Twenty-two hours and thirty-three minutes.

Roy had been counting.

Eighteen hours and fifty-eight minutes ago, Riza's water had broken. Right after she had managed to fall asleep. She jolted out of her slight resting state and nearly fell out of bed at the power of the contraction. After they changed the linens, she refused to return to bed and had taken to pacing the halls and walking around the room. He asked her why, and she said it helped the pain a little bit.

Sixteen hours and two minutes ago, Maes Hughes had called—from the office—to say that he had alerted Fuery, Breda, Havoc and Falman of the current situation and that Roy wouldn't be in that day. He also asked, five times, how Riza was doing. Roy told him to be quiet and hung up.

Fifteen hours and forty-seven minutes ago, a very nervous Kain Fuery called, asking to speak with 'Lieutenant Hawkeye, please'. Roy told him that she wasn't feeling well and didn't want to talk. The young officer mumbled something about wanting to wish Hawkeye well. To this, Roy relented and handed the phone over—if only get him to be quiet.

She was on the phone for exactly three minutes and two seconds. Just seconds before the end of said conversation, she told Fuery that she was really not feeling well. She asked—very politely for a woman nearing what was her sixteenth hour of labor—if he would mind if she hung up now as she'd like to rest. Given the okay to do some from the bespectacled officer, she slammed the phone into the receiver and closed her eyes.

Fourteen hours and twelve minutes ago, a small bouquet of lilies was delivered to the room. Attached was a card signed by the entire office, though Riza immediately recognized Fuery's handwriting. She said it must have been his idea, as he had been the one to bring flowers when they visited. Roy fumed—it was the little communications expert who had brought her those flowers that were still sitting (albeit wilted) on the nightstand at the Hughes'.

But now it had been twenty-two hours, fifty-nine minutes and thirty-two seconds, and all he wanted was for this escapade to be over. If he had thought the looks of discomfort on Riza's face at the beginning of labor were bad, the grimace on her features as she tried to keep from pushing to deliver the baby—what her body naturally wanted to do—was enough to make him sick himself.

"All right, Riza, dear." Doctor Ballard had arrived about three minutes and ten seconds after Fuery had gotten off of the telephone, and she was fussing about the blonde as though the end of the world was imminent. "Your body has finally caught up to your head, and is ready to deliver the baby. Riza, I hope this is all right, but I'm going to ask Roy to step outside. That's okay?"

The blonde gritted her teeth, her left hand tightened into a fist around Roy's as she tried to situate herself the way Doctor Ballard was moving her. "I don't care," she snapped, her amber eyes flashing in frustration. Roy glanced at the doctor and smoothed stray hairs from Riza's forehead, clearly uncertain. He had no biological instincts telling him how to handle the present situation. For a woman who claimed to have no opinion either way, the iron-clad grip on his hand seemed to speak otherwise.

"Roy, if you please," Doctor Ballard prompted. She was pulling on gloves and preparing an obscene amount of tools that looked as though they had no place in childbirth. He disentangled his hand and almost sprinted for the door; Riza was looking at the tools as well, and the look of concern on her features was indicative of the fact that she felt the same.

Outside, Roy debated between hovering at the door and moving to the waiting room. He wondered how any fathers-to-be did this; it was nerve wracking standing just beyond the door and listening to the events transpiring inside. As he expected, Riza did little more than grumble through the pain—down the hall he heard someone screaming bloody murder. As that mother-to-be from down the hall yelled 'get me my husband so I can kill him!', Roy decided that the waiting room would be a much better place to spend his time.

In the waiting room, he drummed his fingers on his leg and then switched to counting ceiling tiles; anything to keep his mind off of waiting. He was considering going to get something to eat when he heard an indecent amount of noise approaching from the stairwell. When he thought about it, Roy knew that he shouldn't have been surprised, but to see the entire office plus Maes Hughes standing in the waiting room of labor and delivery, all in uniform, was more than he could handle at the moment.

"What do you want?"

Fuery nervously shifted his weight and looked to Maes, as though the investigations officer was wholly responsible for the plan. "We came to see how Riza is feeling, that's all."

"Well as you can see, I've been kicked out, so you can't go in now," Roy snapped, glowering.

"Someone's testy. Didn't get enough sleep last night, Chief?" Havoc was chewing on his cigarette; he had been yelled at when they entered the main hospital complex to put the stick out before proceeding further.

"Havoc…" Roy stood, marching irritably over towards Havoc, his glare menacing.

Fuery jumped between them, along with Breda. "Did the Lieutenant like the flowers, Colonel? I hope we sent them to the correct room."

Even with the thought of how pleased Riza had looked with the flowers that she received from the office in his mind, Roy had to admire how heartfelt his youngest officer was. "Yes. You sent them to the correct room, and she likes them."

"We figured you hadn't eaten," Breda said, now handing over an oversized paper bag from what looked like the deli from down the street. "We got something for dinner and figured we'd keep you company. When we called again to ask if either you or Hawkeye wanted food, they told us that she was in delivery. Guess we were too late for feeding her, but we still got something for you." The plump man placed the bag on the small table in the waiting room and then pushed it closer to the chairs. When Roy didn't move (the others gladly took seats to eat), Breda crossed his arms. "Sir, I don't know about you but we skipped lunch so we could drop by earlier."

Roy blinked, puzzling through the comment before finally taking a seat, staring at the food. Maes slammed a paper plate of food in front of him and then continued serving the others. "Gracia said she'll drop by some time tomorrow. Since its Saturday I can keep tabs on Elysia. As much as I know how Riza loves my little angel, three-year-olds aren't allowed in labor and delivery if they aren't direct relatives."

"It's so late," Falman grumbled as he munched on his sandwich. His eyes scanned the room, seeing the nurses at the station watching them uncertainly. "I guess they didn't expect so many people."

"Probably not," Havoc offered, chomping inelegantly on his chips. "When did they kick you out, Chief?"

"Maybe a half hour ago," Roy replied, staring at the food in front of him, uninterested. "I appreciate you all coming but…"

"I know," Maes interjected, running his hand through his hair. "Thanks for coming, but get out. You can't want to get rid of us that fast—we haven't even done anything yet." He continued to munch on his dinner, shrugging. "Company for an hour won't kill you. It might do you some good, anyway."

"It'll…it will take that long?!" Roy spluttered, obsidian eyes widening, confused.

Maes blinked, looking at the other men uncertainly, his eyes unnaturally wide beneath his glasses. "I'm glad we stopped by."

Author's Notes: I can finally post this becuase my keyboard isn't broken anymore, yays! So close to the end. I know this is a short chapter but it's a logn section so I wanted to space it like this. Enjoy and please review.