Part II
Skye fell asleep quickly, resting peacefully, the shorter strands of her hair framing her smooth, serene face. Grant, on the other hand, just couldn't close his eyes. He kept tossing and turning, the sheets twisted around his legs, too worked up to rest.
He kept trying for a while, closing his eyes, doing breathing exercises to bring down his heartrate, recalling calming images, hell, he even tried counting sheep, but nothing seemed to work. After maybe an hour, ha gave up, and tried to simply watch Skye sleep, forcibly keeping himself from touching her, so not to disturb her, but he soon proved to be too highly strung to do even that. So around eleven pm – maybe two hours after they had gone to bed – he gave up all the pretenses of rest, and carefully got out of the bed.
He went to the bathroom first, splashing cold water to his face – he looked somewhat pale in the mirror, but that might have simply been the fluorescent lights –, then still feeling too anxious, he decided to leave the room, looking for some kind of distraction. He pulled the first T-shirt that he could grab from the dresser – he noted with a little smile that it was one of those atrocious shirts Skye had gotten him, with silly pictures on the front –, pulled it on, then as silently as he could, walked to the door.
It shouldn't have been that surprising – it wasn't that late yet, after all –, but it still startled him a little to find the lounge occupied. Most of their team was there, feigning calmness and nonchalance, but visibly nervous: Jemma was in the galley, washing the dishes - manually, not with the dishwasher, a surefire sign that she needed something simple to occupy her mind with -, Bobbi, Lance, Trip and Mack were sitting around the conference table, half-heartedly playing some card game and sipping beers that Grant suspected had long since gone lukewarm, while Fitz was sitting on the couch, a suspiciously colorful book in his hands, although it didn't seem like he turned the page in some time. May was nowhere to be seen – Grant guessed that she was either trying to get a hold of Coulson, or, being seemingly the only sensible person on the team, was resting now, so there would be at least one fully functioning person when everybody else was out because of the exhaustion.
Fitz was the one who spotted him first.
Perking up, eyes round like saucers, he hastily closed the book and turned towards Grant, already half-ready to jump up.
"Is everything alright?" he asked. "Is she–"
Grant raised a hand to stop the question as he sat down next to Fitz.
"She's asleep."
"And you?" This time the question came from Jemma, who moved to stand behind the couch in the meantime.
"I couldn't – too anxious," he admitted, running a hand through his hair.
Jemma smiled kindly and patted him on the shoulder – a gesture that would have made him cringe two years ago, but one that was more than welcome now.
"I'll make you some tea – it should help to calm your nerves. And then maybe you can sleep a bit, too," she said, already in full mother hen mode; Grant had discovered it a long time ago that whenever Jemma Simmons was nervous, or felt helpless, she liked to make herself busy in the kitchen - hence the dish washing and offering to make him tea –, and care for others.
He slowly shook his head.
"No, thanks." To be honest, he didn't even feel like sleeping. "But do we have some coffee?" he asked, standing up – if he was going to stay up all night, and possibly well into the next day, he might as well pack some fuel.
Her hand still on his shoulder, Jemma pushed him back to the couch.
"You just stay here," she told him. "I'll get it for you. Anybody else?"
There was a faint murmur of agreement, as Fitz and their friends sitting by the conference table – who had since stopped playing and were silently paying attention to Grant and Jemma's exchange – asked for some, too. It seemed like they were intent on waiting alongside with him, and it made Grant smile faintly.
Silence fell on the room while Jemma prepared the coffee. In the meantime, Grant had the chance to steal a glance at Fitz's book – it was a copy of Curious George; not that it surprised him – although their daughter was still yet to be born, the book (which was supposed to be a gift for her) was already dog-eared, and Grant was sure that if his baby could talk right after birth, she would recite the book from the first word to the last; hell, maybe he could do that, too, for all the times he'd listened Fitz reading from it to Skye's belly.
"So, have you managed to decide on the name yet?" Lance asked, raising from the table and sauntering towards him, beer still in hand. "You know – the time is ticking," he teased, probing his bare wrist with his finger. Grant let out a soft snort.
"Well, we have a short list," he admitted; it really was a short, short list, and they had their favorites – both of them. "It's just felt wrong to name her before she was born somehow," he shrugged.
"Afraid to mess it up even on day zero?" Bobbi asked with a sympathetic little smile, sitting down next to Lance. Slowly, everybody from the conference table migrated to the couches.
"Something like that," Grant answered with a not, a faint smile on his face.
"Don't worry," Bobbi continued, leaning forward a bit and placing her hand on his knee, "we won't let you do anything too stupid."
"And if everything else fails," Trip chimed in, moving towards the kitchen to help Jemma, "just remember: Antoinette is a beautiful name," he said, grinning, as he started to distribute the coffees.
"Yes," Fitz quipped in, scowling. "And the most famous wearer of the name was beheaded. If you ask me, it's a bad omen," he said, looking pointedly at Trip, and getting a good-natured sneer in answer. "But," he continued, "I've always liked the name Cordelia."
Lance raised his eyebrows, looking from one guy to the other.
"I really can't decide who hates that little gal more; you," he tipped the neck of his beer bottle towards Trip, "or you," he continued, this time pointing the bottle at Fitz. Then he turned towards Grant. "Honestly, mate, you two can come up with only better names than those two."
"Meanwhile," Jemma interrupted at the most opportune moment, forestalling the coming fight over the names, "I've called Dr. Hartland" she said, walking to the couches a tray with coffee and cups in her hands, Trip right behind her. "Sent over Skye's charts as well. She's in delivery right now, but she agrees with me on that the baby won't be delivered until morning the earliest, and that so far everything looks just fine. She said she'll call when she finishes with her current patient, and then we can send for her." She looked around the room. "Who can drive out for her?"
Dr. Hartland's practice was about two hours out from the base – two hours there, two hours back in the middle of the night didn't sound too appealing, but Trip, who had since taken seat on the couch, nodded right away, setting his coffee cup down on the table.
"I'll do it," he said, but then raised a warning finger. "But you'd better keep me posted while I'm away. And tell mommy not to dare to pop that baby while I'm en route with the doc!"
Grant gave him a little agreeing nod as he, alongside with everybody, let out a low chuckle at Trip's words. The soft laughter soon died out, leaving silence and thinly veiled nervous tension in the room.
"You know," Mack said at last, opting to finish his beer instead of having coffee, "I think it's better that you guys are having the baby here; when my cousin's first baby was born, they got stuck in the traffic on their way to the hospital. Man, it wasn't pretty…"
Trying to somehow ease their nerves and make the time go faster until something actually happened, they proceeded to fill the night with silly, baby-related anecdotes. Agents or not, everybody seemed to have a story: Bobbi once got a baby thrust into her arms in a middle of a mission, when she should have been following her target; Lance turned out to have an abundance of nieces and nephews; back in kindergarten, Fitz was once bested by his then baby cousin. Grant didn't have similar stories – and the ones he had he didn't want to share –, but he was more than happy to listen to them, because at least they helped to put his mind off of the actual happenings.
Then, not long after midnight, something did happen – Skye waddled into the room, looking somewhat tired, but otherwise no worse for wear.
As soon as he saw her, Grant was on his feet, ready to help her to the couch, but she just waved him away – but then she let him hold her elbow as she sat down; Grant settled back next to her, while Fitz edged closer on Skye's other side, until their thighs were almost touching.
"I couldn't sleep them through anymore," she explained before anybody could have asked anything. "I tried, but I was getting to the point when by the time I got comfortable again, the next one was coming," she said, leaning her head on Grant's shoulder.
Hearing this, Jemma promptly picked up the tablet left on the coffee table, turned it on, and pulled up the readings of Skye's sensors. She studied them for a minute – meanwhile Grant watched her with unblinking eyes –, then nodded let out an approving little sound.
"Yes, you are down to nine minutes; that's good – you were at seventeen nearly five hours ago." Skye let out a moan at that, burrowing her face in Grant's shirt; she must not have thought that it was such a good thing. "And your and the baby's vitals are great as well," she nodded to herself. "How are the contractions? They are getting more intense, right?"
Skye let out a wry little chuckle, raising her face from Grant's shoulder – he grabbed her hand in the meantime – and looking at Jemma.
"Intense sounds about right; they are definitely on the painful side by now," she said then turned to him, as if to ease his worries. "But they're not that bad, really, completely – oh…" she trailed off, placing her free hand on her lower belly.
Everybody – save Jemma, whose eyes were glued to the screen of the tablet – watched her intently, as she shut her eyes and breathed evenly in and out; the whole thing lasted maybe about half a minute, then her posture relaxed, and with one last, deep exhale, she reopened her eyes.
"Yeah, completely manageable," she finished her sentence, squeezing Grant's hand. She looked around the room, a funny expression appearing on her face; he followed her gaze, and saw it as well – most of their teammates present looked positively uneasy about witnessing her contraction, while Fitz seemed absolutely terrified (which didn't surprise Grant a bit – the engineer was maybe even more anxious about the pregnancy than him, and coddled Skye just as much, if not more. One would have thought that he was the father).
"It seems like you are definitely making progress," Jemma observed, putting down the tablet. "I guess you are entering the active phase about now."
Skye let out a little groan at that.
"That doesn't sound too promising," she muttered under her breath, but loud enough for everybody to hear. Grant let out a little chuckle in spite of himself.
Jemma looked at her sympathetically.
"If you want pain relief, we could…" she gestured vaguely towards the corridor, where they had installed the temporary delivery room in one of the unused bunks near the med bay. Skye merely shook her head.
"No, it's okay, really, I can manage it," she assured Jemma. "I just want to stay here a little longer, okay? Feels good to be around people."
Jemma gave her a little nod, consenting to it.
"Alright – do what feels right, of course," she said almost absent mindedly, then looked around the room, brain evidently in overdrive about what else they could and should do while she labored. "Food! Do you have an appetite?" she blurted out a moment later.
Fitz perked up right away.
"Yes! You should eat – you'll need your energy."
Skye blinked at them, a little dazed, then nodded, burrowing herself deeper into Grant's side. His arm went around her slight shoulder right away, hand caressing her upper arm.
"Yeah, I could eat," she admitted.
Fitz jumped up instantly, almost tripping over his own feet in his eagerness.
"We have spaghetti in the fridge – is that good?" he asked, more from Jemma than from Skye; Jemma thought about it for less than a moment before nodding.
"Yes, absolutely – carbs are good." Hearing this, Fitz nodded, and went to the kitchen right way. 'You'll need a lot of energy, especially for the second phase," Jemma continued, setting the tablet down, and placing her hand on Skye's shoulder. Then, looking around the room and seeing the puzzled looks on the guys' faces, she added in explanation, "that's the… erm… the pushing part."
Mack let out a strangled, little sound.
"Okay," he said, putting down his now presumably empty beer bottle, "I think it's time for me to go to sleep." He clapped his hands, stood up, and stepped to Skye; seemingly unsure of what to do exactly, he stood hesitating in front of her for a moment – meanwhile she looked up at him, blinking –, then bent down a little, reached for her shoulder, then changed his mind in the middle of the movement, and ended up patting her belly. "Good luck, Tremors. See you in the morning!" And with that, he walked out of the room.
Watching him go with a pensive look on his face, Lance slowly shook his head.
"It's always those who seem the strongest fall first," he said, earning a slap on the back of his head from Bobbi.