"It was the third evening since they had fled from the Company, as far as they could tell: they had almost lost count of the hours during which they had climbed and laboured amongst the barren slopes and stones of Emyn Muil, sometimes retracing their steps because they could find no way forward, sometimes discovering they had wandered in a circle back to where they had been hours before," Captain Rogers continues to read even though they've all walked in, his voice carrying pleasantly through the house.
Skye has no idea what he's reading, but it sounds pretty bleak. She shakes snow off her winter coat and hangs it up on the drying rack May's mother brought out for all of their wet stuff. It was a quick walk from the Bus inside, but the wind's swirling like a crazy thing and they're all covered in snow.
AC's barely even out of his coat when he tries to leave the entryway.
Hill stops him. "Take off your boots at least."
He fumbles with the snow-caked laces and Hill bends to help him. He's worried, but he has no reason to be, right? Trip came up with code words for most possible scenarios before they left. There has to be some code word for 'May's gone into labour, land the damn plane'.
Maybe he just missed her. Jemma and Dr. Banner lend a hand and AC's out of his outwear faster than anyone else. He follows Steve's voice into the living room and no one screams in excitement.
Rogers comes to welcome them all, followed by Fitz, who's been wrapped in a brightly coloured apron and pressed into cooking duty. Jemma's been dying to know how May's mother cooks, because she has old recipes from China, before the cultural revolution, and she can't resist getting a look at anyone else's organisation.
They all remove their snowy clothes and settle in. Hill and Trip start discussing where everyone's going to sleep and how to seat them all around the big table in the dining room.
Barton smiles at Skye and tilts his head towards the living room. "Bet they're next to the fire."
Skye follows him in, almost afraid, because AC was so nervous. He and May are wrapped up in each other and even though it's only been a just over two weeks since they left, May looks even more pregnant. She releases Phil then Skye and Jemma both hug her. Skye's never going to get used to the way May's belly is both hard and soft, and how sometimes she swears she can feel the kid moving.
Rogers and Romanoff stand off to the side. While Jemma quizzes May about a hundred medical things, Rogers shuts his sketchbook and moves the fat book he was reading from.
"Are the Nazgûl flying?" Romanoff asks softly, her voice low.
"I think they've left the fortress," Rogers answers. They share a look Skye probably isn't meant to see.
Jemma's questions continue and May answers them all without hesitating, but she has her hand on Phil's arm. Dr. Banner's near the back, because he always retreats by himself. He's been so helpful with Fitz's injuries and the mess Jemma got herself into with the GH drug, but he's still shy. Even though the Avengers are his best friends, he's always a little apart.
Skye's not sure that she can say she really knows him, but he's definitely not a scary green monster.
"What's labour like?" she asks him.
He stops fiddling with the little sculpture of two birds on the mantle and looks at her. "It's different every time, I think. That doesn't help, does it? It depends on a lot of things, what the woman's body is like, what shape she's in, how well she's been eating, what diseases she's been exposed to-" he cuts himself off. "Sorry. Are we talking about May?"
Skye nods, because there's no point in pretending she's after hypothetical information.
"She's in good shape. Her muscles are strong and she's physically fit, that always makes things easier. It's her first baby, so her pelvis will soften more slowly. First babies usually take longer. It'll depend on her cervix, how the baby's positioned, what position she labours in."
She must have looked too worried, because he reaches gingerly for her shoulder.
"She'll be fine. Her due date's still two weeks away. We're here now, there's a real medical doctor just down the road."
"Through three feet of snow."
Banner smiles and shrugs. "We have a plane."
"You can't see more than a foot in front of your face out there."
"We're in a warm house with electricity, running water and no one shooting at us," Banner reminds her. He lifts his crossed fingers. "Hopefully."
Lately it's rare to be anywhere that has no one shooting at them, so she nods and tries to share his optimism. May's mother herds them all into the dining room and they sit. The table's full of food, and after eating on the Bus it all smells pretty incredible.
May's mother has given them all chopsticks and a spoon. There are forks and knives in the kitchen, but no one asks for them. She sits one side of Fitz and Jemma's on the other. Fine motor control's still difficult for him and it's hard to watch how frustrated he gets each evening when he realises it'll be a struggle to eat his dinner. Jemma's very patient, and May's mother seems to hit the right note with him because he doesn't get angry with her.
Skye doesn't realise how hungry she is until she starts eating. Even though she's not the best with chopsticks, she makes quick work of her first serving. When she goes for seconds, she notices that May's only toying with her food. Banner and Romanoff discuss something in whispers, AC hovers, not just because he missed her, she's sure of it. Everyone seems to be lost in their own thoughts. It's hard being the centre of attention, yet May doesn't seem to overwhelmed by it. Skye's not sure she'd be able to cope with being the focus of everyone's thoughts. They're all waiting for the baby, and May's the only one who will really go through that. They'll watch and they'll try to be supportive, but it's her journey, and even AC can only help her so much.
May doesn't eat much. Her mother says she might be hungry later and puts her plate away. Romanoff brings her tea and AC can't take his eyes off her. He's so in love with her that Skye often wonders if she'll forever be disappointed by her own relationships because they'll never compare. No one has ever looked at her that way and meant it. Ward's still a scar that stings. She thought they'd had something together that mattered.
She doesn't have much to add to the conversation. Between them, the Avengers have enough stories to carry most of it, and Clint's capable of entertaining a whole table just on his own. They sit for a long time with empty plates and steadily emptying glasses and mugs before they start to leave the table. Skye manages to avoid doing the dishes, because Banner apparently actually enjoys cleaning and putting things away and Hill goes with him.
The fire crackles in the living room. Clint, Jemma, Romanoff, Rogers and Skye end up playing scrabble because Romanoff doesn't like Monopoly, and they have one too many for mah jong. Skye might actually have had a chance at mah jong, she's played it enough on her computer, but it's kind of fun to watch Romanoff and Jemma square off because somehow being a spy has made Romanoff's vocabulary singularly impressive. The two of them are so much ahead that the rest of them jokingly compete only with each other.
Clint wins their half of the game, but Rogers isn't convinced that 'spamming' is a word and it takes Skye forever to explain that it's unsolicited communication, often on the internet. Rogers has been studying the internet, but rightly doesn't understand why canned meat relates to frustrating advertising. Skye wonders if he's picturing a world where aggressive sales people just hand around cans of meat.
Jemma starts explaining a few Monty Python sketches involving spam, and most of those go right over Skye's head because she didn't have anyone to expose her to British humour. Clint knows it because he knows everything that's funny.
May and AC watch them from the sofa, wrapped up in each other in that way they get. May seems so happy, not just to have AC, but to have her, Jemma and Fitz. Fitz is actually winning Battleship, and he's thrilled about it. He's happy. They're all happy. She lets herself imagine that this is what a family gathering feels like. There are bad jokes, too much food, and everyone stays up too late because there's nothing to do tomorrow.
Hill brings out a box of stuff so they can have fireplace s'mores and it seems like a wildly messy thing to do with the really nice wood floor, but Hill gets away with things in the house that none of the rest of them would.
"So, a s'more is-" Jemma starts to explain.
Rogers shakes his head. "I know s'mores."
"Because you were a boy scout?" Jemma asks, leaning over the box as she cleans up the scrabble board. "Did they have boy scouts back then?"
Chuckling, he nods and sits on the floor next to the fire. "We had boy scouts. Bet I can do it better than you. England has lots of great things, but s'mores, they're American."
"And you're the expert on that," Jemma says.
"It is in his name," Romanoff jokes, nudging him in the ribs. "He gets to claim a few things."
Making s'mores isn't something Skye associates with good. It's a mandatory activity she did sometimes, because foster kids needed to to have nice memories. Except you can't make happy memories happen, so all she remembers is that they're sickly sweet and super messy. Jemma and Fitz probably don't have s'mores memories at all because they grew up on the other side of the ocean. Did Banner have a normal childhood? Did he go camping with his parents? He seems happy enough to make squishy, half-burnt marshmallow messes with Rogers and Romanoff.
Clint laughs easily and joins in, getting chocolate all over his face. He must have had a great childhood, growing up in the outdoors, making s'mores with his parents. Maybe he had siblings. He grins at Romanoff like a sister, getting chocolate on her chin.
Clint talks her through the proper way to get a marshmallow to go golden brown, and her first try is a scorched mess, but the second one turns out okay, so she makes two. Setting them on a plate, she brings them over to May and AC on the sofa.
They've been watching them from the sofa, sitting back from the fire and the sticky mess the rest of them are calling dessert. May's curled up around her belly, one hand there and the other on AC's arm. One of his hands sits on the base of her spine. Her back must be sore again. She rarely mentioned it in her conversations with AC, but Rogers did. Jemma worried, Banner did, and now all it takes is AC's hand on her back for Rogers to follow Skye to the sofa.
Not wanting to interrupt, Skye sets the s'mores down near AC on the side table.
"There again?" Rogers asks. He sits down next to May and adds his hand next to AC's.
"Here," Rogers says. "Pressing here seems to help."
"Right on your scar, isn't it?" AC asks. "Must be deeper than you said."
"Glanced off the bone," May replies. Something in the way AC smiles at her suggests that it's an old argument. The tightness between May's eyebrows fades and her eyes shut for a moment. AC and Rogers both press their hands on her lower back.
AC leans in and kisses her forehead. "Nearly got the artery."
"No, it didn't." May hisses, wincing when Rogers moves his hands. AC and Steve shift their attentions down, and her breathing calms.
"Right there, that's it." Rogers lets AC take over rubbing May's lower back and he lifts his hands to her shoulders and neck.
"You're going to be good at this, you know," AC says. The same admiration he always has for Rogers is there, but there's a new side to it. Rogers was AC's hero before, now that he's taken care of May, he's something even more special. "If you ever take the time."
"Well, you know, it's been a busy couple of decades."
"Skye-" May draws her attention and everything seems so normal, even though the Avengers are getting marshmallow in each other's hair next to the fireplace. "How did your s'mores turn out?"
"Sticky."
"They're supposed to be sticky." She waves for the plate and Skye brings it over. "Mom always says these are the most ridiculous things. So messy, all sugar, barely even count as food."
"So she keeps the stuff to make them in a box in the pantry?"
"They're American. Her concession to retiring out here. Maybe she was hoping to have grandkids some day." May's lips quirk. "Maybe not during a winter this snowy."
"It's not that bad out."
The wind howls around them, screaming against the walls of the house. The fire crackles, Romanoff laughs as Clint and Jemma argue about something that might just be Doctor Who. Banner eats his s'more without making a mess, the way everyone else has. He's really almost as much of a neat freak as Jemma.
May feeds AC a bite, and marshmallow and melted chocolate stain his lips. She rubs it away, smiling at him. She still looks happy, but her eyebrows narrow again. Even with AC's hands on her back, it hurts. She hisses through it again, and Rogers' hands follow AC's. Rogers and AC both look concerned, and Skye guesses she must also have made a face, because Banner heads over to Jemma.
They talk in whispers, each of them stealing looks at May.
Her eyes close and the pain fades from her face. "It's fine," she promises. "I'm fine."
"Maybe we should head to bed," AC suggests.
May moves her head quickly side to side. "It's nothing. It comes and goes."
"Rhythmically," Rogers corrects. "It comes and goes every ten minutes or so."
"It's not like that."
"And you weren't hungry." Jemma kneels down in front of the sofa, looking up at May's face. "Sometimes loss of appetite indicates the start of labour."
"Contractions can feel like back pain," Banner adds. He crosses his arms and stands unobtrusively behind Jemma. "Sometimes, I mean, it depends on the baby's position and really we'd have to check."
"May-" AC begins, gently. "Maybe we should let them check you out."
"It's fine. It's nothing. My back's been sore for weeks."
Rogers nods and his eyes meet hers. "Not in a way I haven't been able to fix. Not that keeps coming back."
Surrounded by all of them, May simply shakes her head. "It's nothing. If I was in labour, my water would break."
"It might not break immediately, it might break much later, or not break at all until the end It's not the most reliable sign of the start of labour," Jemma says, rubbing May's knee. "You've had Braxton-Hicks contractions before?"
Next to May, Rogers nods his head. She agrees less definitely.
"Were they rhythmic?"
May thinks for a moment and rests her head on AC's shoulder. "Not very."
"And this is," Jemma says. May's nod is half-hearted at best, but Rogers confirms it for her. AC keeps looking between the two of them. Rogers is entirely calm, even relaxed, but May holds back.
Banner leans in, just behind Jemma. "Jemma and I would feel better if you'd let us examine you. It'll be quick and it'll keep us from worrying."
AC starts to stand, but May doesn't move so he stops. "Give us a minute, would you?"
They all back up. Rogers, Banner and Jemma exchange looks and Romanoff joins them in their little huddle. Hill and Trip are still talking to Fitz, and May's mother must be upstairs. Is she worried? What's it like to know your daughter's having a baby? May's mother doesn't seem to worry at all, but she has to be concerned. Should someone tell her? Does she know already?
Romanoff and Rogers share something without speaking and Romanoff heads off, presumably to find May's mother and tell her what's happening.
AC whispers to May, and then he kisses her cheek and something he's said makes her smile. He must know what to say because she smiles and lets him help her to her feet. Rogers trades places with AC, taking May's hands so Jemma can talk to him while Rogers takes her upstairs.
"Skye?" May's voice is so much calmer than Skye could ever get hers to be, especially if she was about to have a baby.
"Yeah?" Skye can't think of a reason May would want her. Rogers obviously knows what he's doing, and AC's here and just about everyone else has more medical knowledge. May's not the type to want to live tweet her delivery.
"Be with Coulson for me."
Rogers smiles and keeps rubbing the small of May's back while they're waiting. Skye's starting to understand why AC swoons over him so much.
"AC? He's fine."
"It's hard for him when he can't help me," she says. "He'll worry."
"You're going to be fine," Rogers assures her. "He'll be fine, too."
"You might have to help, Captain Patriotism," Skye says, looking over as AC listens to Banner and Jemma. AC would do anything for May, and maybe that's why she's worried. He's usually the one who patches her up, who tries to balance her out when she's not herself. He brought her on the Bus to find her again, so yeah, maybe this is going to be kind of brutal for him.
"You can call me Steve," he says, blushing slightly. "Melinda does."
Skye raises her eyebrows. She knows May has a first name, but even Coulson rarely uses it.
May has her hand wrapped tight around Rogers'- Steve's - hand, so Skye takes the other one from her shoulder, ready to share May's weight if she needs to.
"Thank you," May says to both of them. They start towards the stairs, but have to stop before they start climbing. May's grip changes from tight to iron. Her breath catches, then she breathes through, exhaling through her teeth.
Skye almost wants to call AC over, because he should be here with her, but he's still talking to Jemma and Banner. "What do we do?" she mouths to Steve.
"Just wait it out," Steve whispers back. He digs his fist into May's back, which almost looks like it should hurt. "Counter pressure," he explains. "It helps."
May returns her gaze to Skye's, and it seems to be over for the moment.
"It's okay," Skye says, feeling totally useless. "We're not in a hurry to get upstairs. We have loads of time, or Steve here could probably just pick you up. Though, AC would probably be jealous."
"Why would I be jealous?" AC asks. He only has eyes for May, but he's still smiling.
"Skye's suggesting that Steve sweep me off my feet," May teases.
"Can't say I'd blame either of you," AC says, keeping his tone light. "Our friendly doctors want to check things out."
Skye frowns. "Beware, Dr. Simmons is pokey, and strict."
"I'm sure you'll be a model patient," AC says, "like you've been for me." Skye starts to move closer to AC, to let May change her grip to him, but May's hand stays wrapped around her arm.
"Phillip, come here please." May's mother summons him and he's pulled into another huddle, this time with Hill, Romanoff and May's mother. There's much looking at the snow outside the windows and Skye looks at Steve and May, to see if they know what's going on.
"It's a cruel storm to ask an old woman to go out in, especially for a false alarm," May says. She's nearly rolling her eyes, but Steve's unconvinced.
"Banner and Simmons aren't medical doctors."
"They're incredibly well-trained geniuses who've probably read everything there is to know about having a baby, and they'll conclude this is a false alarm." May's jaw is set, but there's sweat on her forehead just under her hair.
"You're comfortable if they end up delivering your baby?"
Skye stops on the stairs. "Here, in the house?"
May puts both her hands on Skye's shoulders and studies her face, probably reading her concern. Steve seems unfazed, because that seems to be part of his superpowers.
"Quinn and Raina are still looking for us," May begins.
"There are military hospitals, ships, secret S.H.I.E.L.D. hospitals or something." Did she miss something? May's having the baby in the house?
"I was born in my house," Steve offers.
"In like the 1920s," Skye says. "Before you had antibiotics and incubators and all the stuff you need to have a baby." She hasn't read anything, even though Jemma did offer some dense articles about birth. She's seen old E.R. reruns; you need a lot of stuff to have a baby.
May squeezes her shoulders, then runs her hands down Skye's arms. "I'm fine here, Skye."
"In the middle of nowhere."
"My family's here. My mother, Phil, you, Jemma and Leo. You're safe here."
"We could be safe at a hospital."
May takes Skye's hands and starts back up the stairs, this time leading her. "They found us, and Fitz, in Scotland. Innocent people were hurt when they tried to take us. I know we're protected here. My mother's house is one of the most hidden on the planet, even with the Bus parked in the front yard. We're safe here. I feel safe here."
"Your Dr. Simmons and Dr. Banner have spent months preparing," Steve says. "They've run simulations, studied potential outcomes. Besides, there's always Stark and his toys."
What was he suggesting? "He has a robo-GYN?"
"In an emergency, Natasha or Stark can have Melinda in a hospital in minutes. We have back-up."
They stop when they at the top of the stairs. May rocks her hips back and forth where she stands, as if she's bracing herself.
Skye can guess that a false alarm sounds pretty good when the snow's flying against the windows horizontally outside and you're already tired from the day. It would be more fair to start in the morning, wouldn't it? That way she'd be rested; she could be ready.
AC bounds up the stairs and meets them. Does he know they're staying in the house? Does he agree? Aren't they just going to make a mess of the bedroom?
"Jemma and Bruce will be up in a minute or two, they wanted to collect their gear."
"It's nothing, Phil."
"Then it'll be a nothing we're prepared for."
"Have you had any bleeding?" Jemma asks, setting down the case she's brought from the Bus. "Maybe mixed with mucus? Kind of slimy?"
May hovers near the edge of the bed instead of sitting on it. AC and Steve still have her hands, though she's not leaning on them now.
"You mean the cervical plug? Yesterday," she says. "Made a mess."
"Oh? Was it a lot?" Jemma asks, her face paling. "It shouldn't have been much."
"No, no," Steve assures her. "Just made a mess of the bathroom floor. Not much blood at all. Kind of pink."
AC looks at May and there's pain written all over his eyes. "You didn't say anything."
Steve drops his gaze to the floor before he looks up at May, and it's kind of obvious May didn't want to talk about it.
"I read that it didn't mean labour was imminent."
"Okay, that's true," Jemma says. She smiles quickly, because she must have spent a long time putting together things for May to read, and she read them. "However, sometimes labour does start soon after the the cervical operculum is lost. I'd like to check your membranes and your cervix and see if you're dilated at all."
May rolls her eyes and makes the face Skye recognises as the one where they're all crazy.
AC nudges her towards the bed. "It'll be quick."
"It'll still be a false alarm," May insists. She does sit down but only when AC sits next to her on the edge of the bed.
Skye realises, almost too late to look away, just where Jemma's going to have to check. Steve shuts his eyes and Skye follows his example, because it seems like a good idea under the circumstances. Clothing rustles, AC murmurs something Skye can't hear, but May laughs just a little. Jemma snaps on an exam glove and Skye winces on May's behalf. There are certain places that really should be left alone, especially by hands in rubber-latex-whatever they're made of-gloves.
May doesn't complain, and Skye has to admire that, because she would definitely complain if it were her, but May's always been quiet.
"Two, maybe three centimetres." Jemma says. What she's measuring is totally beyond Skye. Sneaking open her eyes, Skye looks from Steve, who shrugs, to Dr. Banner, who definitely knows what three centimetres means, and finishes with her eyes on AC. He knows, and it must mean the baby's coming, because even though he smiles, his forehead is taut with concern.
"I would know if I was in labour," May says. She isn't even trying to hide her frustration. There's a towel over her lap now and it seems safe to keep looking at her.
Banner nods and kneels down next to Jemma in front of the bed. He gently touches May's knee. Jemma removes her glove and throws it away. Both of them stare up at her, their faces soft and patient.
"You have a very high pain tolerance," Jemma begins. "It's possible that what you consider minor discomfort is the start of contractions. Your membranes are still intact, so it's possible that you could remain dilated and not in labour for a few days, but you've already lost your cervical plug and you've had much more back pain than you have previously."
"Think of it as the cork in a bottle," Banner adds. "It stays in place to keep everything out of your uterus until certain hormones let it slip."
"It's still early," May protests. "You said-"
"Thirty-eight weeks from conceptions is hardly exact. Babies develop at different rates, some come a little before, some after. There's a big window there."
Looking at AC for help, May shakes her head. "If there's a big window, there's no reason he, or she would come now. It only just opened."
AC holds her cheek. "I think impatience comes from my side."
She tenses to keep arguing, but instead May fixes her gaze on a point past AC's shoulder and starts controlling her breathing instead of speaking.
"Hey," he says softly. "If Jemma's right, it's really not a bad thing. We'll get to meet this little guy sooner than we thought, and that's pretty great, isn't it?"
"I'll get the rest of the stuff from the Bus," Banner says. He pats Jemma's shoulder as he leaves and the little smile she gets is reassuring. They've got this. Jemma's the smartest person Skye knows, and Banner's supposed to be a real genius. May's okay in their hands.
"Easy for you to say," May teases AC. "You might get some sleep tonight."
He shakes his head, staring at her with something between adoration and awe in his eyes. "I won't be able to sleep, Melinda."
Skye should probably look away. Hell, May's half-naked under the towel on her lap and AC looks like he wants to kiss her. Steve's left her side to rummage through her drawers until he finds a nightgown, which he passes to AC.
Skye can help with that, she decides, after just standing near the door makes her feel like an idiot. Jemma and May changed her clothes a few times when she was too weak to do it herself after she'd been shot. Skye remembers their hands on her skin and how comforting it was to know she was safe. For once in her life, she was cared for. She can give that back. She can make May feel safe.
Between the four of them, getting May out of her clothes and into her deep blue nightgown is quick work.
Once they move away, May rests her hand on AC's chest, then tugs his tie. "Go change, Phil."
"I'm fine," he starts to argue, but he stops and grins. "I suppose I'd better get out of the suit, right? Okay."
Skye's not sure what May's hidden message is, but AC grabs some of his pyjamas from the bottom drawer of the dresser and heads for the bathroom to change. Jemma's laying out some medical stuff wrapped in protective sterile packets, and all of that is pretty intimidating.
"Do you have any questions?" Jemma asks, turning from her tools. "I'll do my best-"
May cuts her off. "I trust you, Jemma and Bruce. We'll be fine."
After a second, Skye realises that May's talking about herself and the baby, not the team of them delivering the kid. The kid really is a person, and that person's on his- her- their- way here. Her stomach knots a little when she thinks about the journey the kid and May are going to have to share. It can't be easy to know what's coming. Does May wonder what it'll be like? Is she afraid? Is she ever afraid? Skye looks away and notices May's hand reach towards her. Taking it, she squeezes the damp fingers around her own, hard, so May will know Skye doesn't think she's fragile.
"I'm glad you're here, Skye."
"Me?" Skye wonders. Jemma and Banner have a purpose. Steve's a superhero, so there's probably some 'I helped deliver a baby' badge he needs to get (and he's quiet the same way May is, so it's no surprise that they get along). AC has to be here, because it's his baby, too. Skye's the least useful person in the room.
"Yes, you."
"Do you need something? What me to make sure Quinn and Raina don't know where we are? Should I scramble our phones?"
May almost laughs, and her voice rumbles a little her throat. "No, not, that's all right."
Resting one hand on Steve's back, May using his steadiness and Skye's hand to pull herself up to her feet.
"It's better standing, isn't it?" Steve asks, even though it's easy to tell from May's face what the answer is.
"I can't do anything."
"Skye-"
"I really can't, I don't know anything about what's going on and, honestly, it's a little scary, and messy, and it's just totally out of my skill set."
"Skye, I don't need you to do anything."
"What?"
"I don't need you to do anything. I'm fine."
"I don't-"
"I'm scared, too."
"You? But you're-"
She stares down at her belly and sighs. "In here, he's safe. I can protect him. Out there? I can't."
"But you have us! We're all here and you have the Avengers downstairs playing Scrabble. We'll all protect Baby C."
"You will."
"Of course we will, we're going to spoil the little guy rotten and I can't promise I'll remember not to swear in front of him and I'll probably get him really noisy toys and I was never good at cleaning my room or putting my stuff away so I'll be a terrible role model, but I promise we'll protect Baby C with everything we've got, and that's kind of a lot, because we keep winning against the bad guys."
"So you'll protect my baby?"
"And love him, and probably feed him the wrong baby food or chocolate and-"
"See, I do need you."
"That's totally not fair."
May smiles at her. Skye walked right into that and she didn't even see it coming.
"Of course I need you," May says, increasing her grip on Skye's hand.
Skye doesn't know what to say. Steve's watching her and May, smiling quietly. Did he realise what she was walking into? He just sat back and watched.
She's not sure whether to thank May or give her a hard time. She's still trying to think of a comeback when May inhales, her breath sharp.
Steve nudges Skye's arm. "Breathe with her. Slowly."
"Coulson?" Skye asks, looking for him. This is really his department.
"I'm here, " he says, pulling his T-shirt on over the scars on his chest as he hurries.
"I'm fine," May reminds him and he kisses her hair.
"I know."
Steve takes his suit from him to hang it in the closet so AC can be with May. AC kisses her hair and wraps his arms around her back.
"Hey," he whispers. "You're doing great."
She smirks at him, even though it has to hurt because she's still gritting her teeth. "This is the easy part."
"I don't know if any of this had an easy part," he replies. Her hands rest on his shoulders and they sway a little together. "Steve says you've been great so far."
"Are you calling him Steve now?"
"You do."
"He's lived with me for a month."
AC strokes her face, and Skye has to look away because the way they look at each other doesn't seem to be the kind of thing anyone should share.
"I'm sorry."
"I know how jealous you were," May replies. AC chuckles and then it's okay to look again.
"I would have traded places with you if I could."
May exhales and there's no pain in her voice now. It must be done, at least for the moment. "You really would have, wouldn't you?"
He rubs his hand across her belly and nods. "I would now."
"Remind me later," May teases. In her bare feet she's much shorter than him so he leans down so she can kiss him.
Steve touches Skye's shoulder, gently taking her away from just watching them. "Come on, we'll let them get settled and we'll be right downstairs when they need us."
Skye wonders about AC as they head downstairs. How's she supposed to help him? They're fine now. They're together. May can dislocate her own wrist and pop it back in. Having a baby's nothing, right?
She was worried though. She wouldn't have asked for Skye's help otherwise. When May asks for help, she needs it. How much worse is it going to get?
Steve doesn't look too worried, mostly calm, but he's famous for that. Back in the living room, Romanoff and Clint look up from their game. Fitz is totally beating them both at Settlers of Catan.
"Everything okay?"
"Melinda's having the baby," Steve answers, sitting down next to Romanoff. "Probably not tonight, but hopefully some time tomorrow."
"Hopefully?" Skye asks. "What do you mean, hopefully?"
Romanoff's face softens and she pats the sofa on the other side of her so Skye will sit. "Sometimes it takes longer."
"When May was born, her mother was in labour for two days," Hill says. She hands Skye a fresh mug of coffee and sits down next to Fitz. "She tells the story sometimes, when she's angry with May."
"Angry with May?" Skye stares down at her coffee and looks up to see the mugs in everyone's hands. They're all staying up. No one's moved to start going to bed. All the board games are out, and it sounds like May's mother is busy in the kitchen.
"I thought May was the perfect child. Look at all her trophies!"
Hill and Romanoff share a look and grin. Steve hands Skye a cookie to go with her coffee. It seems the game's forgotten for the moment.
"Her sense of humour and her mother's don't really match up. Apparently she gets it from her father."
"May's father?"
"He's in deep cover," Clint says.
"Or dead," Romanoff adds.
"Or a triple agent," Hill says.
"I heard he was retired and growing tea," Fitz says from the floor. They all look down at him. "Mrs. May said-"
"I say many things, Leopold," May's mother says. She walks through the doorway with more coffee and another kind of ones are really chocolate, so Skye trades the one she has.
"Some of them are true," May's mother finishes. She hands Fitz a cookie and eyes the board. "You're winning again."
"I remember how to do that."
"You do." She sits on the sofa behind him and pats his shoulder. "I can't remember how many times you've taught me to play this game."
Fitz seems mildly horrified. "Why don't you tell me you know? You shouldn't let me ramble like that."
"I like your explanations," May's mother says. "You're enthusiastic and thorough." She ruffles Fitz's hair with affection then looks over at Steve and Skye. "Is my daughter all right?"
"Yeah," Skye says. "AC- Coulson-"
"Phillip," May's mother corrects. "He's with her."
"And Simmons, and Dr. Banner. Really, they're both doctors, I just-"
"Skye, I trust she's being looked after. I asked if she was all right."
Skye doesn't understand. Of course May's all right. She's always all right. She picked up the Beserker Staff, twice. She's been shot, stabbed, beaten up by an Asgardian and Ward. All right doesn't even begin to cover it.
"She didn't want to believe it was happening," Steve offers when Skye can't come up with anything. "I don't think she's entirely ready."
"Parents rarely are," May's mother agrees with a quick nod. Instead of heading upstairs to check on her daughter, she pats Fitz's unruly hair again and stands up to go back to the kitchen. Romanoff and Steve look at each other, sharing more of that Avengers' group think that seems to work so well for them. Steve follows May's mother into the kitchen and Clint flops down to his place on the sofa.
"It'll be fine," Romanoff assures her. She hands Fitz the dice to carry on the game. "It's your turn."
When the game comes around to Romanoff's turn, Skye's suddenly playing for her and she didn't even realise Romanoff had left the sofa.
Clint grins and waves at the board. "She does that. You're green."
"You know, we've never really been dancing," Phil says. They rotate slowly on the soft rug by the bed. Normally, her feet would be cold, but sweat's in her hair already and soon it'll be all over her skin.
"We have." They've danced together undercover several times. Sometimes he is a good dancer and sometimes his cover requires that he be less competent. One of her favourites was when she was allowed to be terrible, and he had to spend so much time pretending she hadn't hurt him when she stepped on his feet.
Phil is a very good dancer, but she's not sure when she last danced with him. Maybe at her wedding, a long time ago.
"You'll tell me when you're sick of standing?"
She squeezes his arms. "Standing's easier."
"I know, but you'll tell me if it's not?" That gentle look covers his face and she almost wishes she could spare him the next several hours.
"I probably won't have to tell you."
"Melinda-"
"I'm fine."
"I know."
She tries not to tense when her muscles start to creep into the next contraction. There's a strange kind of tingling that leads into it, and they've moved from her back into her belly. She shouldn't tense. She knows better. Pain is conquered by being relaxed, not by letting it take you.
Phil hears her breath catch and he slows his own. He's probably held her like this, helping her calm, more than they've danced together. He's pulled broken glass and lead from her flesh over and over.
It's harder to relax each time her body contracts in on itself. She tries to think of it positively. Contractions move the baby downward and prepare him to breathe on his own. When it's over, he, or she, will be separate, breathing on her own, grabbing Phil's fingers. She just has to outlast this.
"Don't-
"-Tense," Melinda finishes for him. "I know." Is it harder to speak than it was before? How much time as passed? Phil's not wearing his watch and Jemma and Bruce are on the other side of the room, talking over the emergency equipment they hopefully won't need.
Phil strokes her hair back from her face. She should put it up. "I won't have to remind you if you do it."
She hisses her breath slowly through her teeth and imagines his fingers wrapped in a baby's fist. She'll enjoy seeing that, watching him hold their baby.
"I'm glad you're back," she says when she has the breath again.
He kisses her forehead, then her cheek and finally her lips. "I couldn't miss this."
"I thought we had time." She rests a hand on his chest, feeling his heart.
"We have time."
"Not that much."
"I think it'll feel a lot longer than it is." There's a sorrow in his eyes she wishes she could lift. It's not going to be easy for him. She can sink into it, let it wash over her, but he can't.
"You're not alone," she reminds him. "Skye's here, Maria, Natasha, Steve-"
"I know." He rubs her belly and she guides his hand over to where she felt the baby's foot. "We've a good back up team in place."
"Probably the best," she says. She smiles slowly and wonders how the news would report on the Avengers delivering a baby in a snowstorm? It's hardly the Battle of New York.
Jemma nods to them quickly and leaves, maybe she's giving downstairs an update. Natasha appears in the door as she leaves and slips in. She's quiet, because she rarely needs to speak to read a room. Bruce draws Phil's attention and Natasha's hands replace Phil's to steady her hips.
"Your mother may have implied that you deserve a few days of this," Natasha whispers when Phil's out of hearing.
"She probably thinks I do." Melinda watches Phil and Bruce speak, and Phil's still smiling, so it can't be too bad. "Fifty-three hours," she repeats in the tone she's heard her mother use a hundred times.
"Fitz wants to stay awake all night," Natasha explains. "He doesn't want to forget."
Melinda's eyes sting. How strange it will be for him to wake up and be told about a baby whose existence he's forgotten overnight.
"Clint and Trip are keeping an eye on him, so's your mother."
"She's kind to him." Her muscles start to tense again and Melinda drops her head to Natasha's shoulder. Fitz misses his own mother terribly, and her mother's responded to that void because Fitz's mother can't be here with them.
"Slowly," Natasha orders. "Don't hold your breath."
Melinda's never been impatient and the tightness in her belly is one of her lesser concerns. Enough ICErs for a small army sit in her mother's study, along with more lethal weapons. The Bus waits outside in the snow, and Natasha could have them airborne and on their way in minutes. Everything has a contingency plan. They can run or fight if they need to, and that's the life she's giving this baby.
Once the baby breathes on her own, how many of those breaths will be taken in danger? How many times will someone else have to pick her up from school because her parents are being shot at? Will she lose them? Will Phil become a face in a photograph like her own father? Will he have to explain who she was to a child who doesn't remember her mother?
As if it feeds off her worries, the contraction tightens down like bands of iron around her belly. Natasha's strong and steady but it's hard to follow her breath. It seems too slow. She gasps in, gulping air, but Natasha helps her ground herself and so she can exhale slowly. Natasha's lived with pain, as she has. She knows what the fight's like.
"You're all right," Natasha promises her. "Keep breathing. You're all right."
Melinda doesn't worry about herself, but Natasha's repeated words are comforting. She can't be afraid, not even for the baby.
Bruce follows Phil over, fidgeting with his hands. "When Jemma gets back, we'd like to check you again."
Phil reaches for her shoulder and she grabs his arm. So that's what they were talking about. She doubts anything's changed, surely it hasn't been that long?
"It's nearly midnight," Natasha clarifies. She still has her watch. Phil must have set his aside with his suit.
When did she last think about the time? She can't remember looking at a clock. One of them must be paying attention. Jemma surely has to have everything written down.
Natasha and Phil guide her back towards the bed. It looks different. Did they remake it? Jemma and Bruce have been moving around, making things ready. Melinda didn't realise how much stuff they needed or how many things they need to plan for.
"You don't have to sit until Jemma gets back," Phil assures her. "She's telling your mom how you're doing."
"What's she doing?"
Natasha grins. "Cooking. I think, maybe baking. She's been in the kitchen."
"It's how she deals with stress," Phil remembers. "I hope everyone's hungry tomorrow."
"We will be," Natasha says. "We don't get cooked for much. Thor cooks, when he's around, and Clint will, but Tony usually just gets his kitchens to make us whatever we want, and it's good, but it's not the same."
When Jemma returns, Melinda almost expects her mother to be with her, but she must still be downstairs. She'll stay with Fitz and worry about the weather. She'll probably dig out her old cookbooks and make things Melinda hasn't eaten since she was a child. She has run a lot of errands lately, and the pantry's full. Maybe that was her way of preparing.
The rush of pain creeps over her before she braces for it and she sways a little. Phil and Natasha are completely steady, and Phil breathes with her. She remembers teaching him the technique, a long time ago. He holds her arms and Natasha's small hands settle on the base of her spine, pressing back against the pain there. It's all around, as if her stomach's pulling into her back and the baby and the water around him sit in the middle.
Listening to Phil's breathing next to her ear is surprisingly effective at balancing her own. She mimics him, letting him lead.
Jemma returns as the contraction ends. She waits for Melinda to lift her head from Phil's chest and wipes sweat off her face. Her hands are so gentle.
"Skye says you left her in a bad place, Agent Romanoff."
"She could have saved it," Natasha says. Melinda has no idea what she's talking about, but it's nice to have the conversation momentarily not revolve around her. "Clint will trade anything."
"Maybe with you," Phil jokes. Even though her back's on fire and Jemma's going to feel around for her cervix, which is stranger than it's invasive because everything's so wet. It is funny how Jemma can be so shy, and then so sure of herself when it's something she's studied.
They have her sit on the edge of the bed again and part her legs. Phil looks away from Jemma's gloved hand.
Natasha makes a face. "Doctors are so pushy once they get the gloves on."
"I asked very politely," Jemma retorts, almost upset.
Melinda touches her shoulder to calm her, and ends up calming herself. Jemma's solid and cool because her shirt's still dry. Phil's is damp with their mixed sweat, more hers than his.
Jemma's fingers reach up and in, and Melinda lets her breath slow.
"If you tell Phil what to look for, I'm sure he'd do it for you," Natasha teases. Phil nudges her and poor Jemma flushes bright pink.
"I'm very sorry that I haven't done this before. Dr. Banner has, but he thought May might be more comfortable with me." Jemma takes off her glove and tosses it into the trash. "My hands are smaller."
Natasha giggles, because she's always been able to find the inappropriate funny. Phil nudges her again and that only makes her smirk more. "If she's ever seen his Hulk hands, it's really funny."
Jemma flushes even more and Melinda touches her cheek. "It's all right, Jemma. You're doing a great job. Ignore them."
Phil looks wounded because he's innocent, but Jemma relaxes. "I think you're at five centimetres now, which is good."
Looking at Natasha and her impossible smile, Melinda sighs. "Ten would be better."
"Don't wish too fast. Agent Baby's on his own schedule."
"Agent Baby?" Phil asks, raising his eyebrows.
"Future Director?" Natasha teases, trying to get his eyebrows up higher. "I've been waiting for a suitable protege."
For a moment, Melinda can almost picture their child, learning defence from Natasha. Laughing at her terrible jokes and sneaking around to knock her to the mat, because she'd let the kid win sometimes. She can't picture anything more 'normal' and guilt rises in her throat. Maybe she's supposed to imagine a bicycle and a dog, or hands covered in fingerpaint.
Steve can't wait to draw the baby. He hasn't had a chance to draw a newborn since his old life, so many decades ago, and he loves the way their skin folds and wrinkles.
Natasha is a killer from the Red Room. Steve fought in the darkest parts of World War II. Skye's a hacker with no family and a long list of juvenile offences. Jemma and Fitz are nearly suitable role models, even though they spent more time with their books and their lab than either of them have with friends or family. Phil's killed and made terrible choices to defend the world. Her own past is perhaps the darkest of all. The hands she rests on Phil's shoulders have taken so many lives.
Agent Baby, Baby C, Future Director: whomever this child ends up being, she'll have to see darkness. She learn darkness from her family and hopefully learn to turn from it. It's a tremendous responsibility to impart on a child. Here, among killers and liars, she'll have to learn compassion and truth.
The next contraction assaults her while Natasha and Phil argue about the career prospects of a baby who hasn't yet drawn breath. Jemma lays a hand across her belly, feeling the muscles tighten beneath her skin. She meets Melinda's eyes, seeking permission and forgiveness, and it's easy to offer both. Melinda's never been that fond of doctors; they're calculating and overprotective. Jemma studies her contraction with the same wonder she holds for the rest of the world. Which is almost enough to make it hurt a little less.
Phil slows his breathing again, but Natasha must have said something funny because he's on the edge of laughter. She wants to tell him that it's fine. That he can laugh while she holds his shoulders through the sweaty fabric of his shirt. She needs him, and his smile is a very valuable part of him.
"Do they still hurt your back?" Jemma asks, waiting patiently for Melinda to have enough breath to answer.
"Not as much. It's further forward."
"Forward and down, or just forward?"
Melinda meets Phil's eyes and wishes she could tell him what it feels like without words, so he could speak for her. He's held her through so much time that she's been in pain. Explaining broken ribs and gunshots when she ran out of breath.
"Just forward," Melinda pauses and swallows. Her mouth tastes metallic and sour. She must have made a face because Natasha has something for her to drink. She can't place the smell. "Not down, yet, I think."
"You might want to sleep, if you can." Bruce suggests from behind Jemma. "You have a long way to go yet and it'll be harder if you haven't slept."
Melinda has no idea how she's supposed to sleep through her belly contracting like some kind of feral python. Sitting down just turns the burning ache in her lower back into a stabbing one. She can't imagine lying down's much better.
"No," she says. She shakes her head a moment later. "I can't."
"Okay." He's playing with something in his hands, something soft and pale green. Melinda can't figure out what it is. "How's walking?"
She draws her eyes away from his hands. "Better."
"Then walk. You have the upstairs hallways, and some of the rooms." Bruce turns his gaze to Phil and Natasha. "They'll stay with you."
"Maybe they should sleep." Especially Phil. She'll need him more later, when it slips further from her control.
He rubs sweat from her forehead. His eyes are too bright and he can't look away from her, even though it already hurts him to watch. "I can't, Melinda. Not right now."
She nods, but she's careful to make sure Natasha supports more of her weight as they walk. Their hands are always with her, steady and strong. Sweat rolls down her skin, beading and soaking into her nightgown. Even her legs are wet with it. She watches the tiny drops of sweat fall to the wood floor beneath her bare feet in the hall. She's forgotten something wet. Something else should have pooled around her feet.
"Phil?"
"I'm here."
"Why hasn't my water broken?"
His hand rubs across the back of her neck, beneath the ponytail holding her hair up from her skin. "I don't know. Jemma's not worried."
He steadies her between Natasha and the wall, then touches her face again. "I'll find out."
Having the wall up against her back is surprisingly comfortable, and Natasha doesn't even seem tired. "I'm sure it's one of those things that breaks when it's ready."
That sounds right, but it's hard to remember what the literature Jemma gave her said. It was very thorough, and Jemma added a lot of her own notes, which made it even more to read. She tried to get through it all a few times, but Phil's read more of it than she has.
Phil returns with Jemma, and her lips are tight with concern. Jemma's ready to explain, but another contraction takes Melinda's attention. She shuts her eyes this time, not wanting to watch the sympathy pass over Phil's face. He's there. She can smell him over her own sweat and she can hear him breathing along with her. She needs that more than the sight of him.
Jemma's expression is even more concerned when Melinda opens her eyes again. Between her and Phil, she's glad for Natasha, who has no trouble continuing to smile.
"I think the baby's blocking your water from breaking. The membranes are pretty strong, and if there isn't enough pressure, they won't break until later. My research says contractions hurt less before your water breaks, and it shouldn't slow down labour at all, so I wouldn't worry about it."
"The floor?" Melinda asks.
That makes Phil roll his eyes at her, and Natasha smirks and nods.
"We'll clean it up. I doubt it'll stain."
Her mother's very proud of the hardwood floors in this house. Maria knows that. She understands. Is Maria still awake? Her mother must be, because she won't sleep at all.
"Downstairs?" Melinda asks, missing some of the words she wanted.
Phil shrugs. "It's been awhile since I was down there."
"I'll stay," Jemma offers. "Why don't you get some coffee?"
"Especially if you're not going to sleep," Natasha adds. "We've got her."
Phil kisses her and his lips seem cooler than her skin.
She pats his shoulder. "I'm not going anywhere."
"You'd better not." His eyes darken. She's not the one who leaves; he knows it.
He kisses her again and she leans into him. Downstairs seems so far away, almost like another world.
"I'll be back," he promises. "I'll be right back." Phil turns quickly, almost as if he doesn't trust himself to leave her.
Jemma slips under her arm, taking Phil's place. "You're doing really well. You shouldn't worry about your water not breaking. It'll happen, or it'll break at the end. The baby will be fine no matter when it happens. We're all looking out for you."
She should say something.
Natasha nods to her, making it okay for her to be quiet. "We've got him too."