Fight Club (h.s.)

Part 30

"Look what you've done to me," I groan, tightening my hand on Harry's. I'm sweaty and hungry, ice chips the worst and least satisfying thing to deal with labor.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not sorry all at the same time," he tries, but I cut him off when I yell. His body moves to hold me, kissing me to distract the pain.

"I just want him out," I groan, the baby suddenly making me huge. This past month, it looked like I had eaten three watermelons whole. That's how big my stomach has gotten.

"Luckily you can push," the doctor smiles, my hand pushing against my stomach lightly and pushing.

"Harry," I grit, pain spreading throughout me as I try to get my baby out.

"Push baby. I believe in you," he whispers, kissing my perspired forehead.

"Crowning," the doctor says, my knuckles turning white as I squeeze Harry's hand. Easy for me he's a fighter, because he's used to worse pain than this.

After a few intense minutes of pushing, I finally hear my baby cry. His body is lifted up and Harry is asked to cut the umbilical cord, his head nodding. After, my arms are met with my boy. He's got long hair for a baby, unlike any I've ever seen. I smile, grabbing his hand lightly. He's so beautiful.

"We'll take him for surgery in a few minutes," she says, my head nodding to the doctor.

I kiss my boy's forehead before lifting him to Harry, his huge arms taking hold of the baby.

"I have a twin," he smiles, my head nodding.

"Your duplicate," I tease, his hand grabbing my cheek. We kiss lightly before Harry reluctantly hands the baby to the doctor.

The few minutes Harry and I have, we're deciding on names for the last time. He finally gives in and lets my choice win, my lips pressing to his.

Dylan James.

As soon as the baby is back, I take him into my arms and hold him. I love him so much already and he opens his eyes for me. The color is unrecognizable for they're a mixture of green and brown. It's not quite hazel but it's a little lighter.

"He's so perfect," I smile, kissing his cheek.

"He has a lot of chubby stuff," Harry says, poking the excess fat on Dylan's thighs.

"He's huge, that's why," I say, my hand moving to poke Dylan's lip.

"He's playing football. Already planned," Harry says, my arms subconsciously squeezing my baby closer.

"No," I say, not wanting him to get hurt. My baby won't be hurt.

"Elle, look at him. Built like a linebacker," Harry smiles, my eyes widening in fear.

"He's an hour old. We're not talking about this," I say, brushing the subject off.

Harry attempts to take him from me and I shake my head, holding Dylan closer to me. "You don't get to. Not until you agree with me that he won't get hurt."

He smiles, kissing my temple before he assures me Dylan will be completely fine. I have no doubt in my mind. If Dylan will be anything like his father, he'll be strong and easily able to defend himself in any situation.

-----

"Mummy?" I roll over in bed, the audio from the monitor going off. Climbing out of bed, I walk down the hall to Dylan's room. He's sitting in his bed, my hands lifting him onto me.

"What's wrong baby?" I ask, sitting on the rocking chair. He points to his stomach and I feel his forehead, his temperature normal.

"Are you hungry?" I ask, his head nodding. He rubs his eyes and I cradle my near three year old baby downstairs. His dinosaur pajama pants and pull-up are the only thing on his body, his insistence to not wearing a shirt began with his father. If Harry does it, Dylan does it too.