I am so sorry! I know I said I'd update on, like, Saturday, but then a million other things came up, and it just wasn't possible. Anyway, this is a bit longer and more exciting to make up for it. This is for rivernymph99, who asked for a Christmas Eve update, and also helped with ideas, even though the majority of this was rewritten quite a long time ago, and she may not even remember! Anyway, merry Christmas!

Sam opened her eyes. She wondered why the other side of the bed was empty, and then she remembered the previous night. The first thing she did was sit up and call Tom, but there was still no answer. He was working today, she recalled, but she had the day off. Maybe his phone was just in his locker. She wondered where he had gone last night. She got up and pulled on some comfy clothes. It was probably best that she didn't try and find him at work; she didn't want to make a scene there. The baby kicked her again, and she stroked the bump carefully. It seemed silly, but she hoped their fight hadn't upset the baby. Even eight months in, she still had trouble thinking of this baby as hers. Theirs. It was not a place she ever thought she'd find herself. She sighed, stood up, and went downstairs for some breakfast.

It didn't look like Tom had come back that morning. Sam looked at the time, and had to stop herself from actually gasping. It was already lunchtime. How had she slept for so long? This baby was certainly wrecking havoc with her body. She supposed being woken up at two in the morning by Tom hadn't helped, either. Sam groaned at the prospect of having to spend the whole day at home, alone and bored. If she couldn't cope with just one day, how was she going to manage when she went on maternity leave in just four weeks. At least it gave her the whole day to think of how to make it up to Tom when he got back from work, because he would have to come back, eventually. She decided against having breakfast, skipping straight to lunch, during which she began to form a plan. She could cook a meal for Tom. It wasn't her style, but she knew he would appreciate it. She tried his phone once more, just to try and avoid cooking a 'romantic' meal for them, but he did not pick up. She pulled on her coat, and headed out to the shops to buy the things she needed.

As Sam passed a baby shop on the high street, she realised they were still totally unprepared for this baby. They had not bought even the most basic things: a cot, a carrier, a pram, let alone nappies (except the joke pack Fletch had bought them for Christmas), clothes and toys. Never mind, she thought. Now was not the time to buy them; she had her whole maternity leave before the baby was born, after all. She didn't think she had even touched the books they had bought in those first few months. She was going to have to take it all as it came, as they had just been too busy to worry about the baby. Sam went into the supermarket and bought everything she would need for a roast dinner: Tom's favourite meal. She didn't want to hang around, so she drove home soon after that. She worked out that she still had about an hour left before she needed to start cooking, so she went and sat back in front of the TV. She hated how lazy she was becoming, but she was already beginning to feel tired, and she couldn't be bothered to do anything productive until she had to cook.

Suddenly, Sam felt a sharp pain in her abdomen, and she inhaled involutarily. The baby, she thought immediately. The stabbing subsided, and she felt nothing for a while. She was trying not to panic; it could just be cramping - she had had that earlier in her pregnancy - or it could be Braxton Hicks, false contractions. She felt another cramp, and made her way to the kitchen, pretending to ignore it, and began cutting up potatoes for roasting. The, well, she didn't know if they were contractions, but that was what she was calling them, the contractions continued for another two hours, fairly far apart, and not lasting very long each time. Her worry ebbed gradually, as nothing else was happening. Her back and stomach were aching, but that was nothing new. She had put the food in the oven, ready for Tom to eat when he came home in just over two hours.

As another, much stronger cramp overcame her, she bit down hard on her bottom lip. Sam had never given birth, but without warning, it sure felt a hell of a lot like how she had imagined labour would feel. She couldn't take it anymore, and so she picked up the phone and dialled Tom's number. It went to voicemail again. Maybe she had been stupid last night, and she regretted that more than anything, but if he was just rejecting her calls to spite her, he was being an idiot now. She decided to try the hospital, and rang reception. The familiar, unmistakable voice of Louise answered.
"Holby City Hospital, emergency department, how can I help you?"
"Louise, it's Sam, can you," she paused and gritted her teeth as another contraction came. It had only been ten minutes since the last. "Get Tom for me? Tell him I really need him."
"Are you alright, Sam? You sound like you're in pain."
"Please, just get Tom." Sam heard Tom's name being called, and assumed he happened to be walking past reception at that moment.
"If you're calling to apologise, don't you think it could wait until later?" Tom's voice came suddenly, harsh. It sounded like he was trying to keep it to a reasonable noise level.
Sam's words tumbled out all together as her natural terror took over.
"Tom, I think the baby's coming, and I don't know what to do now. I'm not ready for this, the baby isn't ready yet. I'm sorry for being stupid earlier, but please, you have to help me now." Her first tears trickled out, and then a flood. She didn't care.
Tom's voice softened immediately. "Okay, Sam, calm down. Why do you think you're in labour?"
"Contractions," she choked out, but she was beginning to think straight again now that she was talking to Tom.
"Why didn't you call an ambulance?"
"I don't know. I just wanted to ignore it," Sam said through sobs.
Tom sighed. "How long have you been having them for?"
"About two hours."
"And how far apart are they?"
"They've just started coming every ten minutes or so."
"But your waters haven't broken yet?"
"Do you think I'd be sitting here if they had?" Sam said sarcastically, still crying.
"Okay, okay, right, let me go and talk to Zoe. I'll be home as soon as I can, just sit tight." He put down the phone, and Sam sank to the floor, her hands wrapped around her belly.

She heard Tom's car in the driveway, and remembered the food in the oven. If she was in labour, and it seemed pretty likely now, she didn't want to leave it to cook if they went into hospital. She went to the kitchen again. Tom opened the door, spotting Sam by the oven, he asked,
"What are you doing?"
"I made you dinner," Sam joked weakly. "I didn't want it to burn the house down if we had to leave suddenly. Anyway, I'm not really hungry now."
"Are you okay?" Tom asked, changing the subject.
"Yeah, just..." she trailed off. "Look, I'm sorry about last night. I don't know what I was thinking, and-" she stopped abruptly as another contraction gripped her. Tom shared her pain, and he wished he could help her, or take it for her.
"Let's just forget it happened, hey?"
She nodded gratefully.
"Right, do you want to call your midwife to check how far along you are?"
"You do it," Sam said.
"What, call her?"
"No, check."
"Okay, slip your trousers down for me then," Tom said as he bent down to have a look. "You're about four centimetres dilated," he announced. "I think we should call an ambulance, or I'll take you in the car."
"Ambulance," Sam gasped as another contraction hit. It lasted about a minute this time, and she was beginning to feel like the baby was close. As Tom went to the kitchen to phone, she felt her leggings grow suddenly wet and some fluid splashed to the floor. Tom came back moments later.
"They're on their way."
"My waters have just broken," Sam said.
"Good timing then." Sam thought it was remarkable how calm he was being, and it was helping to keep her panic away too.

After what seemed like an endless time, full of Sam pacing up and down the living room, they heard the ambulance sirens. Sam was loaded into the vehicle quickly, and driven without delay to the hospital. Her contractions were coming every five minutes, more painful now. When they reached the hospital, she didn't remember the journey. They hurriedly took her up to the delivery ward, as Sam began to feel a desperate urge to push. It was moving along quickly now: the midwife announced, as soon as Sam was as settled as she was going to be on the bed, that she could see the baby's head. When she first started to push, she the only clear thought she could form was overwhelming admiration for any women she had helped to deliver a baby, because this was more agony than she had ever felt before. It was searing, blinding, overpowering. She gripped Tom's hand and tried her best not to scream. It was all she could do to follow the midwife's instructions, to push and pant intermittently. She kept her eyes clenched shut the whole time, as Tom spoke over her hopelessly muted screams, encouraging her. And then, the pain was dulled. Not gone; she still felt like she had been sliced open with a carving knife, but she was able to open her eyes. She breathed deeply and looked up to see the midwife wrapping a tiny baby, their tiny baby, in a white towel.
"It's a beautiful baby girl," the midwife smiled sympathetically. Sam knew why. She wouldn't even have a chance to hold her before she was rushed of to SCBU and plugged into an incubator. The midwife handed their baby to a nurse who bustled off, then gave Sam an injection for the afterbirth.

When that was out the way, Sam flopped down on the pillow, finally allowing her anxious tears to fall.
"Congratulations, beautiful,"
Tom grinned. He didn't care that she was sweaty and exhausted, a complete mess. He kissed her on the forehead. Sam realised she was still holding his hand. She peeled her clammy fingers off him.
"Sorry." Her voice came out as an unexpected whisper. He shook his head. "Do you think she'll be okay?" Sam asked, though she knew immediately what he was going to say.
"You know how touch-and-go it is. She's thirty three weeks old. She might just be fine. We'll have to wait and see." He kissed her again, on the lips this time, and Sam struggled to sit up and curl up into him.

Hopefully you enjoyed this, please leave a review, it would make my Christmas. And thanks for all your lovely reviews last time, and all the baby name suggestions, I hope you like what I've chosen when you find out what it is!