On The Night You Were Born

38 weeks 6 days

July 6, 2153

"I'm serious, Bellamy." He gives me a peck on the lips before mounting his horse. "If you're not back in time and you miss the birth. . ."

"You're worrying about nothing," he says. "You went almost a week overdue with Apollo. By that count, I'll have three weeks to spare. Maybe more."

I grab his leg, forcing him not to leave yet. "I don't think you're worrying enough. I'm telling you, this baby feels so low I expect to just look down and see an arm hanging out."

"I'll be back as soon as I can. You know that." He reaches down and tucks a stray hair behind my ear. "I know you want Iris to get her own life. This is how it happens."

Lexa had convinced the delegates to meet in TonDc instead of Polis so Bellamy could be nearby, just in case. As it turns out, she does have a heart. "I do, but I also want you here."

"Just tell her to stay in there a little while longer. I'll be back soon."

"Him."

"We'll see," he laughs. He digs his heels into the horse's sides, following behind Clarke, Lincoln, and Althea, who has five-year-old Iris tucked between her arms in front of her. "Love you! Don't have that baby before I'm back!"

I tell him I love him too and turn away from the gate. Apollo is across the courtyard helping his beloved Raven repair the rover. He sits crouched next to her toolbox as she lays underneath the chassis, handing her tools and looking seriously at the piece of machinery in front of him, like it's up to him and him alone to solve the problem. I suppose one day it will be.

How can my tiny eight pound baby be big enough to play mechanic already?

"Hey Raven," I say, walking up to the two of them. "Are you helping, Apollo?"

He looks up at me, a splatter of freckles across the bridge of his nose, grease smeared on his cheek and forehead and all over his hands, with a grin so big I can't help but love him even more, mess and all. "Yes, Mama!"

"Good." I ruffle his curls. "Can you watch him just a little longer, Raven? I have to go see Abby for my appointment."

"All good here," she says, ratcheting something underneath the rover. "Do you see this Apollo?" He crawls underneath the rover with her, laying arm to arm with her. "These are the struts."

"I'll come get him when I'm done," I tell her.

"I'll give him back when we're done," she says. "He's my helper."

It feels nice to sit on the exam table in a medical building, knowing that this baby has been able to receive all the proper prenatal care on time – save an ultrasound, which we don't have the equipment for – by a real, licensed doctor. Even so, I feel a pang of loss for the simplicity of Apollo's prenatal care, which more often than not was just Clarke listening to his heartbeat with the stethoscope and checking his position near the end. Those nine months bonded us together; putting your and your child's life in the hands of a barely capable eighteen-year-old when you yourself are only eighteen, creates a trust that cannot be expressed in words. Though both Jackson and Abby have looked after this baby for me, I want only one person to deliver them – and that's Clarke.

Which is why she and Bellamy better get back home before I go into labor.

Abby comes in and flips through my chart. "Happy almost-thirty-nine weeks, Morgan."