Part III

To their credit, despite their initial unease of varying degree, the others did stay in the lounge, and did their best to help Skye through the contractions, even if only by talking about trivial things, trying to take her mind off the pain, something for which Grant was very grateful.

After consuming the big plate of spaghetti Bolognese Fitz'd prepared for her, Skye's labor seemed to pick up – although Grant didn't keep up with the readings of the sensor, he did pay great attention to Skye. The contractions seemed to come more frequently, and lasted longer, causing more and more lulls in the conversation, which somehow moved to teasing topics, to keep the mood as light as possible.

Even Skye's reaction to the contractions changed slightly over time – even though she had gotten through the first one after coming to the lounge simply by closing her eyes and breathing evenly, soon, it didn't seem to be enough. She started fidgeting, searching for a more comfortable position when she felt the next contraction coming – sitting sideways, pulling her legs under herself, leaning heavily against his side, sometimes rubbing her stomach, then switching to pressing down at her lower back. Grant caught up to that pretty soon, and started massaging the small of her back as soon as he could see the next contraction coming, which earned him a grateful smile.

When she started whimpering through contractions at around one in the morning, he almost made her go to the delivery room on an impulse, but then the contraction passed, and she was smiling again, teasing Hunter about who knows what. She was absolutely remarkable, and he was completely awed by her.

It was nearing half past one in the morning when Jemma's phone finally rang – she didn't even excuse herself and leave the room, but just simply picked it up where she sat in an armchair opposite of Skye, tablet balanced on her knee, constantly – and somewhat compulsively – checking the readings of Skye's sensors. It was Dr. Hartland – the baby of her other patient finally safely delivered, she was ready to be picked up and brought to the base, for the second delivery of the night (well, the first one of the morning, more likely), which made Grant sigh in relief – with Skye's labor progressing the pace it seemed to be progressing, he was actually starting to worry that the doctor wouldn't get there in time.

Trip didn't even have to be asked – he stood up right away, ready for the journey.

"I hope Mack had the new SUV ready," he commented, snatching his jacket from the back of one of the chairs around the conference table, then he nodded at Lance. "Up – you're coming with me."

Lance let out a half-heartedly indignant sound at that.

"What? What did I …?"

"You're my back up," Trip interrupted, grinning. "Now, hurry up."

Hunter looked at Bobbi, gaping, waiting for some kind of protection from her. Bobbi looked at him, considering, then her gaze turned to Trip.

"Take him," she told him simply.

Hunter looked scandalized.

"Don't you think I'll forget that," he said, making a little, yet over-exaggerated, "I see you"-gesture. Trip just grinned, shrugging on his jacket, then clapped Hunter on the shoulder with a little too much force – enough to make his knees buckle – on purpose.

"Let's go, British, we don't have the whole night," he told him, then stepped to Skye, who was standing behind the couch then, leaning over the back of it with Grant at her side, just coming down from a contraction. He waited until the pain subsided enough that she opened her eyes and her posture relaxed slightly, then pulled her into a hug. "Hang in there, baby girl," he told her, kissing her forehead. Skye gave him a tired, little smile.

"I'll do my best."

"Good. You know, I can't wait to meet your little acrobat." He squeezed her hand one last time. "I'll hurry with the doc," he promised.

"Just be careful," she told him, leaning on the back of the couch with one hand, the other on her belly.

"I always am," Trip grinned, then turned from her, clasped Grant's shoulder in passing, then left in the direction of the hangar, waving at the disgruntled Hunter to follow.

With them left, Skye stepped around the couch and carefully lowered herself on the cushions, enjoying her brief rest between contractions. Grant stayed standing, settling behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders, gently massaging her, helping her relax. With time, even his anxiety lessened – well, at least he managed to push it aside and focus at the task at hand – which, at the moment, was to make Skye as comfortable as possible.

One hand placed at the top of her belly, Skye looked around the room, and Grant followed her gaze – only the five of them remained, Jemma, once again, preoccupied by the readings, Fitz sitting still, watching Skye, and Bobbi, picking up the mess the guys had left. For a minute or two – until Skye's next contraction came – none of them said anything, just enjoyed the silence a bit.

When the wave of the contraction hit her, Skye squeezed her eyes shut and tilted her head back, trying to breathe evenly as she rubbed her lower stomach, until she let out a low, painful moan. This one lasted for fifty seconds – Grant had timed it.

When it was over, Skye placed her hand on top of his still on her shoulder, and looked up at him with tired eyes, but a faint smile on her lips.

"I think I wanna go now," she told him, eyes flickering towards the corridor and the makeshift delivery room.

Grant bent down, and kissed the top of her head.

"Then let's go."

"Five centimeters?" Skye said, her voice rising a bit as she lay back against the pillows with a huff. "I can't believe it… Nearly eight hours and only five centimeters…" she mumbled, hiding her face in her palms.

"Well, first labors do tend to run long," Jemma observed matter-of-factly, pulling off her latex gloves. Grant shot her a look; he knew she just wanted to help, but the thing is, she was so not helping with this. Thankfully, she got the message right away. "But look at the bright side!" she tried to sound cheery, but it sounded terribly forced; Grant could barely keep himself from letting out an irritated groan. "You're already halfway. And things do tend to quicken up in this stage."

Skye nodded weakly, face still obscured by her hands. Grant gently took one of them, pulled it away from her face and pressed a kiss against her palm. Skye lowered her hand and glanced up at him, a grateful smile on her face – then the next moment she shut her eyes in a painful grimace and squeezed his hand as another contraction hit her. He did what he could for her – held her hand, and murmured soothingly into her ear, reminding her to breathe, until the contraction passed.

She still refused to take any pain relief – as soon as they had moved to the delivery room, Jemma offered to give her and epidural, but Skye had simply shaken her head. She wanted to be in control, she had said confidently, but through her teeth as another contraction was building up. Grant hated to see her in such pain, but still, he didn't want to fight with her over this – it was her decision, and he honored it, and did everything in his power to help her through the pain.

Once again between contractions, she opened her eyes and sat up, trying to breathe deeply, evenly, while rubbing her belly.

"I really hope you'll be right, Jemma," she said, to which Jemma simply nodded, nervous little smile in the corner of her mouth. She then reached for the tablet, checked something once again, then locked the screen. Hugging it to her chest, she glanced quickly around the room, and then looked back at the couple.

"I'll leave you two alone now," she said, turning slightly towards the door. "If you need anything – anything – just call, okay?"

Skye merely nodded, trying to get off the bed.

"Thanks, Jemma," Grant replied, arms going around Skye's waits, helping her off.

Jemma gave them one last smile, and then she was gone.

The two of them left alone, Skye awkwardly waddled to the middle of the room – with Grant close behind her –, where they had put out a couple of blankets and pillows and such, and lowered herself on the birthing ball, rocking back and forth gently. Grant settled down on the floor behind her on his knees, putting his hands on the small of her back, gently massaging the tense muscles with his thumbs.

"Is it really bad?" he asked softly.

She shook her head, exhaling.

"Not right now; between contractions it's just…" she shrugged slightly. "I can feel her pressing down. This helps a bit," she said, indicating her soft rocking. Grant nodded.

"Do you want me to do anything?"

"No. Just… stay, okay?" she asked. And he did.

She didn't talk much afterwards; by half past two in the morning her contractions were coming every five minutes, and lasted for a full minute, and she was having a harder and harder time coping with them. First she stayed on the ball, freezing first when the contraction came, then forcing herself to continue the rocking movement, hoping that it'd help. A little later she stood wanting to walk a bit – hoping that gravity would help her, too. When the next wave of pain hit her, she leaned against him, pushing her forehead against his shoulder as he caressed her back, doing everything he could to help her through it.

He had read enough pregnancy book to know that some women at this stage hated to be touched, or even became somewhat aggressive towards their partners; not Skye, though, for which he was grateful. She let him to be close to her, welcomed his touch, whether standing up with him hugging her, or down on the floor on all fours, with him next to her, hands on her waist. She never once tried to push him away; in fact, she needed him close, he could see it on her eyes whenever he moved a little away from her. It made him feel useful and helpless at the same time, as he still couldn't do anything about the pain.

Her waters finally broke just before three a.m., a good nine hours into labor.

They had just found the position that might have been working the best for her – him sitting on the edge of the bed, with her on his knees, facing him, her arms around his neck, forehead resting on his shoulder. They were just getting through another contraction, Skye whimpering and rocking gently, trying to elevate some of the pressure (she had declined to get an epidural once again when he'd suggested it about twenty minutes before), when suddenly, he could feel some kind of wetness dampening his pants.

"Oh, bloody hell," she muttered (Fitz might have been rubbing off on her), her head still resting on his shoulder. "I'm so sorry… so sorry…"

"Did you just…" he started, not being able to keep himself from asking, but then she interrupted him.

"Oh, no, I didn't," she shook her head, but still didn't meet his eyes. "I think my water just broke – honestly, I actually felt it – it was like…" she briefly swallowed, "like a rubber band has just snapped. And then it just gushed out… And I can still feel it coming out – this is so gross…" she moaned, and really, now even he could hear as the liquid dropped on the floor.

"Hey, it's okay, nothing's happened," he murmured to her soothingly, kissing her forehead, feeling that she was on the verge of crying. With everything she's been through in the last couple of hours, it wouldn't have been surprising. "It's just a pair of pants, okay? No harm done."

He eased her down from his lap gently and helped her to lie down in the bed.

"I'll just go and change, okay? I'll be back in a couple of minutes." Alright, he'd give it to her – the way the damp material clang to his legs was actually kind of gross. "And I'll tell Jemma to take a look at you, okay?"

Skye nodded weakly, still a little shaken up.

"Just hurry back, please?"

He nodded, and kissed her forehead once again, brushing her aside with his thumb.

"Of course." he would have hurried anyway; he didn't want to leave her alone.

He found Jemma in the longue, softly dozing on the couch, her forearm laid across her eyes, while Fitz sat in the armchair, reading a book – something more serious than Curious George by now – with half lidded eyes, but he looked up when he heard Grant approach.

"What's that on your, um…?" he asked, meekly gesturing towards the dark patch on Grant's grey sweatpants.

Grant just sighed and raised a hand, signaling Fitz to wait, then without any further comment, he leaned down and gently touched Jemma's arm to wake her up; Jemma, startled, all but jumped off the couch.

"What…? Is everything…?" she asked, somewhat disoriented, pushing her messy hair out of her eyes.

"Yeah, I think so, but," he gestured towards his pants somewhat apologetically, "it seems like Skye's waters have broken. Could you please take a look at her while I go and change?"

Jemma nodded, her wits quickly returning.

"Of course, of course," she said stood up, marching towards the delivery room, leaving the two men behind.

"Can I help somehow?" Fitz asked as soon as Jemma was gone, and then nodded. Grant eyed him slightly disapprovingly.

"Not really, but maybe you could go to sleep?" he suggested. "You look half dead on your feet."

Fitz shook his head, which was interrupted by a great yawn.

"Can't do. Too excited," he answered, making Grant smile.

"You're a great friend, Leopold Fitz."

"Yeah, I try," Fitz shrugged with a hint of a smile on his lips.

Rushing back to their shared bunk, Grant quickly changed (he threw the soiled pants to the trash right away – he wasn't going to find out whether amniotic fluid came out of cotton), then was already on his way back to the delivery room through the dim hallways lighted only by the emergency lights.

When he got back, Jemma'd just finished her examination.

"Her waters really did break – she is still dripping, actually, but that's normal–"

"And gross," Skye interrupted from the bed, well enough between contractions for a little sarcasm. Jemma gave her a wry smile, then continued.

"And she's at six centimeters – dilated a whole centimeter in one hour," she announced proudly. "And the baby's beautifully in position and her heartbeat is strong and steady – there shouldn't be any problems with getting her out," she added, reaching for Skye's hand. "Oh, and I just talked with Dr. Hartland right before you woke me, Grant," she continued, addressing her words mostly to Grant, as Skye was resting on the bed, eyes closed between contractions. "The guys had arrived, and they were just about to head back. With the traffic as it is this early, Trip said they should be in about an hour and a half."

Grant quickly glanced at the clock on the wall – it was just after three in the morning, so that meant that the doctor would be there, if everything went well, before five a.m., which sounded reasonably well. Provided that Skye continued to dilate at her current pace, the doctor was to arrive well before she was completely dilated and ready to push – although, he had to admit, that it had a lot of ifs.

As if she was reading his mind, Jemma placed her hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, don't worry!" she told him, managing to sound convincing. "If, by some misfortune, Dr. Hartland doesn't get here in time – which I sincerely doubt –, I'm confident I can deliver this baby," she said, stepping from him and going to Skye, placing her hand on Skye's knee. "Everything looks great and completely complication free, so neither of you worry, okay?"

Skye merely nodded, her features contorting into a painful grimace as the next contraction hit, while Grant, rushing to her side, answered Jemma.

"We'll try, thanks," he said curtly, then focused his attention on Skye, helping her sit up and lean against him, trying to help her through the contraction. He vaguely heard Jemma say that she way going back to the lounge now, maybe to try and get some rest, and when he looked up, she was already gone.