Everyone looks up when he comes downstairs. Skye, Trip, Maria, Clint and Fitz sit huddled around a game board with tiny brightly coloured wooden houses. Steve has his notebook open on his lap and his pencil moves absently, adding slowly to his drawing.

Clint, laughing, finishes saying something about sheep and sets down his cards. "Hey, dad, how's it going upstairs?"

All of their faces are so hopeful. He manages to smile, because they're all so excited. "May's tough."

"We know," Trip replies. "No baby yet, then?"

Everyone waits for him to reply, and he doesn't know what to tell them. Five centimetres is halfway, but it's not exact.

"I think if they had one, he'd would have bounced down those stairs," Clint says. He gets to his feet, holding his coffee and wraps an arm around Phil's shoulders. "Give mom our best, okay? We're all betting on her."

"We wouldn't dare bet otherwise," Maria adds. She hands Phil a fresh cup of coffee and Clint ducks into the kitchen for something.

His coffee's almost too hot to drink but he gulps it down because he's not going to sleep, even if Bruce and Jemma think he should.

Fitz yawns into his hand and clutches his mug to his chest. It won't be coffee, because he never drinks it. He's probably nearly high on tea. Phil smiles at him and touches his shoulder. "I heard you were going to stay up all night."

"Don't want to wake up in the morning and be surprised by the baby," he says. He points at the tablet. "I've been taking notes so if I fall asleep I'll remember, but it seems like the kind of thing I'd just like to be awake for. You and May don't have a kid every day."

"No," Phil says. "We certainly don't." He rests his hand on Fitz's shoulder, wishing he could do something to help restore his memories.

"Is May okay?"

He's not ready answer that, because Phil doesn't know what to say. She's in pain, but she's handling it. She always does. She has to be much more exhausted than he is, but it hasn't gotten to her yet. They've both been up all day, but she's been in labour most of it and that can't even compare. What can he do? Does she need to eat? Would she eat anything if he tried to get her to?

"She's all right. It's hard, but she's strong."

"She is," Fitz agrees. "Tell her I think so."

"She knows, but I'll tell her. She missed you."

Fitz taps his tablet. "I know, it's in my notes." His smile fades and he looks down before he meets Phil's eyes again. "I'm sorry I don't remember congratulating you two about the baby, and I hope I did, because when I know about it, I think it's great and you'll be great parents. It's weird, but that's okay. I'm getting the kid a monkey, because kids should have monkeys. A stuffed one, of course, not a real one, though, maybe when the kid's grown up a bit-"

"Thank you," he says. His throat's gone tight. He pats Fitz's shoulder one more time then heads for the kitchen, because her mother will want an update.

She's wrapped in a bright green apron, rolling out dough of some kind on the island in the middle of the kitchen. Sweet spices float in the air, and it's some kind of dessert. Must be something Melinda likes. She finishes the roll she's working on, folding thin layers of dough into something more square and setting it in the pan. She brushes her hands clean on her apron and nods to him.

"You need to eat, sit."

He clings to his coffee. "I'm all right."

"You're not eating for you." She sets a glass of orange juice in front of him. "Drink, eat, for Qiaolian."

Phil reaches for the orange juice and sips it. The sweetness of it batters his tongue. He gulps it down next, because that's easier. She sets soup in front of him and it smells spicy and herbal. He's not quite sure what the green leaves are, but they add a tartness to it that goes well with the noodles. He would have argued that he wasn't hungry, and probably not even have eaten if May's mother hadn't been so insistent. Once he starts, he realises how long it's been since he's had food.

May's mother nods at him, sets a steamed bun in front of him on a plate and returns to what she's doing, leaving him to devour his soup on his own. He's probably slurping, and not behaving in a respectable, director of S.H.I.E.L.D. sort of way at all, when someone joins them in the kitchen. May's mother nods to whomever it is, and they sit down next to him at the table.

Phil glances over eventually, and it's the sketchbook that gives Steve away. Steve's sitting right next to him, his pencil balanced on top of his paper. He almost chokes on his soup.

"You don't have to gulp it down. Nat will take good care of Melinda."

It took Phil nearly a year to call her anything other than May after they met. Steve called her Melinda from the first day they met, and she's always called him Steve. He was a little jealous when he introduced them. Steve smiled so easily when Melinda complained about how much time the baby spent twisting and turning. Of course, the baby kicked right away when he felt for it and Steve managed to make her laugh when he jumped in surprise. Before the Bus was even loaded, they were friends. Phil left Melinda on the sofa, with Steve rubbing her ankles.

"Yeah," Phil says aloud, shoving down his guilt. Maria could have run the mission. Steve could have gone with them. He should have stayed and been the one Melinda complained to about her ankles and how the baby was throwing off her sense of balance when she did tai chi. He missed most of the last month of her pregnancy. Captain America did the silly breathing exercises with her that she thought were a waste of time. He read to her when her head hurt and cooked when she wanted to eat blueberry pancakes and bacon. Captain America realised Melinda was in labour before he did, maybe even before she did.

"It's okay, you know." Steve's hand rests on his shoulder and Phil startles. Steve rubs his back, calming him. "You made a tough call."

Barely chewing his noodles, Phil swallows. "Having a tough choice doesn't excuse making the wrong one."

"Do you think you were wrong to go?"

He sets down his spoon and stares into the broth left in his bowl. In other other situation he'd argue that he knows Quinn and Raina, that he can predict them better than Maria can. Skye and Jemma had already been hurt by them both, and he couldn't let them go alone. Then again, they were with the two deadliest assassins he knows, and a man who cannot be destroyed by any means. Skye and Jemma were safe with the Avengers on the Bus. Maria had been Fury's lieutenant for years. She knows S.H.I.E.L.D. better than anyone still 'living' and she's the most competent person Phil knows, after Melinda. Maria would be a better director than he is, so that wasn't why he had to go.

"Yeah," he admits, resting his forehead in his hands. He lifts his head again and turns to Steve, but he sees none of the judgement he expects.

"Have you read iThe Lord of the Rings/i?" Steve asks.

Phil nods. "Of course."

"Great book, really detailed, especially all the languages," Steve pauses, turning a steamed bun in his hands. "I've been trying to come up with a good analogy for you about the burdens we carry to make you feel better. Melinda said you felt guilty and I've been trying to wrap my head around us all having our own rings to bear to dangerous places. Sometimes we have a whole fellowship, like the one in this house, but sometimes you can only take your best friend when you walk into the darkness. Something clever like that."

"Melinda is my best friend."

Steve grins. "I know."

"I should have been with her."

"You weren't, and that's a difficult thing to carry."

Phil realises May's mother is still watching him so he drinks the broth out of his bowl and sets it aside. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, he sighs. "I almost didn't make it back in time."

Steve nods and his hand rubs across Phil's shoulders again, warm and comforting. "There were a few nights where I think Jun-Ying and I both worried that Melinda would just have the two of us and good Doctor Ogundana when the baby came."

"You would have been fine," Phil assures him, because even in the middle of one of the longest nights of his life, he can't help idolising him. Captain America would, of course, be a stellar labour coach.

"That's kind of you to say. I, for one, am incredibly glad that the Bus arrived when it did. Some parts of the story need the hero."

Shaking his head, Phil takes a bite of his bun and has to speak around it. "I'm hardly the hero. Boromir, maybe, reaching for things that were never meant to be mine." He swallows, hard. He should have stayed with Melinda.

"Oh no, you're not him," Steve says. He stares at him for a long time, as if somehow he can see into Phil's soul. Maybe he can. It's not in his dossier, but S.H.I.E.L.D. is full of secrets. "You're Sam."

"Sam?" Phil asks. Setting his bun down, he folds his hands on the table. "I can't garden."

Steve shrugs. "That's hardly the defining part of his character."

"I thought you were less than halfway through the trilogy?"

Steve leans in, pulling Phil in closer. "Don't tell Melinda."

"Don't tell her what?"

"I read ahead when she falls asleep. She's been tired and I guess I have the right kind of voice to sleep through, because often I only get a few pages in and she's fast asleep. I keep two bookmarks, skip ahead to where I left on and keep reading. I finished the story days ago, I'm just reading all the appendices again now, making sure I absorbed all of the songs and poetry."

"She's slept through most of the book?"

"Some parts more than once," Steve admits. "I don't mind, the narrative's really beautiful and I like listening to her read aloud when it's her turn. Leo never really remembers where we are in the book, but he knows it so well it doesn't matter." His smile brightens. "Now you know my secret."

"I can't believe you've skipped ahead. Natasha says you can't lie," Phil continues, "yet you lied to May."

Steve shrugs. "Maybe she knows, perhaps it's baby brain. Plenty of those planks on the internet talked about that."

"Planks?"

"Discussion planks, on the internet."

"Boards," Phil corrects.

"Right, that's it. Anyway, when Melinda was reading them-"

"She read discussion boards on the internet?"

Steve's smile betrays his curiosity. "Is that unusual?"

"Yeah," he nods. "She always lets Skye handle the computers for her."

"Maybe she was curious. There's a whole lot of knowledge on the internet." Steve looks at his hands, then turns his gaze back to Phil. "We talked about you a lot. She thinks the baby should sleep in your office."

"My office?"

"It's protected, in the centre of the plane, and you'll be there when the baby wakes up. It's a sweet idea."

She'll be up in the cockpit most of the time, so his office makes sense. He just hasn't imagined much of their baby on the Bus. They're really going to take a tiny innocent along on their missions? They get shot at. Asgardians fight in the Bus; it's no place for a baby. What's their alternative? Visiting the baby on weekends? Dragging May's mother along to babysit in secret bases? Splitting up? Being director of S.H.I.E.L.D. used to be a low-action position. Fury spent most of his time in his office, and baring Loki trying to conquer the planet and Hydra's rise, Fury didn't get shot at much. It would be much easier to be the director of a functioning organisation, where he could hold the baby between meetings with the council.

It'll get better. They'll be shot at less. They'll do the best they can with the baby. Being with her- his- parents, even in the field has to be better than not seeing them. He and Melinda both grew up without their fathers. That's not going to happen to his child.

"Anyway, Phil, the important thing about Sam is that he makes it home and has a wonderful life with his family. So few people get that. Would be nice if you and Melinda did." Steve touches his shoulder again, squeezing with strong fingers. "Take care of her, okay? She's pretty special."

"I know." He watches Steve smile, almost wistful now, before he disappears back into the living room. He must have wanted to have children, especially when he was growing up. Has he lost his chance? He's been so good with Melinda that Phil hopes he gets the chance to take care of the mother of his own child someday. He'll be good at it. He knows so many people who would be incredible parents, if they decided to take that path. He was never going to, but his life is different now. Melinda and the baby are everything, and it's not what he predicted, but it's wonderful.

Resting his chin on his hands, Phil looks up at May's mother. He's eaten most of his food and drank all the coffee she's put in front of him, maybe that's enough for him to be released.

"She doesn't ask for help."

Phil bobs his head. "I know."

"She won't now." Jun-Ying stares at him across the table. Her dark eyes sear through him, but she nods. "Then you'll help her."

"I love her."

They've never had the most comfortable relationship. He's barely been acceptable as her daughter's friend, and as the father of her grandchild, Phil's sure he leaves much to be desired. This time, however, she believes him.

"It doesn't get any easier," Jun-Yin says when he gets up to leave. "The night before Qiaolian was born was the longest of my life, until each night that came after. She's my world."

"Mine too."

"Don't let her snap at you. Qiaolian pushes people away when she's frightened."

"She's going to be a great mother."

"She'll never see it that way. She'll only see the faults. All parents do. You, Phillip, you should tell her how incredible she is, every day."

"That I can do."

"Good," she says. Turning her back to him, she rubs her eyes. "Better get back upstairs."

He passes slowly through the living room. Trip's asleep on one of the sofas. Fitz and Clint are staring into the fire, just talking. Clint shakes Phil's hand, smiling, and Fitz grins too, even though he's nervous.

"Maria and Steve went up," Clint says. "I think the dam broke or something."

Fitz goes a little pale and he nods. "Skye said there was water all over the floor. Hill and the captain went to help.

"Her water broke?" He's halfway up the stairs before he finishes his thought. Taking the stairs two at a time isn't entirely necessary, but he can't help it. He only left her for a little while, but now she's on her hands and knees on the bathroom floor. Melinda's sigh isn't quite a moan, or a grunt, but she's clearly broken through her pain threshold. Skye and Natasha are up by her head. Melinda's dark hair lies beneath Natasha's hands as she strokes the back of her neck. Her head rests on Natasha's thighs. One of Melinda's hands is wrapped around Natasha's knee, and Skye holds the other. Steve has his hands pressed firmly into her lower back. Jemma and Maria are cleaning up the fluid on the tile with towels.

"It's clear," Jemma tells him with a wet towel in her hands. "That's good. No infection, no foetal distress."

Maria collects the wet towels and nods, tossing them into a basket out of the way. "Bruce says it went quickly."

"Two contractions ago," Bruce adds. He's still fidgeting with something, but he seems positive. "Sometimes the membranes only rupture a little and sometimes the baby gets in the way and amniotic fluid just leaks a little, but all of it went pretty quickly."

Skye looks up at him from the floor. Her eyes seem so huge in the soft light. "I think it hurts more now."

Natasha nods. "And she's getting tired."

"Is she okay on the floor?" he asks, not even really sure who he's directing the question to.

Bruce answers. "Yeah, if she's comfortable, it's a good position. Might help the pain in her back. Walking, squatting and hands and knees are all good, "

He kneels on the floor next to Natasha, gently stroking the wet skin on the back of Melinda's neck. Sweat's soaked through the already dark fabric of her nightgown and it clings to her skin.

"Everyone downstairs hopes you're doing well. Especially Fitz and your mother. Fitz wants you to know how strong you are, and you are, May. You're the strongest person I know."

She mumbles something mostly into Natasha's lap.

Skye leans all the way down and listens so she can repeat it. "She says you know the Avengers."

"I think they'd all forgive me for calling you stronger, even Thor."

Melinda lifts her head. Her eyes are red; sweat and tears stain her face. Her breath hisses through her teeth and her lips tremble. He offers his hands, and Natasha moves out of the way, and then she's in his arms, her head and shoulders against his chest. Her skin radiates heat, and her nightgown's so sweat drenched that it's cold against him.

"He waited for you to go downstairs," Melinda says, catching her breath. "I think he was just waiting for you to be out of the room."

"So I'd miss the show?"

She wearily shakes her head and he helps steady her up a little so he can look at her. "So he-" she stops, shutting her eyes. She swallows a gasp of pain. Everyone around them winces when she struggles, because they all love her and they can't take the pain away. Neither can he, and he hates that passionately.

"May, breath with it, not against it. You don't have to fight this."

"He- he wanted to surprise his daddy," she finishes. "Show you how grown up he was by breaking out."

Steve's fists run up and down her spine, pushing against whatever part of the baby's causing her so much pain. Natasha takes a cup with a straw from Jemma and it gets passed to him.

Stroking Melinda's cheek, he waits for her eyes to focus on him. "Can you drink some of this?"

She nods and sucks some of whatever it is through the straw before she lowers her face again. Her elbows rest on the floor, and her forehead drops to his thigh. He could swear that the round ball of her belly is smaller now, even lower in her hips. They're getting there, a little at a time.

"We're so lucky," he says to the back of her head. Maria takes the wet towels away. Jemma charts something on her tablet. Natasha takes over for Steve, standing over Melinda's back with her hands pressing downwards. "We have a whole team, May. We're all right. Our back-up's here."

She slowly catches her breath, filling her lungs with fragile control. "Mom?"

"She's baking, everything, as far as I can tell."

Melinda nods into his lap. "Distraction."

"Yeah, I think she needs the distraction. Luckily, our back-up is pretty good at eating extra food."

"Speaking of food, did you eat?" Skye asks him from his side. He'd nearly forgotten she was there.

"Yeah, yeah," he promises her. "I ate. Did you?"

She returns his nod. "Before I came up. May hasn't, but Jemma says she probably won't. Jemma keeps mixing up some kind of electrolytes for her, and she drinks that."

Melinda's shoulders start to tense and he hates whatever part of evolution made human birth so damn difficult. He'd hate the gods too if he could remember which Asgardian should be the recipient of his wrath. There's so little he, or anyone can do for her. She maintains her breathing, and he's so proud of her steady she is, but he knows that edge in the sounds she makes. This hurts. She's climbed mountains with broken ribs and fingers without making a sound, so this has to be pretty intense.

"We're all here for you and the baby. We're all right here."

He always loses her to silence. When she retreats, he scrambles after, rambling so she doesn't turn away entirely. He can't let her go.

"Keep talking," Skye whispers to him. "She's been drifting in and out a little, but she comes back."

He leans down and kisses her wet hair. "I love you. You can do this. I'm going to be right here."

He breathes with her, keeping his head low and close to hers. Slowly, she loosens up, and her grip on his hand relents.

"It never stops," she mutters, lifting her head.

"What?"

"It used to let up," she replies, gritting her teeth. Natasha must have almost half her weight pressed against Melinda's spine, but even that doesn't seem to be enough to stop the pain in her back. "It hurt but it let up. It faded."

He kisses her cheek. "I'm sorry."

"We should get her up and try walking again, get gravity on our side," Bruce says. His suggestion passes through Jemma, then Natasha and Steve, finally, it's Skye who makes sure Phil understands.

"It'll be better if you stand up," Phil says, hoping that's not an empty promise.

Four pairs of hands help Melinda to her feet and she leans heavily on his chest. Steve touches her back, and when she doesn't shakes him off, his hands and Natasha's stay there, taking some of her weight.

Melinda barely raises her head from his chest and it's more of a shuffle than a walk, but Bruce and Jemma both seem heartened by watching them.

"She's dilated to seven centimetres," Jemma says. She stands shyly next to him, wincing whenever Melinda sighs. "The last few can go really quickly, or be the hardest. There's really no way of knowing."

Melinda's fingers dig into his arms and they stop. He braces against the wall, both Natasha and Steve help support her and Jemma and Bruce watch. He doesn't tell her to breathe, because she knows, but he doesn't know what to say. That usually doesn't stop him, not with her, but he can hear the pain she's holding in.

"How did you meet?" Skye asks.

Flicking his gaze to her, he reads the determination on her face. "May and I?"

"Yeah," Skye continues, gaining strength. "Was it at the Academy? Did you pull her hair?"

He has to smile. Aching, his arms remind him that Melinda's hands will leave marks on his skin. "She pranked me first," he says. "That's how we met."

Skye absorbs his words like a sponge, letting him meander through the least important, and sweetest of memories, of the Academy and Melinda. They make a handful of steps, sometimes Melinda doesn't even have the strength to move and they stand, rocking back and forth until she's ready to continue.

When one story ends, Skye sets him on another, and the stories between them start to blend into the encouraging words he has for Melinda. Jemma wants her to drink again, and this time it seems like a struggle to keep it in her mouth at all. Melinda coughs, spitting some of the electrolyte liquid onto Phil's already soaked shirt.

They've nearly done on slow circuit of the upstairs hallway when the shaking starts. She can't possibly be cold; her skin's so hot and damp that is nearly steams, even in the warm house.

"Take off your shirt," someone says. It takes several beats for Phil to realise that the voice is Skye, not Melinda.

"My shirt?" he repeats.

Bruce nods and gently touches his sleeve. "It's drenched, and being against your skin instead of wet cotton will help regulate her body temperature, if she's shivering because she's cold. If she's not cold, just being in more contact has been known to help."

That sounds too optimistic, but Phil obeys. Skye stares at the scars on his chest, shakes herself out of it, but stares again. Melinda's trembling lets up a little and she snuggles in closer now that his shirt lies crumpled on the floor. Melinda catches her breath with her head on his chest, and he holds her close. Her heartbeat reverberates through him, almost as if his heart's going to fall in line.

Her lucid moments fade further. Melinda gasps against his chest, her hands clamp around his arms and all he can do is whisper that she'll be fine. The baby will be fine.

He can barely remember where to pick up with the stories he was telling Skye about the two of them at the Academy. Melinda's hiss is so sharp it's almost a cry. The sound slices through him, leaving his heart in tatters.

"How did you meet?" Skye asks him and he just stares at her.

"I told you."

"Tell me again." Skye's not even listening, he realises as he repeats himself. He's talking but the words are simply background noise. He pays more attention to the way Melinda leans on his chest and how she struggles to maintain the calm she needs for her breathing.

All that matters is her. Everyone else orbits around them, trying to get her to drink, speaking in jargon and codes. Jemma and Bruce talk of stages and he can't remember what the second stage is. Melinda drifts away from him with each contraction, pulling tighter within herself. He wants to follow her, but he can't. He has to hold her to the world, be her anchor the way she's always been his.

They miss the sunrise. It's only when he realises that the light overhead isn't as bright that he sees the grey in all the windows. It's still snowing outside, which seems so strange because surely the air must run out of snow after awhile. He doesn't know when the sun comes up, and it's still creeping towards the horizon.

Switching with Melinda, he helps Natasha and Steve balance her leaning against the wall for support.

Jemma thinks they're getting close. Bruce is nervous enough that he's stopped fidgeting and his hands are still. Jemma wants to check her progress and Melinda seems calm enough to allow it but when Phil steps back, she grabs for him.

"Don't."

"I'm right here," he says.

"Don't go," she replied. "Phil-"

"I'm here."

Jemma pulls back, content to check again after Melinda's calmed down.

"Phil?"

"I'm right here."

Her dark eyes turn to him but she looks through without seeing him. "Don't go."

"I won't."

Her fingers run down his face and settle on his shoulder. Her breathing's uneven, almost ragged and he slows his own to help her.

"You did." There's no anger in that accusation and her tone's flat. "You died."

"I'm sorry," he whispers. He kisses her forehead, then her damp face over and over. "I'm so sorry."

"You died." She pants, pulling away from him. "You left me." Melinda sways on her feet. Natasha and Steve keep her up when she steps back. "You died, Phil. I saw you- I saw your body- and I can't- I can't-" The pain fades from her features, momentarily displaced by a deep anger.

"You won't," he promises.

Melinda shakes her head and she shoves back from his chest. She stares at the scar, transfixed. She must have stood over his coffin at his funeral. She put him in the ground only for him to walk back into her life as a mystery she had to take responsibility for. She promised Fury she'd put him down if it had to be done. She mourned him and then swore to bury him again if she needed to.

He can't imagine how horrible it must have been for her. He watched her walk through the ashes of her life after Bahrain, but he knew she was in there. She had to live with him gone and he doesn't know how she faced it. He's not sure he could have in her place. She's so strong, and he's always loved that about her, but he can't understand what his death must have put her through. Even though he came back, her nightmare didn't end, and even when she tried to protect him, he hated her for it.

They're surrounded by the promise of death every day. They're the thin line between chaos and the rest of the world, and they're bringing a baby into that. This baby is life. Not just the hope for something better, but life they've created together: a new person who's almost with them.

Melinda keeps shaking her head, gasping against the pain. When he reaches for her, she pushes his hand back.

"You left me."

He can't help her. She's in enough pain that she sinks into Natasha and Steve's arms, her breath harsh in her chest. He doesn't even realise that he's crying until the tears catch on his chin.

"It's okay," Skye says. "We'll keep him with you."

"You can't," Melinda argues. "You can't."

Skye doesn't know what to do and he wishes he could tell her something. Melinda shuts her eyes tight and she seems to have let the world go into the blackness.

Jemma touches his shoulder. "I think she's in transition."

He should know what that means. He read everything Jemma gave him to read. He wanted to be ready, but nothing could have prepared him.

"Transition," he repeats without remembering what it is.

"It's the change between the first and second stage of labour, when the cervix opens, the baby engages and she can start to push. It's emotionally difficult. There are a lot of different hormones in her blood right now, all of them intense, and she's exhausted. It's hard for you, and all of us, but it means she's getting close to the end."

It's still impossible to believe that the end means a baby. He nods to Jemma, because he's heard her. He still doesn't know what to say or do. Melinda doesn't seem to remember where she is, or what's happening and every time he reaches for her, she pushes him away.

"She doesn't hate you," Jemma promises him. "Even if she says she does. Her body's trying to get her through so she can push, and she's doing great. She really is-"

"I know," he reassures her when she struggles. "I know. Thanks."

Melinda has her head on Skye's shoulder now, and her breathing seems deeper, more regular. She'll make it.

"You can't," Melinda repeats until her voice is raw. "You can't save him. I- I keep losing him and I can't- I can't do this on my own. I can't."

Phil shuts his eyes, but there's no way out of the truth. She lost him, and she might lose him again. Either of them could have to raise this baby alone, or the baby could lose them both and be an orphan like Skye. The world is dangerous and they face it down every day.

When he opens his eyes again, Skye looks at him, her heartbreak written all over her face. "What do I say?"

"Tell her she can," Phil says. "Tell her she'll be a great mother."

"She will," Skye agrees. "Not that I'm an authority, because I haven't had one, but you'll be great, May. You've got the 'don't do that' voice. You always seem to know when I'm doing something wrong and you fix things."

She looks to Phil. "Does she even hear me?"

"She does, and she hasn't pushed you away."

"Hey-" Skye squeezes his hand. "It's just hormones, Jemma said-"

"I know," he interrupts her. "I know. Keep talking to her. Tell her how her mother never left her. Remind her that she grew up safe and loved. Our baby will have that. So many people are going to love our baby."

Skye keeps repeating him, reminding Melinda of all the people who will keep their baby safe, how she will, how she's not going to lose Phil. It feels like an eternity of whispering things to Skye, but it works. Melinda's still trembling, held up between Natasha and Steve, but she calms.

The wind howls against the windows. Snow sings against the glass like a sandstorm. The sun must be higher now, and the grey has a hint of yellow.

He stands next to Natasha, listening to Melinda's breathing deepen, and her hisses of pain turn to grunts. He remembers abruptly that transition can bring contractions almost continuously on top of each other and his chest aches. He can't take her pain, and she won't let him help.

Bruce and Jemma are still talking, preparing things. When he sees the medical scissors it hits like an ICEr. Those are for their baby's umbilical cord. The baby's going to be here and need to be held and wrapped up in that blanket. Bruce comes to him, getting his attention with a hand on his arm.

"When she wants to push we'll need to do a last check and make sure she's dilated all the way, so she doesn't bruise her cervix by pushing too early. Usually there's just a point where instinctually, she'll know what to do. It could be soon, or it could still be some time yet. Maybe an hour, maybe more. It's pretty impossible to tell until we're there." He pats Phil's shoulder. "Sorry I can't be more helpful."

"It's all right."

Skye's breathing with her and Melinda, slowly, and strangled sound she made earlier that cut so deep into his stomach has stopped. She seems calmer, more in control. Maybe she's coming out of it. Bruce doesn't know, and there's no way for Phil to judge, so he nods.

"Okay."

"She's doing great," Bruce says. "I know it seems like hell, and you're never going to get out of it, but she's incredibly strong, and in good shape to have this baby. Even if you did let Steve cook for her for a month."

Natasha smirks. "I think he's cooking has improved a great deal. He's learned not to boil everything, finally."

"We didn't really have a whole internet full of cooking blogs in the old days," Steve says in his defence.

"Sure, blame the technology. All you needed was the internet," Bruce jokes.

In the middle of their teasing, Melinda rests her head on Skye's chest, still breathing, pulled entirely into her own world. When he looks at Skye, she nods.

"She's okay. I think we're doing the breathing thing right."

He could hug Skye, but he just touches her arm. "Breathe slowly, stay calm. Just like tai chi."

"This is nothing like tai chi," Skye replies.

Melinda's shoulders tremble, so does the rest of her body, and he reaches for her because he has to hold her. She doesn't pull away. Whatever's happening, whatever's changed, now she lets him hold her and her sweat sticks to his skin.

"Too hot," she croaks. Tugging at her nightgown, Melinda looks from him to Skye, then back to him, confused. "Take it off."

Steve blushes and averts his eyes, but he stays. Natasha shifts Melinda's weight to Steve and Skye, freeing her hands to help Phil remove Melinda's nightgown. The movement draws Jemma from over by the bed.

"She wanted it off?"

"Too hot," Phil explains, tossing the nightgown to the side. There are towels and sheets, but Melinda doesn't seem to mind that she's entirely naked now.

"Phil?"

"I'm here. I told you I wouldn't leave."

Melinda's lips move just enough to be the ghost of a smile. "You didn't leave me."

"I'm not leaving either of you."

Her hands return to his shoulders and he's whole again.

"Okay," she grunts, gritting her teeth again. "Phil?" Something's different.

"Jemma?" he calls over his shoulder and then she's there, with Bruce.

"You want to push now, don't you?" Jemma asks.

Melinda nods, panting. "Yes."

"Is she dilated enough?" Phil asks.

Jemma winces when she looks at them. "I have to check. It might be a little uncomfortable."

Melinda's snort could almost be amused. "Check."

Crouching down, Jemma reaches up between Melinda's legs and a moment later, she pulls her hand back, pale. "I felt his head."

"The baby's head?" Bruce asks. "It'll be hard, bony."

"That describes it quite accurately," Jemma answers. "Right. That's his head."

Starting to tense again, Melinda bends her knees. All of them shift downward, moving limbs and their bodies until she's supported between them. Her back's against Steve's chest, his knees beneath her thighs. Natasha and Skye hold her knees and Phil's right in front of her.

"You've got this," he says. "You've got it, May."

She bears down, bending towards him, holding her breath. Blood, some clotted, some fresh, rains onto the towels by her feet. He breathes with her, holding his breath when she does. Time leaves them, abandoning them to a world of sweat and breath because all that matters is her. They wait, whispering about their child and the wonders he'll see, then there's another contraction and they're consumed by it.

Jemma's counting. Steve steadies Melinda's bare shoulders. Natasha tells Skye that it's just a little blood, nothing to worry about. Skye's eyes are wide and white and he wishes he could help her understand that this is not a thing to fear. This is primal, the beginning of a life, the start of someone's existence.

When he looks back into her eyes, Melinda's are dark, like the place that nearly took him.

He's known her most of his adult life, and loved her nearly all of that time. She's his best friend, the person who knows all of his darkness and accepts it for what it is. She's his saviour when he needs one, and every once in awhile, he's hers. They balance, provide counterweight for each other. They're a team, they have their family and it's growing. Everything is about to be different, and even the stars will see this new life.

Their child.

Melinda's forehead rests against his. Someone's opened the window and tiny flakes of snow drift before fading. She radiates heat and all of them are wet. Skye's hair clings to her forehead, and Natasha has a smudge of blood drying on her cheek. Steve holds her, solid and patient. Phil kneels in front of her, losing himself in her eyes, in her soul.

Her hands move from his arms to the back of his neck. Her voice is so deep in her throat that it's almost a growl, and she pushes. He mutters nonsense about how much he loves her, and she pushes. Snow swirls from the window, and they wait.

All of their hearts seem to wait, beating like drums that herald the new.

"I'm glad you're back," he whispers into her ear.

"I didn't know I'd left," she murmurs back.

She shivers, summoning some well of strength yet untouched. Someone's talking to him and he doesn't hear. Only when Jemma's behind him, and Bruce at his side, that Phil realises how close they are. Bruce's hands are open between Melinda's thighs and she might not even know how close she is.

She gasps, then groans, and Bruce is talking about a head.

"I have the head," Bruce says. "Just the shoulders now, and the rest will slip right out."

The time between contractions stretches out, reaching for eternity, but it breaks. Her fingers dig into his shoulders, her whole body stiffens, and all her muscles finally force their baby free.

"I've got him." Bruce says. Melinda breathes hard into his neck, and he laughs, because Bruce said him.

He's blue-grey, covered in blood and mucus, and his umbilical cord lies across Bruce's hands, still connecting him to his mother. Bruce wipes his tiny face clean, then breathes on his face, blowing air across a little nose that's never felt it before. Melinda sobs against his shoulder, then lifts her head to look at the baby in Bruce's hands.

He twitches, flailing his red fist. He squeaks, then gasps and his skin begins to turn pink. His lungs fill, and he inhales again before he cries.

Bruce smiles down at him, then hands him to Melinda. She holds their son to her chest, tears falling on his untouched skin. He has toes and fingers, and wet dark hair that coats his head. Phil rests his hand on their son's back. His heart races against Phil's palm, and he makes good use of his lungs.

They hold him between them and all the rest, the mess on the floor, the pulsing cord that still connects the baby and his mother, the snow: none of it matters because their son is here.

Melinda laughs, holding their son against her chest. He squirms between her breasts, indignant after his long journey.

"He's beautiful."

"He's kind of slimy," Skye mutters to Jemma.

"He'll clean up," Phil says. "Look at his nose."

"And his hair," Natasha adds, beaming. "So much hair, considering he's so little."

"He's not that little," Melinda says, finally looking up. "He didn't feel little."

Natasha kisses her cheeks, one after the other. "Congratulations. I'll go announce his arrival, unless dad wants to?"

Phil shakes his head. He can't imagine being anywhere but right next to both of them.

"Dad's going to cut the cord," Bruce says. He hands over the scissors and gestures between two clamps. "It'll be a little tough."

His hands are covered in the fluids of birth and Phil wipes them on a towel before he risks the scissors. Their son is safe in Melinda's arms and the cord lies still, its purpose served. He cuts it, splitting mother from son in one slice. Bruce takes the scissors back and later, when the placenta slips free, he and Jemma look over it, examining it in a bowl until they're both satisfied.

Melinda holds their son and he stops crying against her chest. He's not interested in nursing either, and instead he looks around, shifting his dark blue eyes without focusing. He can't see much yet, but his eyes are the most beautiful thing Phil's ever seen.

He kisses Melinda, then kisses their son. He has his own scent, something new.

"You're incredible," he whispers to her. "Look at him."

"I see you," Melinda replies. "I see you all over his face."

Phil strokes his fine black hair. "Your hair."

Melinda smirks. "That's a good thing."

They should get off the floor and get her cleaned up and into the bed, but it's just the three of them, all curled up together and this moment is as perfect as his life has been. Their still nameless son opens his mouth and closes it again. Phil toys with his fist, and slowly, they guide him over so he can nurse. Melinda frowns, then chuckles when he latches on.

"He's hungry."

"He's had a busy day," Phil says, kissing her again. He intends to keep kissing her for the rest of his life.

Melinda looks up and meets his mouth. "I love you," she murmurs. "You, and this little guy."

Phil smiles. "He's not that little."