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Bridget Carys Llywelyn (symphony_muted) wrote in nevermore_logs, @ 2012-07-07 23:29:00

WHO: Bridget and Saint David
WHAT: Twins! Twins!!
WHEN: Friday evening before dinner
WHERE: Their home and then hospital
WARNINGS: Baby stuff? And foul-mouthed Bridget during labour.



It was more difficult to cook with her huge baby belly, but Bridget insisted on doing it when she was in a good enough mood to do so. She loved cooking and she found it relaxing. That evening she had felt good and energetic and she had put that energy to good use making a hearty vegetarian stew. David was beside her making bread. Bridget was enjoying their easy silence as they each concentrated on their tasks.

While her stew boiled, Bridget moved to kiss David on the back of his neck. The moment she pulled away there was a sharp pain in her abdomen. "Augh!" She sucked her breath in through her teeth and she placed her hands on her belly. "Owfuck. David."

David looked around from kneading his bread when Bridget swore, concerned. "Are you alright?" he asked, wiping his floury hands on his trousers. It didn't cross his mind that this could be It.

Bridget tried to breathe through the discomfort and it was then she realised that the slight pressure she had been feeling may have been significant instead of just annoying. "Mmm. It's not time yet," she said, halfway to herself. "David, I think it's the twins."

David instantly grew more alert and put his hands out to steady her. "You're sure?" he asked a little breathlessly, heart skipping a beat. "But it's not time yet!"

"I know that," Bridget gritted out, more from discomfort than annoyance. The pain receded and she let out a slow breath. "If they're not coming then there is something wrong," she breathed, reaching out for his hand.

David gulped, then took her hand and resolved himself. It would help nobody if he panicked. He could do that later, on his own, when Bridget wasn't relying on him. "I will take you to the hospital," he said, putting a hand around her to support her out of the kitchen into the living room. "Wait here and I'll get your things." He'd had a bag ready with emergency items for a quick getaway for the past two months, and he was now grateful he'd thought to be so prepared. He went back to the kitchen and turned off the stove, then went to fetch the bag.

Bridget waited, trying to regulate her breath. She didn't want to panic either. It made sense if they twins were coming early, didn't it? It didn't have to be something horrible. She was small and there were two babies crowded for space.

As she thought about it, she felt something running down her legs. She looked down and cringed. "My water broke! The twins are definitely coming!"

With a suppressed gasp, David was back with the overnight bag, taking in the puddle on the floor. He was quite close to swearing, and he heart was pounding. "Come on. To the car," he said, wrapping one arm around her waist and grabbing a towel from the clothes horse with his free hand. He gave it to her, then picked up the bag and tried to wrangle his keys from his pocket while steering them out the door to the car, while keeping everything together.

Bridget didn't say a word, instead concentrating on making it to the car without falling over. When she was safely in her seat and buckled in, she clutched the seatbelt and said, "don't speed," to David. "Car accident is the last thing we need."

"I won't," he promised, putting the bag in the back seat. He took calm, measured breaths as he started the car, then calm measured breaths as he drove them to the hospital, trying not to wince when Bridget groaned with pain. He parked them and calmly and stoically opened Bridget's door to help her out. "Come on. Not far to go now." He bent to kiss her before she stood up.

Bridget let David support her as they made their way inside. She didn't even try not to lean on him. She was going to let him basically carry her. He could take it.

When a wheelchair was brought for her, she gratefully took a seat and then she reached for David's hand as they tried to get checked in. "Is it supposed to hurt this much," she breathed, half to herself. She hadn't been around childbirth or pregnancy and she had never really experienced contractions before. She didn't even have particularly painful periods. But labour, she decided, was horrible.

"It'll be alright," David said, giving her a reassuring smile and squeezing her hand gently. "We'll get you there." They were halfway to the maternity ward before David even thought of calling anyone to let them know. He decided to wait a little while first, though, getting Bridget to a bed, holding her hand through a few contractions, before ducking out to hurriedly dial Patrick's number.

"Pat? It's me. Bridget's early, can you let George and Andrew know too?" he said in a breath, looking back to the door of the room as Bridget made a noise of pain.

Bridget watched as David called his brother to let them know the twins were coming. Then, quickly she called out, "let Rhiannon know too!" Rhiannon was in Wales, but she would surely understand a call at whatever time it was there when it was about the Twins.

David nodded and did as told, leaving a brief message on Rhiannon's answer phone and a promise to call when he had more news. He was worried, of course. It was too early and the babies were too small and he was a little frightened. Bridget's mortality still terrified him, still snuck up and squeezed his heart sometimes, and seeing her grimace and grit her teeth as nurses moved around her was one of those moments. He didn't let it show on his face though, and held her hand tightly, stroking her hair back off her sweaty forehead.

Bridget may have been mortal, but she wasn't as weak as poor David, in all his immortality, seemed to fear. She struggled through the contractions even as they came closer and closer together. She couldn't worry about how it was too early and how the babies would be too small right now. She had to get through the births first.

For hours she sweated through the pain and clung to her husband's hand. In a rare moment when they were left alone, Bridget turned to her husband. "Will you bless them?" she whispered to them, not even thinking about needing a blessing herself. "David, please."

David's breath left him for a moment at her request, and he felt fearful for a moment. But it made sense, so their souls would have some protection if- He let out a slow breath and nodded, flexing his fingers before clenching his hands together and closing his eyes. He hunched over and whispered a prayer, knuckles against his forehead, calling on God to defend the two tiny beings in his care, to bring them safely into the world and carry them from harm. He could feel his equilibrium returning as God's Love flowed through him, and he reached out to hold Bridget's hands in both of his. He glowed a little, subtly, as he looked up heavenward and asked for a blessing on his little ones and their mother through the dramatic event of the birth.

With a blessing said, Bridget relaxed somewhat. The twins had what protection they could. Now all she could do was push when they told her to push. Which, when the time came, they did.

It was hours after their admittance when the time came, but push she did. She was exhausted and in pain and terrified, but she pushed like she was supposed to and as she screamed "FUCK ME FUCK!" their son was born. Bridget's head fell against the pillow, unable to contemplate doing it again in a moment.

David is tired and scared, but calm. His shirt sleeves are rolled up past his elbow, and untucked from his trousers, disheveled and so relieved when the first cries echo out. The midwife and nurses are quick to swaddle the boy and bring him up so Bridget and David can see him a moment before they take his tiny form to the incubator standing ready. David's breath nearly leaves him completely at the sudden fierce love he feels for that red, screwed-up face.

"Oh, Bridget," he sighs, kissing her temple.

Bridget would have rejoiced with David, but she still had work to do. "You need to push again, Bridget," the doctor said. "Just a few more."

"Noooo," Bridget whined, turning her face away from David. "I'm too tired."

"We're almost done here," the doctor reassured her.

"Goddammit!" Bridget hissed, but she took a deep breath and pushed anyway. It was like the strength to do so came out of nowhere. She continued on even when she had no more energy. When their daughter was finally born, Bridget leaned back and she closed her eyes.

"Now go away, I'm done having babies," she mumbled, not meaning a word of it.

David laughed even though he was crying, and hugged his wife, pressing her to his chest and kissing her head. "You did it, you did it, you beautiful woman," he said, rocking her gently. "Look at them. Oh God, look at them."

Bridget let David hold her for a moment before she finally got up the energy to wrap her arms around him. She glanced over at the incubators where they were situating their daughter now that the cord had been cut. "Will they have to be in those things long?" she said, scared and sad. She wanted to hold her children. There was a nearly physical need to have them in her arms, despite being beyond exhausted. "Are you going to take them away!?"

The midwife, also tired and trying to hide it, gave Bridget a reassuring smile. "We need to make sure they stabilise," she said. "As soon as we know they're able to manage on their own, we will be able to release them to you. They need to put on a little bit of weight. But they will stay in here with you." She patted her hand, and David watched the nurses settling the babies like a hawk. All the tubes and things looked terrifying against the tiny bodies. The midwife explained about how the babies were too immature to breastfeed yet, but they would express milk and feed it to them slowly for a week or two, until they were big enough to be able to feed properly. In the mean time, giving them as much attention and care as possible could only help them. As soon as the doctors and nurses were done, the little incubators were wheeled over so the parents could reach in and touch them. Both had red faces and closed eyes and hair so fair it was hard to see, and right now, but for the tags on their cribs, it would be difficult to tell them apart.

When the incubator was wheeled close to them, Bridget immediately moved to reach inside and stroke her daughter's arm. "And they'll be okay?" she asked, just looking for one more bit of reassurance.

"They'll be fine," a nurse smiled at them. "Have you thought about names?"

Bridget, never taking her eyes off her children, hummed. "Dewi, what should we name them? Now that you can see them, do you still like the names we chose?" Reaching out a bit more, Bridget put her finger near her son and to her surprise, his tiny hand wrapped around it.

"I like the names we chose, still." David wiped his eyes on his sleeve and nodded. He reached out to touch the little girl, and maybe he imagined it, but he thought she leaned into it. "They're both so beautiful. Oh Bridget. You're so amazing." He gave her a watery smile, unable to stop himself crying from sheer wonderment and happiness.