Chapter 24. Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star

"I knew she wouldn't come early. I knew it," Addison pouts from her spot on the couch. She gives up on choosing something on Netflix, simply too grumpy and uninterested to care. She tosses the remote towards Mark, a little harder than necessary.

"She's not that late," he replies from the other side of the couch, tone amicable. He glances up from his laptop and offers Addison a reassuring smile. "Pickle-Kate just has a mind of her own. I'm looking at things online that can potentially get the labor started, and -"

"I know all of those things," Addison snarls, tone decidedly not amicable. She is one day past her due date, and is becoming more miserable by the minute. "Vaginal trenches, remember? And I'm sure sex is at the top of your list of bright ideas, but I honestly cannot think of anything I'd rather do less with you right now."

Okay, fine. Don't hold back, he thinks.

"Plus, you touching me is what got us into this situation in the first place. So don't," she continues. "And stop looking at me each time I have an irregular contraction. I will tell you when it's time to go to the hospital. Do you honestly think I won't know when I'm in active labor, Mark?"

"I know you'll know. Sorry. I just…it shouldn't be long though, right? I mean, yesterday Doctor Connelly said -"

"Mark. I was also at the appointment yesterday. In fact, I was the one being examined. So help me, if you mention effacement, mucus plugs, or anything of the sort, I will kill you. Kill you dead. And then I'll bring you back to life just so I can kill you again. God, I can't even put into words how much I want to strangle you right now."

"Holy shit," Mark acknowledges softly. "I can't imagine why Pickle-Kate isn't here already. You're so happy and sunshine-y. I'm surprised she's not more eager to start making her way out." He knows it's a risk to tease her like this, but she does manage a reluctant, closed-mouthed smile in response.

"Sorry. I know I'm being…a lot," Addison sighs. "I'm just so uncomfortable."

"What can I do? Besides stop making suggestions, of course."

"Just tell your kid to pack her bags and the placenta and get going. She's officially overstayed her welcome."

Mark smirks. "Free womb and board is over, huh?"

"You. Are. The. Worst. Maybe…maybe just don't talk for a little bit."

"Okay. It'll all be worth it when she's here though, Addie."

She proffers a weak grin in response, even though Mark is still talking when she requested that he not. "Easy for you to say. You won't be the one evicting her."

"No, I won't. But it'll still be worth it in the end, right?"

"Yeah, it will," she admits, smile lengthening.

-

The worth-it-ness of all of this comes into question about forty-eight hours later.

"I'm dying," Addison determines in a lull between contractions. Her tone is surprisingly calm about this fact. "I. Am. Dying."

They arrived at the hospital several hours ago, in time with the gold and orange hues of sunrise, once Addison's contractions started coming in every five minutes and lasting for what felt like forever. Had Mark been the one to make the final decision (which is never), they would have left hours earlier, but Addison rightly insisted there was no reason to leave until the contractions intensified and came closer together. Instead, she kept busy throughout the night by taking a shower, walking (more like waddling) around the living room, rocking on an exercise ball, taking another shower, rechecking the contents of her hospital bag, eating two bowls of cereal, and encouraging Mark just to get some sleep. (He could not and would not, but was smart enough to stay out of Addison's way until a contraction around four in the morning made her yelp in pain and grab onto the dresser to support herself.)

And intensify the contractions did. These are nothing like Braxton Hicks, Addison knows. She has always felt like she has a high tolerance for pain, but this tolerance is coming into question each time an unyielding knot stabs across her lower back and rips through her uterus, so relentless that she wishes she could climb out of her own body.

She was adamant about going into all of this with an open-mind, and not really having a birth plan per se. The plan, she told Mark, was to just birth the baby, because even her WASP-ass knows that people plan and God laughs. However, now that she's at ten centimeters and her daughter is throwing an absolute rager in her birth canal and it feels like she is being ripped in half, Addison very much regrets that an epidural was not part of the no-plan plan. She glances first at Sophia, one of the L&D nurses, who is holding her hand, and then at Mark, who is gripping the other.

Doctor Connelly shakes her head at Addison's grim declaration, and is ultimately the one to respond. "No, you're not, sweetie. You're not dying. It just feels like it."

"Fuck you, Mark!" Addison explodes, groaning as another contraction shreds through her.

Mark knows he should just take it, as he has been taking it for several hours now (and a lot days preceding April tenth, if he's being honest), but he feels weirdly compelled to defend himself in this instant. "I didn't say…Doctor Connelly said that. Not me."

"I didn't get her pregnant though," Doctor Connelly replies quietly, and throws him a sympathetic look. "We're almost at the end and this is the hardest part, so you're about to take a lot more verbal hits…" she sighs when Addison wrenches her hand out of Nurse Sophia's in order to shove at Mark's shoulder, arm swinging wildly. "And apparently physical. Addie, try not to slap him around too much. You're doing great. It won't be much longer."

"I know – I know. I just…fuck."

"You really are doing great," Mark says, tucking a hand under her ponytail to rub the base of her neck. He knows he is taking a double risk by talking to her and touching her, or really just existing at this point, but he feels like he has to say it. Everything about this looks primal and terrifying (Mark is convinced if the roles and anatomy were reversed, there is no way he could do this), and the fact that there is nothing he can do but offer support that isn't always particularly well-received makes him feel utterly useless.

"Thank you," Addison manages a shaky nod, looking over at him and breathing out a tired sigh. "I hope you know I don't mean anything I've been saying. I'm just in so much…"

And then she opens her mouth and screams, the noise echoing off the pale walls of the delivery room. A burning sensation overtakes her as her skin stretches and stings to its upmost capacity, pressure clouding every inch of her.

"She's crowning. It's okay, normal response," Doctor Connelly confirms in a low voice through the series of screams, mostly for Mark's benefit, as Addison unfortunately has a good idea of what is happening. There have been moans and yells during the last hour, but not this long, not this decibel-shattering. Mark, who looked absolutely horrified and sick to his stomach when the scream started (it hasn't really ended, but is punctuated by the occasional fuck and oh my God oh my God oh my God), relaxes a little when Doctor Connelly assures him this is typical and her just-stay-calm expression reflects it.

"Relax for a sec," Doctor Connelly directs when Addison's screams die down to shaky exhalations and whimpers. Doctor Connelly gestures for another nurse to join her as she gives her patient further instructions. "Don't push yet. Blow through your mouth. Blow out the candle, remember? Don't push. Addie, I know you said hard pass to the mirror, but do you want to feel her? You know it sometimes can -"

"I…I don't know. I don't know. Just get her out. Get her out of me. I can't do this. I can't do this…" Addison's voice leaps up, desperate and panicky. She looks at Mark, no longer Undesirable Number One. "Mark, I can't. Please. I can't anymore. Hurts…it hurts…"

Mark instinctively acts, perhaps in line with the way Addison has always assured him that he has it in him to be a good, nurturing father.

"Addison, yes you can," he insists, taking her hand and easing it between her legs. The sob in Addison's throat gets interrupted, dying with a cartoon-loud gulp as her fingers make contact with her child's head, just barely past the stretching seal of skin. Addison gasps, momentarily forgetting how much agony she is in. Instead, she focuses on this moment: just feeling the texture of her daughter's head. Her daughter.

"Oh…" she whispers.

Mark brings her hand back a few seconds later, and bends forward to kiss her sweat-streaked hairline. "That's your little girl. She's right there, Addison. And you can do this," he says fiercely. "You're doing such a great job and you just have to hang in there a little longer. You can do this. You're strong and you're magic, remember?"

Addison gives him a solemn nod, eyelashes spiked with tears, chest heaving with exhaustion and near-hysteria, and grips his hand tighter. More guttural screaming and crying and pushing follows, but then the tiniest wail Mark has ever heard fills the room. He watches as Doctor Connelly comes forward and places the squalling infant on Addison's bare chest (she gives Nurse Sophia a silent thanks for helping unsnap the front of Addison's gown), initiating skin-to-skin contact.

"She's beautiful. You did great, Mom," Doctor Connelly says, using towels to wipe the baby down and then tucking a blanket over mother and daughter. Addison's lips curl up in a smile as she folds both arms around the baby, hugging her closer to her chest. Her smile widens when her daughter settles a little and peeps up at her with one eye open, no longer crying.

"Really beautiful," Mark echoes as he wipes away a lingering tear on Addison's cheekbone. You were incredible, he thinks, though he will definitely say it to her later. He presses his palm to the top of Addison's head and gently strokes her hair while watching in awe as the baby – holy crap, their baby – squirms a little, dark blue-gray eyes blinking open and closed as she stretches an arm out.

"Thank you, Maggie," Mark adds when he hears their OB walk back to the end of the hospital bed. His eyesight never leaves his daughter though, because Addison has informed him more than once that the birth of the baby doesn't equal the end and that he shouldn't look, but mostly because how could he possibly look at anything other than this tiny, angelic-looking being in front of him? Mark reaches a hand out, a little nervous, and strokes the baby's cheek, skin still puffy and not all-the-way pink yet, but still beautiful and soft as velvet beneath his knuckles.

Addison nods in agreement to the observation that their daughter is beautiful. She is still trying to find her voice as she feels overcome with emotion. I will love you forever, she thinks, staring down at her baby, now quiet and calm. I already have. I loved you before I knew you. There is a sense of correctness, a sense of inevitability to this moment as she considers there is no way that life could ever be anything but this.

"She's perfect," Addison eventually remarks. She makes a cooing sound when their daughter shifts her wide gaze towards her boyfriend, who, for as much as she has wanted to strangle at various points throughout this journey, she cannot imagine doing this with anyone else. "Mark, this is our baby," she almost giggles at the absurdity of it.

"Our baby. Addie, look. She's looking at me," Mark says, absolutely delighted. Addison beams at the childlike excitement in his voice. "I…I think she knows I'm her dad."

"See? I told you she would."

-

What follows in the dimmed recovery room, when it is just the three of them, is much more hushed and peaceful. The view of the Hudson River is distorted by pewter gray skies and quivering rain droplets that cling to the window panes, wet splashing against wet, but they have not noticed. They really haven't noticed anything except for their baby. The process of becoming acquainted with one another is a vivid exploration of soothing touches, watching for hunger cues, and comforting voices. Everything for Addison and Mark melts into heavenly firsts: first kisses, first cuddles, first pictures, first feeding, first diaper change, first time talking in an obnoxious "baby voice," and first time counting their daughter's fingers and toes.

Addison fidgets with the floral receiving blanket tucked around their daughter, smoothing out the material. "I know I'm becoming a broken record, but she's just beautiful. So, what do you think, Mark? Is she a Kate…?"

"Well, she's definitely not a Pickle," Mark grins when Kate clutches on to his pinky in her sleep. "I think so. What do you say, little one? Are you Katherine Savannah Sloan, and we call you Kate?"

Addison places a kiss on her daughter's faint brow. "Well, she hasn't woken up to protest, so I think we have the one. Welcome to the world, Kate Sloan."

"Now that we have that settled…" Mark clears his throat and reaches into his pocket. "I have something for you, Addison."

"Please don't propose right now."

Mark chuckles, shaking his head. "I'm not. You know, the joke's going to be on you thirty years from now when you're still dictating how and when I should propose and I'm still just your boyfriend. It is jewelry, but it's not an engagement ring – it's, um, a push present."

"You didn't have to do that," Addison folds her lips together, feeling excited, but also a little sheepish. She has delivered plenty of babies whose mothers were given something afterward, and she isn't quite sure how she feels about it. She understands the reasoning behind it, the love and appreciation for the Herculean effort that is bringing a child into this world, but something about it has always felt weirdly transactional to her (and if nothing else, "push present" is just an incredibly tacky name). "Kate's kind of the present."

"That's what I said, but Savvy said I was wrong and I needed to get you something. There was also a threat if I didn't. And you know how much she scares me," Mark offers a smile. "And, well. I kind of wanted to get you something. Anyway, it's just a little thing. I picked it out myself, but it got the Savvy stamp of approval."

"Okay then," she nods. "I'm ready."

"I swear this isn't payment for your services," Mark states when he pulls out his wallet and reaches into the bill compartment, triggering a laugh from Addison. "The jewelry box wouldn't fit in my pocket and putting it in here felt like the safest way to ensure I'd always have it on me," he holds out a solitaire diamond on a delicate, white gold chain.

Addison smiles in gratitude. "Our girl's birthstone. Thank you, Mark. It's gorgeous. Can you help me put it on?" She inclines her head towards their sleeping daughter. "My hands are a little full."

"I got a matching one for Kate, too," Mark tells her while opening the clasp. "She can wear it one day when we know she won't trade it on the playground for a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup or something."

"Thank you. And can I ask you to get me one more thing?" Addison asks once he has secured the necklace around her throat.

"You really want a sandwich, don't you?"

Addison nods eagerly. The adrenaline of pushing out a baby and its busy aftermath has started to wear off, leaving her positively famished. "I'm so hungry I'd honestly settle for anything, but preferably a sandwich, chips, and the biggest Diet Dr. Pepper they've got."

"You got it. I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere."

"Don't worry. We'll be right here."

-

"Can I ask you a weird question?" Mark says that evening. Kate has just finished feeding, and one of her tiny hands is splayed against Addison's chest as she blinks heavily.

Addison quirks an eyebrow with equal parts intrigue and dread. "In my experience, Mark, those are the only kinds of questions you do ask. You're kind of a disaster, that way."

"True," he murmurs in agreement. "I was wondering when you were still laboring and Maggie asked if you wanted to feel, just…what did it feel like when you touched Kate's head?"

A charmed smile breaks across her face at the mention of her OB's name. "Hey, you called her Maggie. But, oh." Then she frowns. "That. You really want to know?"

Mark sighs. "I really do. It's like when I put Derek's favorite frog in the microwave. Was I going to press start? No. But did I have to see what Frogo Baggins would look like staring at me from inside the microwave with those creepy, bulging eyes? Yes. I feel like this is kind of the same thing. I just have to know."

"Well…honestly, it was gross. I know it's my job and all, but I wear gloves and it's just…different when your own body isn't involved. So while I'm glad I felt her head, because it kind of brought me out of my own head for a moment, it was basically like touching a slimy sea creature. A slimy sea creature who I loved and wanted to hold in my arms of course, but yeah. That. Still glad you asked?"

"Yep."

"You're a very strange person, Mark," Addison smiles, growing thoughtful as she observes the silvery rain still collecting in loose brushstrokes on the window. "Man, what is it with us and rain?"

"I don't know. Isn't it good luck if you're born on a rainy day though?" Mark inquires.

"That's just weddings, I think…which I missed the memo on, apparently," she smirks.

"I have a feeling the next one will be luckier."

Addison reveals a wide smile. "Yeah. Or maybe it's just rain to symbolize the tears of all the hearts Kate is going to break."

"That would imply we allow her to date. And my vote is no. But Addison, it's raining and it just…doesn't matter," Mark bows his head, smiling in disbelief. "It doesn't matter because we're together. And I have a family. We have a family."

"We have a family," Addison repeats, her voice becoming slurry as the exhaustion of today begins to catch up with her. "And now my eyes are going to fall asleep. Can you take her?"

Mark makes a note to tease her about this wording later. "Yeah, of course. I just…" he breathes out anxiously. He held Kate previously while Addison scarfed down her sandwich, and two other times later in the afternoon, but that was different. His girlfriend's hands might have been occupied, but she was awake and could have easily taken over if he needed help.

"She's probably going to fall asleep soon, so you can just put her in the bassinet once she's down. Then you should get some sleep, too. And don't be nervous, Mark," Addison manages a tired, but supportive smile as he takes the sleepy infant in his arms, being careful to support her head. "You've got this. Your daughter already likes you and loves you. And it's raining and she's your family."

Mark shuffles slowly to a nearby chair, and Addison gives him a loopy grin and an uncoordinated thumbs-up before drifting off to sleep.

"Hi, Kate," he begins gently, cuddling her a little closer after getting her settled in the crook of his elbow. "Try to go easy on me this first time flying solo, okay?" His daughter blinks up at him with dark eyes, expression looking serious, as though she will perhaps take this into consideration.

"You look so much like your mom," Mark tells her, even though he isn't entirely convinced just yet. The hair, yes – they both seemed to know from the beginning that their kid would be a redhead. Her downy swirl of hair is currently hidden under a cream-colored hat though (a gift from Aunt Savvy and Uncle Weiss), and admittedly, Mark isn't as sure about the rest of Kate's features; he recalls the baby pictures of himself and Addison, and believes the chin might be his and the nose might be Addison's, but honestly, it's hard to tell, even from the perspective of a man whose line of work involves a lot of faces. Kate mostly just looks new. Her face is still a little puffy, her arms seem permanently tucked in front of her body, and her neck is lost beneath those chubby cheeks.

Kate blinks again, then parts her lips opened and closed a few times as she stares up at him. Mark keeps talking as he gently rocks her. He is surprised that it doesn't feel at all awkward to be having a conversation with someone who isn't even twenty-four hours old yet.

"I promise you'll never have to turn all the lights on before you go to sleep," he leans down and kisses the bridge of her nose (it's Addison's nose, he's certain now). "Well, unless you want to turn them all on, that is. I have a feeling you're going to be running the show once you're a bit older. You and your mom both," he briefly looks at Addison, who is curled on her left side, slumbering peacefully. "I'm kind of an easy mark for redheads."

Kate yawns, her bow-shaped lips stretching in a way that seems way too exaggerated for her petite, doll-like features (it is without a doubt the cutest thing Mark has ever seen though). She blinks up at him for a few more seconds, then her head droops a little as she falls asleep.

"Sweet dreams, Katiebee," he whispers. Mark knows he should get her settled in her bassinet and get some sleep himself, but he decides to hold her for just a few more minutes.

He glances out the window, and notices the rain has stopped. The heavy clouds have parted. Stars now glitter and wink in the distance.