A/N: A few things about pregnancy and childbirth in this story are very much not recommended or safe medical practice today - for example, the smoking and Drexedrine references in the last chapter and the medical procedure at the end of this chapter. However, the story of Susan Pevensie takes place in the 1950s, when smoking and drinking were considered to have many medical benefits, a horde of medications were commonplace for pregnant women, and the delivery process looked a bit different than it does now. I chose to make this story as historically accurate as possible, but readers should know that Susan's pregnancy doesn't follow all the health rules that a pregnancy should today.

A sharp pain in my side wakes me. I blink several times, disoriented in the dark bedroom, clutching the left side of my swollen belly. We did have a scare a few days ago; turned out to be Braxton-Hicks. My bladder has woken me at least four times a night for most of my pregnancy. Pains in the night is new, though. Might as well get to the loo while I'm awake.

Slowly, I slide out of my bed. My feet ache the second they hit the floor. The floorboards don't squeak this time, so Peter doesn't stir in the other bed.

I've done everything I can to keep my weight gain below twenty pounds, like the family books recommend, but with twins, Peter and I decided forty pounds would probably be a doctor's guideline. Forty pounds more is a lot of extra weight on my feet still. My ankles must be twice the size they were a month ago.

I waddle down the hall to the loo and relieve myself, slowly and awkwardly. Everything takes me twice as long these days. Even walking down the hall is so tiring. The books say twins often come before the due date. I worry that an early delivery could be even more dangerous for my babies, with their advanced growth rate, but moments like these I hope the books prove right. I'm ready for the aching heaviness to leave my body, my muscles, my bones.

I'm halfway back to the bedroom when it tears through me again - a sharp, hot pain. I grab my belly with one hand and brace myself against the wall with the other, sliding to the floor. Leaning against the wall doesn't relieve the tension in my abdomen.

This is not Braxton-Hicks.

I'm not ready for this. No, no, no, it's too early. How much time should we have? Ten days? A week? Four days? I think it's five days, maybe. I can't remember. The pain, there's so much pain. It's tearing me open inside.

What did the books say? Breathe, remember to breathe. Breathe in, breathe out, in, out

The pain fades, and I sigh in relief. Maybe these really were more Braxton-Hicks. Maybe I'm just getting closer. I mean, I'll probably deliver in a couple of days.

We haven't found a midwife. Of course having Peter in the room is out of the question. I did read that book by that woman, the one who caught her own baby... but can I really do that? With two of them? Two babies, one of me, and-

Pain. So much pain. Burning, tearing, gripping, white hot pain. I suck in my breath. All I can think is the pain.

It fades again, long enough for me to take a fresh deep breath. With that breath, I call as loud as I can.

"Peter!"

Focus on the breathing. In, out.

"Peter!"

There's a thump down the hall, in the bedroom, and a muffled curse. "Coming! Hold on!"

The heat, the pain, back again.

"Susan! Susan, I'm here, what's wrong? Talk to me. Susan?"

It takes a moment before the pain subsides enough to talk again. "I'm in labor you idiot! It's time!"

"But we don't have a midwife!"

"I really don't think they care!" I scream. The pain begins again.

"Right. Hospital. I say hospital."

I nod. Peter reaches down to lift me, but the weight of three bodies - even if two are tiny - is more than he can lift by himself. I hobble up.

I waddle down the hall, clutching his shoulders when the pain hits, taking as many steps as I can when it subsides. Pain. Walk. Pain. Walk. It's torture.

Finally, we make it to the door, then the car, the wheezy, rusting thing Peter managed to get back when I started bedrest.

He speeds all the way to the hospital, and I can feel every bump on the road. But every minute on the road takes me closer to the hospital, the clean hospital with the doctors, the doctors who can deliver my baby and take this pain away.

We arrive at the hospital. A wheelchair is brought to me. Doctors help Peter help me climb from the car to the chair before wheeling me down a clean white tiled hall to a clean white room where a clean white bed waits for me. The battle to get from chair to bed drains the little energy I have left. The bite of the needle in my arm is nothing compared to the pain in my belly. Finally, finally, the sweet peace of the sedatives wash over me with quiet, painless darkness.