly and wiggling in her seat, her face scrunched and her hand bracing her back.

"Okay, is there another restaurant up here I don't know about?"

"Yep," she replied, laughing a little. "Turn left here."

He did so, now completely bewildered because it was a road with not an open restaurant or diner in sight.

"Left."

His frowned deepened as he followed the directive, wondering why they were pulling into the hospital—

He slammed on the brakes, just short of the covered drive. His entire body shook, though not from cold like earlier. A soothing hand touched his face and he turned wide, watery eyes to his wife.

"You're—it's—we—!"

"Pull up, baby," she said kindly with a soft smile, her thumb brushing away a tear now trailing his cheek. "We're definitely ready to rock and roll."

He would in a second; but right now, he needed to breathe in his wife, to touch her skin and feel her warmth underneath his fingertips. He'd insisted on a code word or phrase for this moment; and since they'd used "lock and load" for their wedding, he'd deemed "rock and roll" for this.

The birth of their child.

"Mercedes."

Sam could do nothing but say her name right then. "I love you" being too many words and he didn't have enough brainpower for it, for the gravity of what was happening left him breathless. His forehead rested against hers and she hummed; but then it turned into a groan that he now understood was more than her regular discomfort, and he broke away with a brush of his nose against hers to drive up to the hospital's entrance.

Sam scrambled out of the driver's side and opened the front passenger's door, helping his love out of the high-sitting SUV. "The bag—!"

"Backseat," she answered, the demon-voice starting to reappear as she gripped his hand so tightly he thought he could hear his bones cracking. Luckily, there were heat lamps to keep the ground from being icy, so her footing was sure when she finally stood. Unfortunately, she immediately cried out and leaned forward, Sam holding her close and shouting like a loon for help.

"Is everything—?"

The nurse stopped in mid question, quickly assessing the situation, and immediately called orderlies for assistance.

Sam quickly parked the SUV while Mercedes checked in and all but flew to the elevators to get to the birthing suite. When he arrived, Mercedes was nesting, taking things out of the overnight bag they'd packed, which included a moving picture frame rotating her middle school choral students' well-wishes that she placed on the one of the end tables.

"Good to see you upright, Sam," Alexis, their midwife, greeted with a smirk.

"Will you ever let it go?" Sam asked even as he approached the older woman with a kiss to the cheek.

"Of course not," Alexis teased, "you're my favorite Future Father Freak-out!"

Sam blushed and shrugged, not embarrassed at all about his quite rational reaction upon seeing his child's sonogram. "The first picture of my kid; I'm allowed to get a little emotional."

"Yes, you are," Alexis agreed, "but I wasn't aware you needed to be wearing a helmet off the field as well."

He scowled playfully, especially at his wife's giggles, but those morphed into sharp gasps and she hunched over.

"How far apart was that?" Alexis asked.

"Eight minutes," Mercedes replied, breathless. "They're getting sharper and lasting longer too."

"Wow, they're that close together?" Sam asked. "I didn't even know she was in labor; she's been surprisingly calm save for a few demon-voices."

"Uh, what was that?!"

Sam stepped back and Alexis moved in between them, seeing the impending danger to the father-to-be with his wife's nostrils flaring and deep, yet quick visible breaths.

He wouldn't be surprised if fire came out.

"Well, let's get you changed and we'll have you walk around a bit to stretch you out," Alexis said, tying her shoulder-length locs back at her nape. "Sam, you need scrubs?"

"I—"

"Yeah, I forgot—I'm sorry, babe."

"Scrubs are fine," Sam insisted, and followed one of Alexis's assistants to the bathroom to change.

"Congratulations," the young woman replied.

He gave a dopey smile. "Thanks…"

When assistant closed the door, Sam plopped down on the lid of the toilet and held his head in his hands. It was happening. After a decade of dreaming, wishing, and hoping, the moment had finally arrived. Trembling hands reached into the pocket of the heavy coat he still wore, his fingers grasping his phone. He pulled it out, and dialed a number, willing his heart to slow its cadence.

"Somebody better be dyin' or dead, Evans."

"Or, someone's about to be born," Sam replied, his voice unsteady as he shoved the fingers of his free hand through his hair.

There was complete silence on the line for a moment. "Holy hell!" the voice cried, sounding far more alert than mere moments ago. "Mama's 'bout to be a mama?!"

Sam laughed. "Yeah, bro, yeah."

"Why the fuck you're just callin' me now?!" Puck lambasted. "Zizes—Lauren! Mama's 'bout to be a mama!"

"At two in the fuckin' mornin'?" Sam heard Lauren slur in the background. "Of course Sam's kid would have no respect for sleep!"

"Hey! We Evanses love our sleep, Lauren Zizes."

"Then how come you never let ''Cedes do so?" she asked, her voice now clear on the line. "Always trying to 'get it in'—"

"Well he 'got it in'," Puck said on a snicker. "Now it's comin' out—"

"Lips first!" Lauren added, and the irreverent couple cackled.

"That baby's gonna be nothin' but mouth," Puck predicted. "But we'll be there to see you guys in person, okay?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "Could you call folks? I need to get back to Mercedes now."

"Hell, yeah," Puck said, then he laughed. "I can't believe it, bro. Really happy for you, man."

"We'll be there in in the morning!" Lauren added.

"Be careful of the roads, y'all," Sam warned. "A little icy still. Get here safe."

"Thanks! Send Mama our love."

After the call ended, Sam debated whether to call their parents; in the end, he decided to wait until after the baby was here, because both sets could be chatty and he'd miss his own kid's birth because of talking to them. Besides, it was late and both were too far away to risk the drive here—especially for his folks who were in Tennessee. Mercedes' due date had been two weeks from now and they'd planned to come next week to help them prepare. Baby Evans said screw all that—they wanted out now. Yeah, he'd catch some hell for not calling them immediately, particularly from Mama Jones, but his wife and child were the priority right now.

He changed quickly into the scrubs and left the bathroom to see Mercedes leaning heavily on Alexis with a slight wince on her face. She was now wearing a lavender gown with light green ties and a new tropical print scarf on her head. When Mercedes spotted him, she waddled to him as fast as she could and snuggled against him.

"Hey, lady," he murmured atop her head.

"Sammy," she replied, her voice tight. "It's happening."

"Yeah." His voice was gruff and he cleared the tears from it. "Are you all right?"

She nodded and hugged his waist tightly. "I'm sorry for my demon-voice," she apologized against his heart. "And I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was in labor, but I needed you to be calm. Both of us can't freak out right now."

"No, it was a good move," he admitted, because he probably would've knocked himself out from all the flailing and panicking he would've done.

Again.

They'd had a dry-run three weeks ago, and he'd called everyone in his excitement and terror, to the point his mother had even purchased a plane ticket and had arrived at Cleveland Hopkins International before she'd gotten the message it'd been a false alarm. Not to mention Sam had been hyperventilated so much he could only get Mercedes into the SUV before he'd fainted in a dead heap—passenger's door still wide open—and knocked his head good on the door's armrest on the way down. It'd ended up being Mercedes tending to her husband instead of the other way around, and Cleveland Browns season tickets to the EMTs who'd arrived to keep that particular embarrassment under wraps.

It'd been then, with Mercedes holding an ice pack to his head while muffling her giggles into his shoulder, that they'd decided only to call Puck and Lauren before alerting the cavalry, since they were the closest in Sandusky. Nevertheless, his wife had obviously made other contingency plans to keep him upright and alert, and Sam was more than grateful for it.

"Puck and Lauren are on their way," Sam told her, and she nodded, though a loud, long groan sounded as well.

"They're getting closer," Alexis noted, and she locked her dark eyes to Sam. "'Cedes, honey, bend forward, okay? Lean on your husband. That's why he's there."

"And I wouldn't be anywhere else," Sam promised, bracing her as she folded completely over so her belly hung directly above the floor.

"The hell you wouldn't be!" Mercedes panted "You were there for the conception and you'll damn well be there for the birth!"

Sam ducked his head to hide the smile that was forming. It hadn't been a special day, just a regular Saturday where she'd woken up before him—as usual—and made breakfast while doing the laundry as well. He'd come downstairs into the kitchen to see her wearing one of his practice football jerseys, the number thirty-one tight across her chest and her panty-clad bottom poking out from the hem. It'd done something to him, seeing her wear his lucky jersey because it was the one she'd always wear, the one that would smell like her even after washing, the one he'd taken with him to Dallas and worn to bed every day for that week unwashed. He'd even worn it under his game uniform, both sporting his lady's birthdate on the chest and back. Her scent had filled his nostrils; her faith in him had given his feet wings. He was so sure he wouldn't have played the game of his life that fateful Sunday in February without it, and the Cleveland Browns wouldn't be World Champions of football for the first time in the franchise's storied history.

He'd had to kiss her then, and then kissing had led to them making Baby Evans against the sink with Pop Jones's cheese grits cooking on the stove and his Grammy's biscuits baking in the wall oven.

Mercedes now sighed heartily, her grip on his hands relaxing. He linked their fingers together and kissed her knuckles, and she managed to give him a weary smile.

"You look beautiful," he told her honestly, and she let out a little burst of a laugh.

"Baby, your definition of beauty is super warped right now!"

"I'm serious," he promised, smiling and stepping back so he could twirl her under his arm. His wife was without makeup and her body seemed to glow with perspiration, leaving her completely natural and stunning to him.

"Well, thank you," Mercedes said, allowing him to pull her back into his arms and begin to dance. She threw an incredulous look at Alexis, who gave them a thumb's up, and he beamed.

"I thought we had a birthing playlist," Sam said, grinning down at his wife. She laughed and nodded.

"I'm ready," Mercedes said to one of the assistants, and soon Black Kids' "I'm Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How to Dance with You" filled the room.

They did their level best to relive all the dances and proms from high school, the place where their love was planted and took root. That had been Sam's idea, because this baby had been coming since then, remembering all the talks they'd had of forever and future babies they couldn't wait to spoil and adore. Whenever Mercedes had a contraction, Sam would hold her close and let her cling to him while he did impressions and told jokes in her ear so she'd laugh instead of cry.

When her laughter started coming when he didn't tell a joke, however, Alexis said it was time.

"Sam," Mercedes rasped on a shuddering breath, her eyes wide and her tone laced with fear. Sam framed her face in his large hands and kissed her forehead.

"I'm right here," he said. "I'm not goin' anywhere."

The birthing gown came off and she was completely naked, her large belly protruding from her form. She writhed in agony, clutching at anything she could get her hands around, to brace herself against the pressure and desire to push. She wasn't dilated enough for Alexis's liking, but it seemed Baby Evans didn't give a good goddamn about that.

Impatient—just like Daddy.

"Sam, calm her down," Alexis ordered, and an assistant poured bottled water down Mercedes' throat. "I know she wants to push, but she could do real damage to herself and the baby if she does right now.

Sam nodded, toeing off his shoes, and climbed onto the bed with his wife. She was currently braced against the headboard of the birthing bed, a peanut-shaped exercise ball between her legs. She'd been squeezing it between her thighs with every contraction in an effort not to push, but his love was getting exhausted, and he sheltered her with his body, his hands low on her hips.

"I'm here, lady," he whispered in her ear, massaging her and kissing her shoulder. "I've got you."

"Sammy…"

The distress lacing her voice had his heart freezing, but he smoothed his hands from her belly to her pelvis in long, slow, even strokes. He felt some of the tension leaving her body, and he pressed his chest against her back. She sighed and Sam laced their left-hand fingers together as they gripped the headboard. His right hand continued stroking her.

"God, the shit uterus-bearers go through to have your kids," Mercedes managed to joke once a particularly strong contraction had passed, and he huffed a laugh into her ear.

"You've always been the stronger of us two, darlin'," Sam replied. "You saw how I was the last time I thought it was time."

"Laid the hell out!" Mercedes teased.

"Yeah," he said, laughing once more. "It's like, I was on the verge of gettin' everything I'd ever wanted and I couldn't believe God had blessed me so much. It's overwhelmin'."

She sighed and leaned her head back against him. He cooed, gathering her to him and sitting them upright on their knees. Her body continued to shudder and writhe in his hold, but he whispered praises and encouragements in her ear in different voices to get her to laugh. Sean Connery and Matthew McConaughey got her cracking the most even despite her contractions, but he used his own voice to tell her he loved her and honored her over and over.

"Let's check again," Alexis said, and they helped Mercedes lie on her back so they could measure her dilation.

"You're at eight," Alexis said, "but I want to try to get you to ten before you start pushing."

"Lex!" Mercedes cried. "I don't think me or the baby can wait much longer!"

"Just a little while, 'Cedes," Alexis said, and she looked back at Sam. "Try to keep her mind off the pain as you can?"

Sam nodded, pressing a kiss to Mercedes' temple and an ice cube to her lips, which she took in with her tongue. "I'll do my best."

His wife wanted on her knees again, needing the pressure off her back. The resumed their previous position with him wrapped around her from behind and he stroking her from belly to hip. It seemed no matter what he did this time, it wasn't enough, and her cries ripped at his soul.

"I'm sorry you're in so much pain," he apologized after another strong contraction made her shout. "It is my fault. I never want to hurt you."

"Sam," she replied, kissing his knuckles. "Believe me when I say you gave me much pleasure conceiving this baby of yours."

"Yeah?" he asked.

"Yeah," she replied, guiding his hand to stroke over her belly. "I've been thinkin' about—oh—"

She moaned through another contraction and clenched his hand so tightly he had to bite his tongue from crying out along with her. What he was experiencing wasn't even in the same universe as what she was. If he could take her pain away he'd do it in a second.

"What've you been thinkin', lady?" he asked when he felt her relax again.

"I've been trying to focus on how good it felt to get here so I don't…" she trailed off, and her tone colored. "Regret is too strong? But right now? Right now I feel like I don't want this, and I hate that!"

He had no idea what to say, his heart twisting at her guilt-ridden confession. "You're entitled to feel what you feel, honey"

"But does that make me a bad mother?" she asked, terror and dread stark in the question. "That I don't wanna go through this? But I love the baby, Sam—I do—I just wish I didn't have to go through this—"

Another contraction stole her words. Sam encouraged her through it, and they both gasped in relief when it ended. An idea popped into his head when he felt her sag against him, and his sweeping hand started going higher and lower. Her skin felt supple and warm, and he could feel his child inside. Soon, they would meet each other. But first, they had to get Mommy dilated.

"About that pleasure," Sam began, smoothing his hand up until it cupped her right breast. Mercedes went completely still, then whipped her head around to glare at him.

"Are you absolutely serious right now?!" she whispered harshly.

He nodded, dropping a kiss to her nose. "Lex said to keep your mind off the pain, right? And you were tryin' to focus on how good it felt to get you here, yeah? I'm just helpin' that along…"

He pinched and twisted her nipple, and a moan that was definitely filled with more arousal than agony escaped her mouth. He kissed the shell of her ear and told her she was a good girl, and her body sagged lower even as he felt it shudder with another contraction.

"Sam!"

"Yeah, sweetheart," he murmured in the crook of her neck, his right hand sliding below her large belly to the space between her legs. She was hot and sticky with the fluids leaking from her body as she prepared for the birth of their child; yet his fingers found her swollen clitoris, and he gave it a tender caress.

"I cannot believe—!"

She gasped when his ring and index finger stretched her vaginal walls open, massaging her in rhythm with his thumb on her nubbin. She pressed her back into his chest and ground her ass into his crotch. He grew hard even though he had no intention of finding his release. This was all about his wife right now.

"Sam…"

"Remember what I said our first time?" he asked, keeping his thrusts slow and shallow, where the edge of pain and pleasure rested for her. She shuddered again and nodded her head against his shoulder, her pants making her breasts rise and fall quite enticingly. "I said you were my earth, full life. And here you are, lady…givin' life to our baby. I'm so grateful for you and so in love with you and so proud of you. And this moment right here should be just as pleasurable as the one that created it, so that what I'm gonna do. Since I can't take your pain away, I'mma give you pleasure. That all right?"

She panted, throwing her hand back to grip his hip hard through another contraction, so he set his teeth into her shoulder and bucked against her in time with a harder thrust into her core.

"Oh, my God!"

It didn't escape him this was one of their favorite positions, Mercedes saying she loved how he surrounded her, he loving the leverage he could get while moving inside of her. It reminded him how tiny his wife actually was despite her larger-than-life personality and confidence, how strong she was to brace his weight and take his thrusts as they reached their peaks together. He could touch and stroke her, feel her wiggle and jiggle with the force of his loving; and now, he could absorb the power surging through her as she labored for their child.

"Are you close, lady?"

"Yes! Yes!" she cried, turning her head so she could kiss him.

The next shudder felt like a ripple, the kind he was used to when her inner walls clamped around his cock, and fluids gushed into his palm. Those walls squeezed around his fingers, but he felt something entirely new next.

His breath caught in his throat; and when he pulled back from the kiss, Mercedes smiled tenderly at him.

"Rock and roll, dude!"

He grinned and kissed her forehead. "Rock and roll."

Sam turned them around but kept Mercedes cradled in his hold as she spread her legs wide from Alexis to measure her again. She was dilated enough for delivery now, and they both slumped at the great news. An assistant toweled off his hand with his thanks, and then he linked his fingers with Mercedes as she started to push on Alexis's count.

It was the longest, most torturous forty-five minutes of his life. He'd never felt so helpless, not even when forced to sit on the sidelines and watch the offense march down the field to score a winning touchdown as the clock approached zero in the fourth quarter. Mercedes became drained during the delivery, needing to stop several times to gather her strength. Sam tried to will some of his into hers, murmuring a mantra of love and faith into her temple when she'd push with all of her might.

Mercedes roared with her final one, then plopped boneless against his chest. She was incredibly still against him, her eyes closed and her breathing shallow. He squeezed her fingers and stroked her knuckles with his thumbs, doing his best to soothe her after such a strenuous experience.

"You did so well," he praised, kissing her shoulder, then her cheek. "You've done so well!"

She nodded, blinking fast as tears spilled down her cheeks. Snuggling her, he kissed them away and told her his love, but she couldn't stop crying.

Especially not when they heard their baby do the same.

"Sam…"

Mercedes outright sobbed now, and even Sam's eyes grew full with the overwhelming feelings swirling inside of him, but he blinked them dry. Alexis stood from her crouch holding one of God's most precious gifts in her arms, the umbilical cord still linking mother and baby together.

"Mercedes? Sam? Meet Baby Evans," Alexis introduced softly, placing the squalling child on Mercedes' bare chest.

Mercedes bent forward, her mouth atop their child's head as she cried. She was too spent to move her arms, so Sam wrapped his around both of them, his hand completely spanning the baby's back.

"Hi, there," he said quietly, his voice rough like sandpaper; but if he cleared it, he'd bawl. "It's Dad, and I believe you already know Mom…"

Mercedes chuckled when the baby made a pant that sounded like an affirmative, now no longer crying, and even Sam smiled.

"I'm sorry you got kicked out of your home for the past nine months," Sam continued, smoothing his hand along the wee back. "Believe me—I know how it feels. But when I got kicked out, your mom was there for me through anything; and she'll be there for you too. So will I. And guess what? It won't take you months to find a new home, either—you're comin' with us! It's bigger than where you just left. Lots of space to move around…no spleens or bladders gettin' in the way…"

Mercedes snorted tiredly. "Sam!"

"It's true!" he insisted, and he beamed as the baby's face burrowed into Mercedes' chest, lips pursing as if looking for something. Mercedes seemed to know, and she guided her nipple to the puckering mouth at her breast.

"That's good," Alexis said, "and don't worry if he can't get a steady suck going, Mercedes. It'll take a few tries."

"'He'?" Sam asked, his heart full to bursting.

"Yes, Sam," Alexis said, smiling gently. "Looks like you have a healthy baby boy."

Mercedes' eyes met his, soft and dewy. "Are you sad he doesn't look like you?"

Sam shook his head, letting gentle fingers caress the baby's soft, ebony curls. Their son was definitely a Jones with his mother's dark skin, button nose, and plump cheeks. His lips weren't overly big, either, and did a little fist pump in his mind.

"I look at him and see you, and that makes me incredibly happy," he replied.

She lifted his hand and kissed his knuckles. "I love you so much, Samson Evans."

He kissed her forehead. "I love you, too, Mercedes Jones-Evans."

Sam didn't move from behind Mercedes until the baby had finished his first feed and had his first burp. He cut the umbilical cord with one hand holding the scissors and the other holding Mercedes' hand. She cried again when the connection was severed, and he framed her face in his hands and soothed her from the loss.

"I'm being silly, I know," Mercedes self-chastised.

"I don't think so," he rejected, his thumbs stroking her tear-streaked cheeks. "He was inside of you for almost a year, lady. It's another adjustment, that's all."

Alexis approached moments later with a kind smile. "Mercedes? Afterbirth delivery is done and everything looks all right with you so far. We'll need to take the baby and run some tests on him to make sure everything checks out, though, okay? You can grab a shower and something to eat in the meantime, call relatives."

"You mean I have to let him go?" Mercedes asked, pulling their dozing child closer to her chest.

Alexis smiled sympathetically. "Just for a little while. You and Sam will get him right back, I promise."

Mercedes handed their baby over with great reluctance, but she did use the time to take a shower. There was a shower seat in the stall, and it was just large enough for Sam to share the shower with her. He washed her with reverence, then held her when she wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek against his belly. Sam understood her need for contact, to take this quiet moment with just the two of them, because it wouldn't be again for a very, very long time.

"Puck and Lauren should be here by now," Sam said after a moment. "You want me to stall them before they see you?"

"Please?" she asked. "I'm about to fall asleep right on you."

"We can get in bed and get our cuddle on, lady."

"Mmm, that's a plan I can get behind…"

She stroked his bare back to his bottom and squeezed, making him yelp and her giggle.

"You just had a baby, woman! This is no time thinking of makin' another one!"

"So says the man who gave me an orgasm while I was in labor!"

He was particularly proud of himself for that. "I just wanted to make sure you had as much fun having the baby as making the baby."

"I did not," Mercedes said on a laugh, and he did as well, not offended, "but there was a lot of love involved with both, and that's just as good."

There was a fresh set of scrubs waiting for him while Mercedes put on another gown before being tucked into bed. She was already falling asleep when he kissed her forehead and grabbed his cell phone to check for messages. There were three texts from Puck letting him know he and Lauren had made it and were in the waiting area, and they'd already started the calling tree to their friends letting them know Baby Evans was arriving.

He started to text them back, but he then changed his mind, dialing another number instead. He crouched down to the ground in the hallway, his head in his hands as he waited for the call to pick up.

"Sam! How are you doin', son? It's a little early for you, isn't it?"

"It's…" Sam checked the time on the phone. "Nine-thirty in the morning, Grandpa; why wouldn't I be up?"

"Grandpa?! What do you mea—?!"

There was a sniffle, and it took Sam a moment to realize it'd been from him. He really, really, wanted his daddy right then, the man who showed him everything he knew about being a man, a husband, a father. Sam was now those things, too, but he didn't know if he could even do a third of what Dwight Evans had been able to do.

"Son," Dwight cajoled. "It's okay."

"Dad, he's beautiful. Looks just like Mercedes," Sam croaked through his tears, hiccupping with the force of them.

"Oh, thank God," Dwight teased, and Sam laughed.

"She asked if I was okay with him looking like her. Why would I ever not be? She's gorgeous and stunning. I hope all our kids look like her."

"You're already thinkin' of more?" Dwight asked, good-naturedly incredulity in his tone.

"Not right right now," Sam assured his dad on a laugh, "but I want at least a basketball team." Dwight outright chortled.

"You may want to clear that up before you're stuck with the singles tennis you've got now!"

Sam snorted. "My kid may look like her, but he'll be unlucky enough to have our sense of humor."

"Bah! Unlucky! Son, is that how you feel anytime you make my daughter-in-law laugh? Unlucky?"

His smile turned genuine and soft, thinking about how he'd made his wife laugh as she brought his son into the world. "I feel blessed."

"There you go!" Dwight affirmed. "I still make your mother laugh; and as long as you do that, you can't go wrong. My grandson will be fine! That Evans humor gets all the foxy ladies, after all!"

Sam grinned, resting his head against the wall. "I love you, Dad. I can't wait for you to meet him."

"I love you, too, Son. What's his name?"

"No name yet," Sam said. "We kicked some around but we wanted to wait until we saw some personality before we decided."

"And how is he?"

"Laidback," Sam said. "Loves his mama—hasn't cried since the midwife patted his baby bottom!"

"Well, Mercedes Jones-Evans is quite easy to love," Dwight insisted. "And so are you. You'll be a great father, Samson."

"If I'm even a smidgen like you and Grappy, I feel good about my chances about that," Sam replied earnestly. He looked up to see Alexis returning with a baby in her arms, and Sam beamed.

"Gotta go, Dad," Sam said. "Baby Evans has returned."

"All right; we should be there tonight—tomorrow at the latest," Dwight said. "Want me to tell Mom about the baby?"

"Please," Sam said, and started cooing when Alexis placed his slumbering son into his arms.

"All right, Sam. I love you. Give mother and baby our love too," Dwight said.

"Love you," Sam returned, ending the call and kissing his son's forehead.

"You've got a gaggle of people in that waiting area for you," Alexis said.

He nodded, opening the door to their suite to see Mercedes was still dead to the world.

"If you want, you can say mother and son are healthy but sleeping, and Dad has to watch over them both."

Alexis smiled and squeezed Sam's shoulder. "Of course, congratulations."

"Thanks," he replied, grateful Alexis closed the door behind her. The space was empty save for the Evans family, and Sam climbed into bed, careful not to jostle his precious cargo. Mercedes' eyes peeled open for a moment, and she grinned at Sam, groaning a little when moved to cuddle up next to him. She was back in dreamland as soon as her cheek hit his chest.

Sam followed her there soon after, his greatest loves wrapped in his arms.