A/N: Turns out, this is not the last chapter yet – there'll be still an epilogue of sorts, which I originally planned to publish with this scene, but then a lovely anon asked on Tumblr whether there will be an update today, so I decided to cut up this chapter.

Part VI

To her credit, Dr. Hartman was in the room within three minutes, looking refreshed and alert, ready for battle and taking charge right away.

"Okay, Skye," she said from the end of the bed where she took seat on a stool, a tray with different instruments (that he didn't want to think about) on it ready at her side. "You are fully dilated, so we can get really started," she said energetically, as if the fact that she finally had something to do other than observe fueled her. "When the next contraction hits, I want you to push – push with all you have, and try to keep it up as long as you can. Then we'll rest until the next contraction, okay?"

Skye simply nodded, pushing herself a little higher; she was more-or-less sitting near to the edge of the bed, her legs opened wide, leaning against him as he sat behind her. Out of transition and finally nearing the finish line, she seemed to be riding a fresh wave of energy – she was holding herself more surely, and with a kind of determination that made him proud. Not that he hadn't been incredibly proud of her already.

And then the contraction hit, and she pushed – she closed her eyes and squeezed his hand (the one he wasn't using to wipe her brow with a cool washcloth) and pushed, a low groan tearing free from her throat. She kept it up for an impossibly long time – at least it seemed so to him –, then leaned back against him, taking deep, measured breaths and her muscles going lax.

"That was great," Dr. Hartman praised her gently, looking up at Skye from her position at the end of the bed. "I see you didn't forgo training during your pregnancy," she said with a little half smile.

(Yeah, he could attest to that – even if she had given up sparing and the more straining exercises as soon as they had found out that they were going to have a baby, Skye kept working out – even if it only meant some kind of special yoga developed for pregnant women – until the very end of her pregnancy.)

"Yeah," Skye nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "I wasn't going to let myself go – I have to get back to the field, you know."

Hartman let out a soft laugh at that, getting her meaning.

"Well, you did it well – it's going to help you now." She paused for a moment, then added, "Are you ready for the next one?"

Grant wasn't exactly sure what he was expecting – based mostly on how birth was usually depicted in movies and on TV –, but the real deal wasn't nearly that. Even with the excitement of "almost there" bubbling under the surface, it was almost… peaceful. There was no panicking or frantic shouting or loud cries. Apart from some low groans, Skye was mostly silent during contractions, clutching his hand and focusing at the task at hand; Dr. Hartland remained completely calm throughout the whole thing, coaching Skye through it with gently encouraging words; Jemma, who was also in the room to assist Dr. Hartman, stood silently aside, waiting for when she could help. And him? He did his best to support and encourage Skye, wiping her brow and holding her hand and massaging her shoulders, whichever she needed the most at the moment.

There was another thing in which the real deal seemed to differ from its fictionalized version: it seemed to last an eternity.

She had been pushing for a good fifteen minutes and – at least from his side of the bed – there seemed to be no progress. And although Dr. Hartland's spirits remained unbroken, and she kept gently encouraging Skye to help her go on, he could soon feel her starting to tire. She had been in labor for thirteen, almost fourteen hours by then, and even her second wind of energy – the one that hit her when she had started pushing – was slowly fading.

"She keeps slipping back," she said leaning against him after the sixth or seventh contraction, as if she was reading his thoughts, her lips trembling a little. "She just keeps slipping back."

"It's completely normal," Dr. Hartland assured her promptly. "Don't worry – you are making progress, your baby is slipping further and further forward with every contraction, it's just that your body has to adjust to her. You are getting there, just hang on, okay?"

Skye closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, but then nodded, her determination returning as she opened her eyes again.

"Okay," she said, giving his hand a squeeze. "I can do this."

"Now, that's something I like to hear," Hartland remarked, beaming at her. "Ready for the next one?"

Whether she was ready or not, the next contraction came, and so she pushed, gathering all the energy she had left – and as impossible as it seemed to him, this energy lasted into the next one, two, three contractions. Something urged her along – the feeling that she was almost done, the promise of their daughter safely in her arms –, and it was enough to give her all the energy she needed.

And her efforts were soon rewarded.

"I can see the head," Dr. Hartland announced, looking up at them briefly. "She's emerging; do you want to feel her?" she asked from Skye. "You can reach down."

Skye weakly nodded, then reached down between her legs with one hand; Grant craned his neck, trying to see what was going on down there, but he couldn't see anything from behind her.

"Wow," Skye said then, as she, no doubt, gingerly touched the top of the baby's head. "It's so strange…" she let out a teary little chuckle, obviously overwhelmed. "It's so… warm and tiny… is that hair?"

"Yes, she seems to have a good deal of hair," Dr. Hartland nodded, smiling, which again prompted Grant to try to look.

"Wait!" said Jemma suddenly, then turned around and went to the chest of drawers – where the record player was still playing the jazz record softly, for the fourth or fifth time –, only to return with a middle sized mirror a couple of seconds later, which she held in a way that both Skye and Grant could see the top of the baby's head.

Grant, suddenly feeling a little-light headed, promptly understood Hartland's skeptical look when he had insisted that he wouldn't faint like that vet did.

The whole thing, the reflection in the mirror, was strangely grotesque and infinitely exciting for his eyes. The baby was in fact emerging – her head bulging out, but only the top of it peeking out, a small circle covered in dark hair, wet from amniotic fluid, while droplets of blood showed here and there.

The thought of how humiliating it would be for him faint now flashed through his mind (in hindsight, maybe the most irrational thought considering the situation), then Jemma pulled away the mirror, and he shook his head, getting rid of the dizziness.

"Okay, now back to work," Hartland said, pulling everybody back to reality. "We are going to slow down now a little, okay, Skye?" the doctor asked her, to which Skye replied with a simple nod, taking a slow, deep breath. "When I tell you to stop, I want you to stop pushing, and give some little, panting breaths – we are going to slowly ease out the head, giving your body time to adjust. If we are doing it right, we might as well just get this baby out without a tear, alright?"

To this Hartland didn't even get a nod, because by the time she reached the end of the sentence the next contraction had already started, and Skye focused on that, concentrating with closed eyes so she'd push with enough force to get the baby further out, but not so much to hurt herself.

It seemed to be a tricky process, finding the balance, but with Dr. Hartland's help, Skye seemed to be managing it. The baby's head emerged slowly, almost millimeter by millimeter, while Hartland applied counter pressure to prevent tearing, and Jemma dutifully assisting in everything she could, from helping to hold Skye's legs to handing things to the doctor. It went on slowly, for three contractions, with Skye giving little, rapid pants between contractions, and when she wasn't pushing, obeying Hartland's orders. She didn't speak, didn't even give any sign that she was aware of anything other than the birth itself, but he could relate – he, too, was completely overwhelmed by the silent intensity of the moment.

"And we are crowning," Hartland announced then, pulling Grant out of his reverie. "I know you must be burning, but one more push, and the head is out, and then it'll be almost over, okay?"

This time Skye's eyes fluttered open, and she raised her head a bit to look at Grant over her shoulder. She squeezed his hand and nodded.

"Okay, let's do this," she said softly and a little hoarsely.

"That's my girl," he replied, brushing her hair away from her eyes, and kissing her forehead.

And then she was pushing again, this time crying out loud as if the volume she let out helped her.

"That's it, you are doing great," Hartland murmured, not looking at Skye, but reaching for a little bulb-like instrument on the tray. "The head is out," she said, this time a little louder, as she cleared the baby's nose and mouth.

Hearing this, Skye let out a long breath and leaned against him, curling a hand around his arm.

"Now, one last push, are you ready?" Hartland asked energetically, as if the closeness of the birth excited her as well. "The next contraction I'll help her shoulders out, and from then on, she should just easily slip out."

"I'm ready," Skye nodded, swallowing and pushing herself up a little – he helped her, supporting her back, leaning a bit closer himself.

There was a short lull there – a dramatic pause, if you will –, as they waited for the next contraction to start, and in the anticipation of the moment Grant could feel his heartrate quicken, his heart beating hard against his ribcage. That was it – a minute or even less, he'd be a father. Just a moment, and his baby girl will be out, taking her first breath and looking around for the first time in this world. He blinked hard, not letting the tears fall just yet.

Then he could feel Skye's body tense as her womb contracted again, pushing the baby out, and he could see Hartland gently moving her hands between Skye's legs, guiding the baby out, first turning her to one side, then as that shoulder came free, turning her to the other, and then…

And then she was out.

She was out, covered in vernix and splotches of blood, her eyes squeezed shut as she gave a harsh cry at being born into this cold place with its blinding lights.

Hartland held her up as soon as she was out, and Jemma moved right away, too, handing her a big towel to cover the baby with, and then she was quickly transferred to Skye's chest, wiggling and crying.

"Hey, hello, don't cry…" Skye cooed to the baby, her pain forgotten, and crying and laughing at the same time, gingerly touching the baby's little face and tiny hands, while rubbing her through the towel, trying to warm her up and clean her at the same time.

Grant couldn't even say the world – he just watched them, grinning like an idiot, trying to comprehend all the frantic emotions that were wreaking havoc inside of him. And then he reached out, too, running a careful finger along the top of the baby's hand, who, surrounded by familiar voices – Skye's voice and the sound of her heartbeat – was slowly calming down, her cries quietening, her eyes opening and blinking at this new, unfamiliar world.

And then her tiny fist closed around his finger, and suddenly everything was right in the world.