A/N: This is the second to last chapter of this story, but I can't promise that you'll get the last one tomorrow. It's still only half-written, and I don't know if I can finish it until tomorrow. Also, November 12th will be the first anniversary of the publishing of my first AOS fic – ever since then I've written and published over 187K words of AOS fics, and I fully intend to bring this number to 200K for the anniversary :P

Part V

It was already past half past five in the morning when finally there was an unfamiliar knock on the door, soon followed by Dr. Hartland entering the room with Jemma on her heels; Grant couldn't stop the faint, relieved smile from appearing on his face.

"Good morning," she greeted them in an almost cheerful voice, although Grant could see the deep lines of exhaustion on her face; the night had been long for her too. But it was also the moment when it finally occurred to him that it was morning – the sun must have been close to rising outside the base, the bottom of the horizon slowly fading into green first, then pink. In an hour or two, the morning light would reach everything outside; it seemed fitting somehow – that his daughter should be born in the start of a new day.

His thoughts elsewhere, it took him a moment to return the greeting, but Hartland only gave him an amused look – he had a feeling she had been accustomed to this kind of behavior.

"How are you faring?" she continued without missing a beat, stepping to Skye and placing her hand on her blanket-covered knee. "Dr. Simmons here tells me you have been refusing pain relief." There was no disapproval in her voice, it was just a simple statement of facts.

"Holding up," Skye answered, eyes fluttering closed. "Eager to be done with it."

Hartland lightly chuckled at that.

"I can imagine," she said, then with an amused glint in her dark eyes, she turned to Grant. "And what about you?" she asked with an eyebrow raised high in challenge, making Grant want to sit up straight and chuckle and the same time, as he knew exactly what she was referring to.

During Skye's pregnancy they had only visited the doctor a handful of times, preferring to do all exams they could at the base and consulting her via telephone or video conferences, but still, there were times when they simply had to go and see Hartland in person. One of these visits about two months ago had ended with Hartland asking about their birth plans – Skye, of course, had declared right away that he'd be there with her all along, before getting to any other details. Back then Hartland had simply nodded, revising Skye's plan with her, adding bits and pieces here and there. But when they had finished and Skye had been told that she could dress up, Hartland had asked Grant to stay back a bit.

"Look," the doctor told him, looking straight in his eyes, "in general, I have no problem with the father being there for the birth," she continued, getting straight to the topic, without beating around the bush. "However, I have a couple of rules. Not many, but I'm adamant about them."

Grant nodded briefly.

"Understandable," he said, looking intently at her, just like as if he was at some kind of mission debrief (in a way, he was). "For example?"

"You can stay as long as your presence helps. As soon as I see that you are bothering the mother – you are out of the room" she stated simply, without blinking. "You are aggravating her – you are out. You are making a scene – you are out. You make her focus on you and worry about you – you are out. Also," she added with a glint in her eyes, "If you pass out, I won't mop you up."

Now, Grant really chuckled a bit at hearing that.

"Look, I'm a S.H.I.E.L.D. specialist. I guess I have–" Hartland raised a hand, efficiently silencing him (really, that woman could have made an excellent operative, he thought; she had the ability to keep people in line).

"I'm sure you are a skilled, capable agent," she said. "But believe me when I say that I just had an army veteran last week, somebody who has done two tours in Afghanistan, faint – collapse like a sack of flour – at the first sight of blood. So excuse me if I like to make things clear."

Well, there was a reason he liked this woman.

Returning to the present, Grant smiled reassuringly at the doctor.

"Great," he told her. "A bit nervous, but doing everything I can to help."

"I second that," Skye added promptly before squeezing her eyes shut as another concentration hit her, a low, growling sound breaking free from her throat. Hartland, just like Jemma had done in the beginning, turned her attention to the tablet in her hand right away, while Grant did what he could to help Skye through the contraction.

When the pain finally subsided, Hartland couldn't stop herself from turning briefly towards Jemma, and giving her an approving little smile.

"It's amazing what an imaging systems you have here, Dr. Simmons," she told Jemma, slightly awed, before turning her attention back to Skye. "Now, let's see where are we at right now, shall we?"

Grant tried stay out of the way while staying by Skye's side during Dr. Hartland's examination – she checked Skye and the baby's heartbeat, felt Skye's belly to see the baby's position, and checked how dilated she was. When she was done, she consulted the tablet first, taking another look at the last couple of hours' readings, before turning to them.

"Everything looks great, and you are at eight centimeters," she told them. "Which is good," she emphasized, "because it means that you are getting closer to the finish line. But it also means that you should go into transition soon – which won't be a stroll in the park. I assume you still don't want pain relief? Think it through – it's maybe your last chance to get an epidural, if you want."

A part of Grant wanted to stay yes, but Skye simply shook her head.

"No, I'm good. I can handle this," she said determined, stubborn.

"Alright," Hartland said, nodding. "Then I'll leave you alone now – give you space, but I'll be just down the hall, and I'll look back often, alright? Call me of you need anything, or if you are experiencing something you perceive as strange. Also, do you want anybody else to stay with you, to give you support?"

Skye, once again, shook her head.

"Now, I'm good. I really am."

"Okay," Hartland consented to this, before turning towards Grant. "And I assume you know what to do?" she asked with a slight challenge in her voice, to which Grant nodded. Yes, he knew what to expect, more or less. He had read the books, and was well aware that the hardest, most challenging part was coming.

And he was almost completely sure he could handle it.

"Then okay," Hartland nodded, turning towards the door. "Dr. Simmons, maybe meanwhile you could show me around? Only the parts of the base that are not classified, of course," she added with a small smile. "And I wouldn't turn down a cup of coffee, either."

"Of course," Jemma nodded, gaze moving from Hartland to Skye, then back to Hartland. Then she blinked and slightly shook her head, as if trying to get her mind straight. "Of course," she repeated, "this way, please," she gestured towards the door – the very one Hartland entered only minutes ago –, letting the doctor go ahead. Jemma followed her right away, but before closing the door, she stepped back momentarily, grinned at them, and held up a thumb towards them. "Good luck!" she mouthed, and then she left.

In spite of himself, Grant let out a little chuckle; mostly because of nervousness, but partly also because Jemma had just proved once again that she and Fitz were exactly on the same wavelength.

"It looks like it's just you and me once again, Robot," Skye said then, grunting softly as she pushed herself up into sitting position, one hand on her bump, the other behind her. He moved right away, helping her to slide to the edge of the bed.

"Seems like it, Rookie," he answered, smiling. "For the last time," he added, caressing the hard curve of her belly; she placed her hand over his and raised her head to look into his eyes, beaming.

"Yep; are you ready, daddy?"

Things really started picking up a couple of minutes later – since, as predicted, Skye went into transition –, and he experienced firsthand (well… secondhand) that the books weren't lying: it really seemed like the worst part yet.

They have reached a stage when the contractions were seemingly lasting longer than the breaks between them, and their intensity reached the peak. Skye, who had until then gritted her teeth and pushed through every single contraction almost stoically, only to smile and crack a joke in the lull between them, now, her body pushed to its limits, she was starting to break.

By the third or fourth contraction in transition she was shivering, but rejected the blanket he tried to lay on her shoulders. She just couldn't find a comfortable position, so she kept moving around, leaning on things when another wave of pain hit, but refused to lie back down when he tried to lead her back to the bed. One moment she was shaking his hands off of herself, hissing at him not to touch her; the next moment she was desperately seeking his touch. Even between contractions, she remained silent, choosing to retreat into her own world. And when the pain was the most intense – a contraction lasting over a minute by then – she would grunt loudly, sometimes even cry out, trying to take the pain under control with vocalization.

And still, she met her breaking point.

It was already past six in the morning – the base was going to start waking up soon, at least the people who went to bed at all –, and Skye had been in labor for twelve hours; in transition for about half an hour. She was getting tired, and amidst the overwhelming pain and with the strange ways her body was behaving, she was starting to really feel it.

It was a grueling contraction, one that had her burrow her head into his shoulder and had her knees buckle, forcing him the keep her upright while he kept caressing her back and murmuring encouraging words into her ear. And halfway through it, her shoulders began to shake, and he could feel her tears dampening the material of his shirt.

"I can't…" she panted weakly once the contraction passed, pressing her forehead against his collarbone. "I can't do this… I can't."

He slid his fingers into her hair – her braid had mostly come undone by then –, kissed the top of her head, then tilted his head back a little and closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath.

"Of course you can," he told her with total conviction, running his hands down her arms, then gently leading her towards the bed again. This time she went with him. "You are the strongest person I know."

He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled her into his lap, her legs on either side of his, exactly in the position they had been when her waters had broken; she had seemed to find this position comfortable back then, and he couldn't care less if another pair of his pants ended up in the trash.

"I'm tired, so tired, and it hurts so much," she went on, her voice breaking.

Not knowing how else he could comfort her, he kissed her forehead once again.

"You are almost there," he told her in his most reassuring voice. "Remember what the doctor said? You are almost there; you just have to hold on a little while longer," he kept talking, caressing her back and putting pressure on her lower back, trying to lessen the tension there this way.

Talking – and touching – seemed to help, even if only a little bit; Skye seemed a little less agitated, a little less lost, so he kept up. He vaguely remembered something about visualization – about imagining holding your baby in your arms – as a way of pain relief, so when the next contraction passed, he started talking to her about that.

"Just a little while longer, and she'll be here, okay?" he told her, brushing her sweaty hair behind her ear. "And she'll be perfect – a tiny, little princess. With your big, doe eyes and mischievous smile, and hands so small she'll barely be able to grasp your finger… Can you see it, Love?"

She didn't react in any way – she didn't speak or even nod –, but maybe she held his neck a little stronger, and maybe she didn't shudder that much during the next wave of pain.

The clock ticked by. He kept talking, even if he was almost sure she didn't even hear him; she seemed to be absorbed in her own world, focusing on her body's clues to get through the contractions, but she didn't say again that she couldn't do it, either, and when he fell silent after some time, she looked up at him, and asked him to continue.

People came and went. Jemma came to check on them about fifty minutes after she had left; she told them, or more like him, in hushed tones, that Hartland was just checking the base's operating theatre to make sure that if anything should go wrong, it would be ready for them.

"Not that" Jemma added hastily, sneaking a somewhat scared glance at Skye "we are expecting anything to go wrong. You are doing beautifully," she said, brushing a hand along Skye's arm. Skye only reacted with a weak nod, then turned her head away and moaned, as the break between her contractions ended and the pain returned. Jemma just blinked, not exactly sure what to do, then offered to bring some cool water and washcloth for him to help him cool Skye with it.

May came in around six, looking rested and ready for battle – any kind of battle –, just to inform them that she had finally managed to reach Coulson and that he was on his way back – even thought it would be a couple of hours before he got back.

"Then he won't be back in time," Skye said quietly, her eyelids dropping; Grant could have sworn he had even seen a single tear on the rim of her eye.

May gave her a little, sympathetic smile.

"He won't, but don't worry, I plan to put him through hell for it," she promised, then reached out and took Skye's hand. "But until then – do you want me to stay?"

Skye shook her head.

"No, I'm okay – I have a great partner." Grant couldn't see it, his chin resting on the top of her head, but he was sure she was smiling softly. "And sorry, but I really don't want a crowd here. You go and… and keep the others in line, okay? Tell them that the first one to cry is on diaper duty for the first week."

Grant chuckled in spite of himself – it seemed like Skye was over her deep point, and was joking again.

May promised that she'd do that and then left, only to be replaced by Hartland barely a couple minutes later. She had Skye lay down once again so she could do a quick exam, after which she concluded that the baby was in position, but Skye still wasn't fully dilated yet – she was at nine centimeters, almost there, but not quite. Then she left them again, instructing Skye to call her as soon as she felt the urge to push.

After that, she didn't really have the willpower to get out of the bed again, so Grant just climbed in behind her, supporting her back and wiping her forehead and neck with the wet cloth Jemma had brought. This was how Jemma found them ten minutes later, asking anxiously if they needed anything. Then she left, too, only to be back another couple of minutes later, a worried look on her face; she consulted the tablet, and adjusted some things on the selves, then, excusing herself, she went out of the room to take care of something. But she was back in another ten minutes with another flimsy excuse, eager to help or at least do something, and too high strung to stop moving around.

Grant could relate.

By the time Jemma left for the third time, it was already well past seven in the morning, and Skye had been in transition for over an hour and an half – and even though she was holding up remarkable well, he could see what a tough ride she was going through (he couldn't help but think of all the agents, enemy or ally, he had met through the years, who lauded themselves as people who can withhold any kind of torture, only to break under a fraction of what Skye was experiencing now). She was shivering again and was barely able to keep down that little juice he managed to convince her to drink. But all the while he kept talking to her, kept trying to keep her spirits and strength up, promising her that she was almost there.

And finally, they reached that point.

It was seven forty-two in the morning – he just glanced at the clock on the wall –, when as the last contraction passed, Skye relaxed slightly in his arms, and let out a little sigh.

"I think…" she started, then swallowed, maybe not exactly sure of what she was about to say. "I think I need to push."