Seriously, you can hit me. Over two years? I can't believe I allowed myself to do that to y'all. Call it reluctance to finish the story. Or sheer ditz. Either way, here it is: the final chapter of Step By Step. Don't worry; I won't make the new parents suffer too badly. I will say this, though: childbirth is intense, and I have never experienced it. Therefore I want to take every step I can to not minimize its pain and its significance. A fuckton more notes at the end.

I do not own Fruits Basket.

Step By Step

Step Seven: Welcoming the Baby

The baby was late. Somehow, despite all of the books he had read, nothing had prepared Yuki for the possibility that their son would delay his own birth. It was a procrastinating habit that Yuki had hoped would not be passed from father to son. But there was nothing he could do about it, other than watch as Tohru's stomach distended painfully past the bowl of her hips until even her eternal love and good will seemed to stretch too thin. Not that he had been the object of any lessening affection; if anything, Tohru seemed to reach for him more, to the point that he felt guilty getting off the bed and putting on his suit jacket the last possible moment he could in order to get to work on time.

In response, Yuki had surreptitiously begun to research what it meant to be overdue. It was a guilty pleasure – if it could be called a pleasure at all – that he indulged in even as Tohru, moving in her fitful sleep, tried to match the curve of her cheek better to the valley between his legs on his lap. He looked down, neck aching and muscles heavy in the wrong places from trying not to disturb his wife's head as he scrolled on his laptop. It was nothing in comparison to how her feet swelled, her back ached. He turned his attention back to the screen.

There was no dangerous reason that a baby would be born later than expected. The books said that 1 in 10 women in their first pregnancies carried their babies past term, but that was a cold number, and made Tohru feel like an anomaly when, above all, Yuki just wanted to give her – and him – the reassurance that everything would turn out normally, and for the better.

The brunette shifted again, a ponderous breath blooming in front of his knee signaling to Yuki that she was waking up. He snapped his laptop shut and pushed it away from him on the coffee table, settling back against the couch and stroking Tohru's hair. "It stopped raining." He said by way of welcome, a smile shaping the words like the sunlight coming in through the window.

Tohru twisted with a soft grunt, bringing her arm across Yuki's knees. He took the plea of the stretching curve of her arm and back to run his hand alone the line of the muscles, pushing against discomfort. She hummed a grateful thanks and relaxed again, turning so she could see him. Her skin looked dewy from sleeping on his legs. She pushed up against his knees, stretching her back another direction, before sitting up to droop her head on the edge of Yuki's shoulder. "What do you want to do for dinner?" She asked, voice tight and exhausted.

He'd been trying to keep her from cooking. Shigure would have called it a 'noble sacrifice' with a mocking smile on his lips, but Shigure had also been weaned off the comfort of Tohru's cooking. And Shigure didn't cringe at the sight of knives. Yuki checked himself before he shrugged in response – he didn't want to jostle her – and answered, "I'm not hungry. I could go find some take-out."

"Again?" She said, trying to muster a smile to make it into a joke. He knew she felt her lack of mobility. She'd always done things, from cleaning to repairing family dynamics, and now she was consigned to doing nothing.

He put his palm on her forehead, feeling how warm she was. "While I'm gone, try to walk around." He said, and shifted slowly so that Tohru had time to reallocate her weight to the couch proper.

The phone call came as he was receiving his change from the clerk at the convenience store, and Yuki scrambled to get outside before it went to voicemail. The rain had started up again, and he stared blankly at the weak gray of the sky as Tohru gasped, "I think it started."

"Okay," he said, and because it didn't feel like enough, added, "okay." The sky didn't offer any further guidance. He didn't run home; it was only seven blocks, and he needed the time to control his breathing. The rain made everything sticky and cold, and he had the distinct feeling that if he panicked and ran, he would have his first asthma attack in five years. Then he wouldn't be of any help to Tohru, or his son. His son. They hadn't picked a name from the list yet.

Yuki didn't notice until he was dripping onto the floor of the entrance to their apartment that he'd forgotten to unfurl the umbrella dangling from his right hand. He dropped it and the plastic bag from the convenience store into his puddle and said, "Tohru?"

There was a small sound from the couch, and he was not surprised to find his wife trying to wipe at a stain on the upholstery with a towel from the bathroom. She was crying. Tohru gasped his name and set down the towel, her face strangely empty of color when he knew that she would have flushed. "I'm not ready. Look at this place." She said, and then her face twisted in a way Yuki had not seen before, and she held her breath as she rode a contraction. It was the opposite of the what the books said to do.

He took the towel from her hands and left it on the floor, taking her hands and pulling her to her feet. "We'll do it together." He said. He knew he was lying, but he didn't know what else to say.

The taxi ride was too long. It was rush hour, and Tohru had her cheek pressed against the window, the corner of her jaw sharp as she bit back pain. Yuki had offered her shoulder, but after a minute the brunette had lolled her head the other direction, hissing that his shirt was scratchy. That he was too warm. Do something. He carefully picked at her hair, pulling out the elastic piling it against the nape of her neck and separating it into thirds. Her scalp was undeniably hot, and the roots of her hair were damp.

He tried to remember how Hanajima braided hair, if you were supposed to start with the piece to the left or the right of the center. It had been years since he paid attention to it, even though Hanajima still appeared at their door holding a bag of hair supplies and an expression that could unnerve granite. He inevitably had his eyes on Tohru's face rather than her hair, letting her chatter fill the space until it finally filled him, too.

By the time the taxi pulled up to the hospital, a shoddy braid dangled from above Tohru's ear to her chest. She smiled, then, as he paid the driver and hovered by her door, holding out his hands to her. "I didn't know you could do that." She said into his ear, leaning on him as a nurse approached with a wheelchair. Her voice was hollow.

Her fingers dug into Yuki's arm, and he replied, "I didn't know either. But it was time."

It was not a private room, and the other woman in labor made such noise that Yuki was afraid to answer his phone. He had emailed Hatori in the car, and that had resulted in a long response with medical terms Yuki recognized from the books. Only whenever he started to remember what any one of them meant, Tohru swallowed a whine and he forgot again. Then came the text from Shigure, surprisingly to the point: "want video." Yuki deleted it.

Then came the sixteen texts from Ayame, and the seven phone calls Yuki let ring through. He didn't even read them. Now his phone was tucked in his coat pocket, folded over the back of the chair, and he was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, feeling desperately like there should be something he could do. On the bed, Tohru lay on her back with her legs bent, breathing. Then she sat up, heaved onto her side, facing away. Then she got up and walked in small circles, and asked for Yuki to say he loved her despite the woman on the other side of the curtain. He said it, and again. And again.

Time passed, and the breathing became groans. Her hand flexed into his, the joints tight and creaking like a strained fishing rod. And briefly, thoughtlessly, Yuki was glad to be accustomed to suffering the pain of others, if only so that when the violence happening in Tohru's body traveled to his through their hands, he forgot what it felt like almost immediately.

The groans were screams. Ueno-senpai had appeared, hair straying from her cap onto the crease between her eyes as she settled between Tohru's feet. For all the tension on her face, the doctor's voice was light and firm: "You're at ten centimeters, Sohma-san. It's time to have a baby."

Tohru nodded, a keening noise wrenching from her throat. Yuki reached out with his free hand to rearrange her braid, but Tohru's head slid away from him as her heels dug, she breathed, and then screamed. Being able to take the waves of pain from her hand wasn't enough. He couldn't stop it. He would have to watch her suffer.

Bit by bit, breath by breath, Ueno-senpai leaned forward on her stool, her shoulders coming together and her hands cupped. And then suddenly, eternally, Ueno dipped out of sight and above Tohru's voice was another cry, and Yuki had nearly forgotten what it meant. Tohru's hand went slack against his, and she rasped, "Baby." As if to remind him.

Yuki stood up – or he was standing – and he craned his neck to see. He could hear the rattle of his pulse in the pitch of the baby crying. The baby. Their son. Ueno had a baby in her arms, and she was straightening out to lay him on Tohru's stomach. She glanced up at Yuki and said, "Hold on, dad."

Then she was clamping the umbilical cord – he was barely watching her, too busy trying to understand that this was his child – and holding out a pair of surgical scissors to him. He shook his head. He couldn't let go of Tohru's hand. The brunette sobbed once, terribly, and said, "Masayo…"

Her left hand, trembling, brushed against the crown of the baby's head. Her eyes squeezed shut. Sweat and tears were in her eyes, and as a cloth displaced her hand to wipe at the baby's face, Tohru exhaled a laugh: "Sohma Masayo-obbochama."

From as far away as the moon, Ueno-sensei said, "Say hello. In a minute I will need him for an evaluation. I'll be right back."

Because of the books, Yuki knew that newborn children were not the same as the quelled, swaddled babies that were so often featured in glossy pictures. His son was red and wrinkled, and his hair seemed invisible. But Yuki knew it was there, as he carefully followed the path of his wife's fingertips. It would all fall out, and be replaced. But it was hard to see, so perhaps their son had fair hair. Their son's features were lost in an uncomfortable scowling expression, and though he was no longer bawling, he continued to let out a low wail. Yuki did not hold it against him.

Tohru's head rolled to rest in the crook of Yuki's arm. Her hair was soaked and her eyes drooped, but she was smiling as she looked down at the baby. "There," she said, as if to prove a point.

Ueno-sensei reappeared. "Evaluation time." She said, and then Yuki lost track of time again, stuck in the eternal sound of their son's first cry and the humid weight of Tohru's head against his arm. Around him, everything happened.

He didn't notice until a half hour later that the three of them were alone. The other woman was asleep, and her loved ones had moved to the waiting area to talk. Their son – Masayo, he thought – was finally settled and asleep for now, snuggled into his blanket and hat. Tohru was singing quietly, her mouth nearly buried in Masayo's fluffed hair.

His phone buzzed against the back of the chair, but Yuki ignored it. Just for a few more hours, it would be the three of them. His wife, his son, and the inexplicable pride that in spite of his mother, in spite of his brother, in spite of his cousins…In spite of his family that had invaded every minute crevice of his life, this now was his own. He refused to share with them what this felt like. What this amount of love felt like.

Yuki bent his head to Tohru's, and kissed her forehead. Her soft song swelled, expanding to his touch, and he whispered for the first of thousands of times: "I love you more than anything. The both of you."

Lord, does it feel good to type that last line. I've had it since I started the fic, three years and one month ago to the day. I don't think I'll be publishing much more (I have a tangled mess of nearly 5k words about Yuki and Tohru and sex, because these two awkward adorkables never have their sex written right). But please, tell me what you think! Shout at me about the damn wait! Let me know if something like 8k words about Yuki and Tohru and sex is even something you're interested in! Tell me I got childbirth all wrong!

Oh, on that note. I did a ton a research about the immediate experience of childbirth that has likely permanently ruined my Google ad metrics. There are a lot of things I glossed over for the sake of expediency, such as the placenta and the patching up of poor mom that usually happens. I was hindered somewhat because I chose to focus on the experience of the partner rather than the person going through childbirth, but I hope I managed to strike the balance between reality and fantasy.

As for Tohru calling Masayo obbochama: the word is an honorific meaning 'little lord' or 'young master.' I couldn't help but think in the moment where she holds her son for the first time, Tohru's goofy formality would rear its head. Masayo is the son of Prince Charming, after all. The most important little boy in the world. Probably worthy of being called obbochama, even if it's because Tohru's high on adrenaline, other hormones, and pain. I don't imagine it's something Tohru would keep calling him.

Also, I didn't spend much time worrying about what Masayo will look like. Brown eyes and brown hair are dominant traits, but Tohru's mom was fairer, so she carries recessive traits as well. When I picture Yuki and Tohru's child, I honestly just see Tohru's smile and Yuki's eyes. The rest, including gender and coloration, is unimportant.

It's been a wild ride, y'all. Until next time.