James
Reid passed out with the first cramp, his scream fading rapidly into a weak moan. I held his hand tighter, staring at the doctor who had spoken to me in private. "What happened? Is he..."
"His body will do it for him," the doctor snapped. "This is almost a blessing for him."
I decided to shut my mouth and let the doctors work, since it was clear I couldn't really do anything. I was already in the way, so there was no reason to make an even bigger nuisance of myself. I just held Reid's hand while the doctors treated him from one end, the EMTs from the other.
God, how awful to have to deal with both of these things at once. Even if one of my beloveds was saved, the other might not be.
But, no. I couldn't think of things in that way. I had to be strong. I had to believe that things were going to be okay.
Reid's body shivered and convulsed. Another faint moan rose from his throat, an unconscious expression of the agony he must have been in. Blood drizzled down the corner of his mouth.
I stared at him. His eyelids fluttered. His eyelashes were so long and beautiful. His cheekbones were so perfect, and he had the most handsome nose I had ever seen on a man in my entire life.
I loved everything about him. I couldn't bear to lose him. How dare anyone make me be afraid of losing him?
You can make it through this, I thought, gripping his hand. I believe in you. I won't give up on you.
Reid quivered again, his back arching. A shiver passed through his stomach, contorting his body. More shivers came in sweeping waves, rolling through him faster and faster as the minutes passed in a blur. He occasionally cried out and moaned, and sometimes he opened his eyes, only to drop back into unconsciousness a moment later.
"We're getting close!" someone said. "Get ready!"
Close to what?
In the next moment, I had an answer. Reid seized, his body locking into position. He screamed and his eyes flew open, and something small and weak and blue slithered into the world.
It was a baby, a little boy, and he was so small I almost couldn't believe I was looking at an actual human being. Everything about him was fully formed and perfect, only on a minuscule scale. His fingers, his toes, so tiny and wrinkled. His hair was matted to his head with fluids.
He wasn't breathing.
A scream of despair locked in my throat. Reid struggled against me and I went to hold onto him, but I was torn away from him by a surge of emergency workers as they took over for me. It was probably for the best, since I felt so weak from disbelief. This couldn't happen. We couldn't have some so far, only to lose everything at the last moment.
A doctor held my son. He reached into the baby's mouth, then turned and snapped, "Oxygen!"
Someone handed over the smallest, most pathetic little oxygen mask. The doctor held the mask over my lifeless son's face, removed it and pressed against his chest, then replaced the mask. The process repeated, over and over. I could only watch, staring in horror through a sheen of tears.
Then, as the doctor placed the oxygen mask back over my son's face, his chest lifted on his own. He gulped air and then let out a weak, sobbing wail. My son sucked in another breath and cried out again, and this time the sound was stronger.
"We're breathing!" the doctor said, and the others around him let out muted cheers. I realized I was one of them, doing the same, celebrating this moment where life had triumphed over death.
