"Henry!" Madeline whispered sharply, elbowing him gently in the ribs. He rolled over, pulling the pillow up over his head.

"I told you," he growled into the mattress as he dug his face deeper into it, trying to go back to sleep. "We don't have any more pickles! And I'm not going to the store at one o'clock in the morning to buy them, either! Not again!"

Madeline exhaled sharply, ripping the pillow away from his head. "No, you idiot!" she snapped, decking him with it before tossing it aside. "My water just broke."

He sat up in bed, instantly more awake than he wanted to be. "Are you okay?" he asked, putting his feet on the ice cold floor and quickly standing up. He put his hand to her bulging stomach, feeling the baby squirming inside her.

"I'm fine," she growled, batting his hand away. "I'm having a baby, not dying! Just get me to the hospital!"

"Right," he nodded, quickly grabbing the blue Hawaiian shirt he had left draped over the chair on over his white t-shirt.

"You're not wearing that!" she shouted, staring at him in horrified rage.

He blinked, buttoning it up slightly askew. He noticed when he reached the bottom that he hadn't lined it up right and quickly unbuttoned it again. "What?" he asked, trying one more time to get it right. "It's a shirt!"

"It's not a shirt!" she returned. "And it's not going to be the first thing my son sees in this world!"

"I'll be wearing a hospital--"

"Henry!"
"Okay, okay!" he muttered, rolling his eyes as he took it off and tossed it on the floor, grabbing a less offensive shirt off the dresser.

"Don't throw it on the floor!" Madeline groaned, trying to bend down to pick it up.

She got about halfway down when she let out a gasp and stopped.

"Leave the damn shirt alone!" Henry snapped when he saw her, grabbing her arm and gently helping her stand back up. "For God's sake, stop cleaning! We have to get to the hospital."

"Right," she exhaled slowly as another contraction hit. She grabbed Henry's hand and squeezed it as the pain overcame her.

"Ow!" he grunted, feeling his bones crunch in her grip as she pulled his index finger back as far as it would go without snapping it off.

When it finally passed, she released his hand with a heavy sigh. "That's better," she murmured.

"Yeah…" Henry gasped, not having to look at his hand to know that his finger was definitely broken in at least one place. "Better…"

"Did I hurt you?" she asked, blinking in surprise.

"No," he shook his head, already mentally altering every plan he had made to include using only one hand. "I'm fine."

"Then can you get my bag?" she asked, waddling for the door. "We have to go. Now."

"Right."

He grabbed the bag with all her pre-packed clothes in it with his good hand, starting to follow her out the door.

As soon as he reached the landing downstairs, he dropped it and started to head for the kitchen.

"What are you doing?" Madeline demanded, grabbing his hand again before he could make it two steps.

"Calling Captain Connors," he answered, not pulling away. "I have to tell him I won't be on patrol tomorrow."

"You can't do that later?" Madeline shouted.

"We're going to be busy later! Besides, he wanted to know when you went into labor, anyway."

"Fine," she rolled her eyes, groaning as another contraction hit. "Call him fast!"

Her fingers squeezed his three remaining fingers. Henry closed his eyes as his bones crunched yet again.

Finally, she released her grip. As soon as she did, he bolted into the kitchen to make the phone call before another contraction hit.

By his calculations, his hand could only survive two more assaults.

Fortunately, Captain Connors answered after the first ring. Henry quickly filled him in and was back in the living room just in time for the next contraction. Her eyes were clenched shut, her hand flailing through the air for his as he re-entered.

He groaned inwardly, but allowed her fingers to curl around his two remaining fingers.

"Ow!" He grunted, his knuckles scraping against each other in his death-grip.

"Get me to the hospital!" she shouted, her grasp only tightening.

His knees started to buckle as the pain shot through his legs, but he managed to stay on his feet. "I'm trying!"

She let go as the pain temporarily subsided. "Henry!"

"I'm going!" he insisted, grabbing the overnight bag with his good hand. "I just have to find my shoes…"

He searched the floor by the door, where he had left them earlier that evening…where he'd been leaving them every night since two weeks before the due date, when the doctor said the baby could come at any moment.

"We don't have time!" she snapped, already waddling out the front door. "This baby is coming, Henry!"

"Did you move my shoes?" he asked.

"Why would I move your shoes?"

"They were right there!"

"Henry! I didn't touch your shoes! Forget the damn shoes!"

He sighed, glancing out the window.

It was still pouring down rain.

Madeline was already heading out the front door. Henry grabbed the umbrella that was propped against the wall and rushed to get ahead of her, holding it open as she waddled through. He quickly shut it behind him and ran down the front steps, landing right in an ankle-deep puddle as he guided his wife down the stairs.

By the time they made it to the car, he was soaking wet and both his socks had been sucked off his feet in one of the puddles that littered his front lawn.

He shut the car door behind Madeline and ran around to the driver's seat, not even feeling the tiny pebbles digging into the soles of his feet. He jumped in next to Madeline and turned the car on.
"Why are you only driving with one hand?" she asked after a few minutes.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "No reason," he shrugged, shoving his mangled hand into his pocket before she could see his broken finger.

"You're not wearing any shoes!" she gasped next, as if just realizing it for the first time. "Or socks!"

"I know," he muttered, keeping his eyes on the road.

She smiled at him, gently wiping a streak of mud off his cheek. "I'm sorry, Henry."

He just shrugged, focusing on the task of driving with only one hand and bare feet.

"You're going to be a dad, Henry," she murmured, resting one hand on his knee and one on her stomach.

Her eyes started to close again as another contraction hit. Henry winced, dragging his hand out of his pocket and resting it across her lap.

"It's okay," she shook her head, pushing it away. "I did enough damage."

"I have a finger left," he shrugged, glancing down at his bare feet as she took his hand and started to squeeze again. "And I still have some toes, too."