#also the umbilical arm is way cooler than I draw it.. that’s what I get for never using references

[redfirefox-55]

Pebbles has too many deep and relatable problems to be this goofy looking

Staring at you with his Big Ol eyes…

[builder051]

Flight, part 3

This is the last “real” episode in H and P’s pregnancy arc.  There will be a short epilogue coming tomorrow, and that’ll be a wrap on this 9-month storyline.  Just to reiterate, I will absolutely still write for Hildur and Pierce, and they will have 2 timelines for future prompts: pre-baby and post-baby.

This chapter is pretty long, and, as with all my arcs, it achieves my eventual goal of briefly placing all 5 characters in the same place at the same time.

A couple quick warnings:  We’re still having a baby, so mentions of associated anatomy/gore/medical procedures ahead.  Also mentions of Pierce having medical issues of his own, but the specifics don’t factor in, so the mentions are vague.

Find the previous installment here.

Find character info here. (You will have to scroll down.)

Catch up on the arc here.  (Scroll down to Bostonians, and see the fics under Multi-character arc.)

_____

“Ok.”  Pierce sniffles.  “I’m just…I’m really happy.”

“I’m happy too,” Hildur whispers.

Kris pops her head around the curtain.  “That’s what I wanna hear.  You ready to have a baby?”

“Yes,” Hildur says.  It’s soft, but there’s no hesitation.

“Yes,” Pierce echoes.  “We are.”

_____

“How do we feel about music?” Kris asks.  She holds up a Bluetooth speaker with one hand as she fixes a surgical cap over her tight curls with the other.

“Yes,” Pierce answers immediately.  “Please.”  The hushed voices and clatter of surgical instruments on the other side of the curtain send his happy anticipation back toward the realm of fear.

Hildur nods.  She looks to Pierce.  “I mean, if you want.  I’m alright, really.”

“Pain meds are wonderful things,” Kris says with a laugh.  “What do you like?  We pay the big bucks for premium streaming.  All the channels.  No commercials.”

Pierce barely understands the technical jargon, and he doubts Hildur does at all.  She still plays records on her turntable at home.

“Like…the radio?”  Hildur cocks her head.

“Jazz,” Pierce says definitively.  “She, um.  Likes jazz.”

“Can do.”  Kris disappears around the curtain, and after a moment the swell of a saxophone fills the room.  “It’s gonna be a party in here.”

Pierce chuckles nervously.

“Hey.”  Hildur leans into him.  “I feel…a lot better.”

“I’m glad,” Pierce says.

“It’s not completely gone, the…you know…”  She blinks and trails off without finding the words.

“Hm.”

“Well, you don’t, but…I’m ok.”  A crease appears between Hildur’s brows.  “I’m sorry.  I’m not…making sense.”

The way the drugs have loosened her up is nothing short of amazing.  Even her hair seems closer to gold.  Pierce is seized with the urge to draw her again, to capture her raw beauty and joy before they’re once again masked with anxiety.

“No, it makes sense.”  Pierce smiles.  “This is…really happening.”

“Yeah.”  Hildur beams.  Pierce can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen such a jubilant expression grace her face.

“Alright, Hildur,” Kris says from the other side of the curtain.  “Here we go.  Your numbers look much better.”  There’s a bit of mumbling between the nurse and the surgeon, then Kris continues.  “You tell me right away if something doesn’t feel right, ok?”

“Ok,” Hildur agrees.

The song tapers off with a long note, and there’s a beat of silence before the next one begins.  Pierce is positive he hears metal on metal.  He tries not to imagine a scalpel gripped in a gloved hand.

“Number one thing is to keep breathing,” Kris reminds them.  “No holding your breath, ok Hildur?  And you too, Pierce.”

“Oh.  Yeah.”  Pierce quickly exhales and forces himself to breathe in again.  He listens to the percussive beat in the music, letting it carry him along.  It works for a while, but then his heartbeat rises to a pace faster than the tempo, and he feels clammy sweat beading on the back of his neck.

“Ok, there we go,” Kris’s voice murmurs.  Then her tone imbues with excitement.  “I see him, Hildur.  He’s beautiful.”

Hildur gives a little gasp of happiness.  She squeezes Pierce’s arm.

“Here he comes.  I got him.  He’s beautiful.”

“Go hold him.”  Hildur lets go and all but pushes Pierce off the bed.  “I want to hold him.”

When Pierce stands up, he feels like he’s moving under water.  The curtain ripples slightly, and the motion carries to the drab beige walls and pools up on the floor.  “Ok, sweetheart.”  His voice is loud in his own ears, but Kris’s continued commentary fades to a faraway echo.  Pierce steps around the divider, blinking hard to clear his head.

“Here he is.”  Kris turns 90 degrees, and Pierce’s breath catches in his throat.  She holds the baby, supporting his tiny head and shoulders in her gloved hands.  He sees Hildur in the shape of the nose, maybe himself and his brother in the lips and chin.

He is beautiful.  But his skin is blotchy and wet.  The umbilical cord hangs along with something else loose and fleshy, dripping blood onto the crisp blue surgical sheet before they disappear inside Hildur.

It’s perfect and natural and gorgeous, but seeing it so close is strange.  The text and cartoonish drawings in the pamphlets he’d perused are nothing like the real thing.  Pierce’s stomach rolls just as the baby begins to wail.  Pierce wants to hear it.  He wants to hold his son and comfort him and welcome him into the world, but different instincts take over before he can stop them.  He rushes for the door.  His hands tremble so much he can barely get it open.

“Pierce?  You ok?” Kris calls after him as he trips out into the hallway.

Pierce can’t answer.  He can’t swallow.  He can’t breathe.

There’s a lounge at the end of the hall with a water cooler and coffee maker.  Pierce hopes there’s a trash can too, but he doesn’t get the chance to find out.  He only gets halfway when his stomach can’t take it anymore.  He braces against the wall and retches hard, but all that comes up is bitter saliva.  At first he’s grateful.  Then he realizes he hasn’t eaten at all today.  They left home before breakfast, and who knows what time it is now.  There he goes again, not taking care of himself.  Ruining things for their little family.

“Whoa, man, you ok?”  Somebody touches Pierce’s shoulder.

“Hm?  Ugh,” Pierce chokes.  He isn’t sure if he wants to swallow or spit out the acid coating his tongue, especially now that he has an audience.

“It’s alright, bud.  Trust me, you ain’t the first guy to get overwhelmed.”

Bile runs down Pierce’s chin.  He shakily wipes it on his sleeve.  “Um.  Thanks,” he mutters, straightening up.  The hand keeps a grip on him until Pierce is steady on his feet.

“Sure.  No problem.”

Pierce removes his glasses and scrubs at his streaming eyes, then puts them back on to take in the concerned face looking up at him.  The young man has a whispy moustache and dreadlocks pulled into a short ponytail.  There’s a young woman behind him, holding a cardboard tray of Starbucks cups.  Pierce doesn’t know her, but the man is familiar.

“You…work here, right?” Pierce asks, eyeing the man’s scrubs.

“Yeah,” he says.  “Well, not here here.  General ward.  Upstairs.”  The young man nods.  “I was your nurse, wasn’t I?”

“Yeah.”  Pierce remembers him now, but not his name.  “You let Hildur in to see me.  I…thank you, for that.”

“For sure.  It was the right thing to do.  You’re Pierce, right?” he asks.  “I think I’m good with names, but I wouldn’t be surprised if you were, like, Kevin or something.”

“No, Pierce is right.”  Pierce smiles.  “And you’re…?”

“Oh.  Khalil.”  He holds out his hand.  Pierce rubs his sweaty palm on his pants before shaking it.

“And this is my girl Jamie.”  Khalil puts his arm around the young woman’s shoulders and pulls her slightly forward.  “Well, our girl.  Hooking me and Krissy up with the good stuff today.”

“Hey.”  Jamie lifts her tray in greeting.  “How are ya?”

“Yeah, how are you doing, man?” Khalil asks.  “It’s good to see you on this side, instead of as a patient.  But you feeling alright?”  He narrows his eyes as if doing a visual health check.

“I, uh, yeah,” Pierce stutters, embarrassed.  “Just…the baby, and the…and the blood…”  He shakes his head, hoping to knock some sense into himself.  “I should be in there, with them.”

“Ay, congratulations!” Khalil grins.  “But like I said, it’s overwhelming.  You dizzy?  Or sick to your stomach?”

“I’m ok,” Pierce says.  “I just… she went into labor first thing this morning, and I just… I’m fine.”

“No, you’re all shaky.”  Jamie makes a sympathetic face.  “Here, you like frappuccinos?  If Kris is in a delivery, she’s never gonna sit down and drink it before it melts.”  She offers Pierce one of the drinks.

“No, thanks, I’m alright,” Pierce tries to say again, but Khalil cuts him off.

“You really look like you could use something to raise your blood sugar.  I may not have prescribing power, but I do have power of suggestion.”  He pushes a cup into Pierce’s hand and unwraps a straw for him.  “And right now, salted caramel mocha is good medicine.”

Pierce looks down at the swirl of whipped cream.  The nausea crashing against his ribs turns toward starving, and he takes a long sip.  Almost immediately his vision clears; his brain feels a little less like it’s vibrating inside his skull.  “I’m…  God. Thank you.  So much.”

“Yeah, of course.  It’s a big moment.  We’re really happy for you,” Jamie says.

Pierce takes another draught.  A door opens down the hall, and Khalil waves at someone over Pierce’s head.

“I wondered where we lost you,” Kris says, bumping Pierce’s elbow with hers.

He nearly chokes as he tries to swallow.  “I’m sorry I left, I, um, I couldn’t—”

“Don’t worry about it, baby.”  She looks to Khalil.  “Thanks for finding him.  And feeding him.”

“That’s your drink we sacrificed,” Khalil says with a joking smile.

“Hey, if you’re fueling up Mr. brand new daddy, I’m happy.”  Kris laughs.  “Thanks for coming to see me, guys.  But I gotta go back to work.”  She starts to walk backwards.  “Pierce, whenever you’re ready.  The nurse cleaned him up a little bit, and we’re finishing getting mama patched up now.  It’s gonna be a lot calmer from here on out.  You have a healthy, beautiful son.”

Pierce nods as he lets it sink in.  “I have a son.”  He follows Kris down the hall, suddenly in a rush to catch up to her. “Come on,” he says to Khalil and Jamie.  “Come see my son.”

“It’s ok, bud.  Go ahead,” Khalil says, staying put.

“No, please.  Come meet him.  You’ve really helped us, more than once now.”  Pierce pauses outside Hildur’s room.  “Come meet Hildur.  Meet our family.”

“I’m good with it if you’re good with it,” Kris says with a shrug.  She enters the room ahead of Pierce.  “Hildur, baby, you got some visitors.”

“I guess we’re visiting, then.”  Khalil holds the door for Jamie, but they both hang back while Pierce bounds up to Hildur’s bedside.

The curtain is tucked back into the wall, and clean blankets cover her legs and still-swollen belly.  Hildur’s hair is shiny and straw-colored, and she’s still smiling.  A bundle of sky blue rests in her arms.  Pierce can just see the small face between the folds.

“Pierce,” Hildur breathes when she sees him.  “Come see.”

He kisses the top of her head first, then turns his attention to the baby.  His cheeks are round and a bright, healthy pink. He stirs in Hildur’s arms and flutters his fine blonde lashes.  Pierce doesn’t want to look away, not even to blink.

“Oh my goodness.  He’s adorable,” Jamie whispers from across the room.

“He is,” Hildur agrees, still remarkably calm despite the presence of these strangers.

“Sweetheart, this is Khalil, my nurse from, you know, when I was here,” Pierce quickly explains.  “And his, uh, friend Jamie.”

“Kris is my sister, too,” Khalil adds.  “And he is adorable.  All of you guys are.”

“Thanks,” Pierce says softly, looking down again.

“What’s his name?” Jamie asks.

“We hadn’t decided for sure…”  Pierce meets Hildur’s eyes, hoping to cram apologies for everything left undone into a single glance.  “But, is…the one you like?  Is that what you want to do?”

“Mm-hm,” Hildur breathes.  “Yes.  Lars.  And for his middle name, Pearson.  Like the Icelandic tradition, but spelled like the American last name, not like your name.  So his teachers don’t mess it up.  And he’ll have the double-P in his initials to keep up your family tradition, too.  Kind of.”

“Lars Pearson Peabody,” Pierce murmurs.  “That’s perfect.  He’s perfect.”  He leans in to kiss Hildur again.  “You’re perfect.”

She tucks her chin, and a loose strand of hair falls into her eyes.  “I’m not,” Hildur says.  “But…  But this is.  All of this.”

“You’re absolutely right.”  Pierce returns to his place perched on the edge of the mattress.  “It is.”