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A storm roared outside the humble home, shaking the ground and battering its walls. Each time the lights flickered, a silhouette of two women was painted in its living room.
A sturdy inflatable pool held one woman inside, as she shifted and grunted uncomfortably. The other crouched just outside its barrier, as close as she could be without breaking through the haven. The women were linked by their interlocked hands, knuckles white. Silence hung between them, interrupted by steadily increasing moans.
“Inhala, Agatha. Breathe.” One said to the other, as she failed to find a comfortable position in the water. It was only slightly helping with the incredible ache.
Agatha stifled a scream, pushing her forehead into her wife’s steady hand, while reaffirming her grip on it. “Rio.” She asked, begged almost, needing to know that she was still there.
Of course she was. She was there then, and for the ten grueling hours before that; she was there when the storm started, when Agatha’s water broke three weeks before she was due. She was there to dust off the birthing pool she never thought they would need; she was there when the backup plan now became the only plan.
Rio’s free hand found its way to Agatha’s bare back, rubbing comforting and firm circles where the contractions had been doing their worst. “Te veo.” Rio whispered softly above the chaos outside, grounding them both back into the present moment. “Estoy aquí.”
Agatha’s tense body relaxed under her touch, and she let out a shaky breath, bringing a brief respite before another pang ripped through her body (in one minute and twenty seven seconds from then - Rio was timing.)
She lifted her head up to look at her wife; eyes weary and face and hair caked with sweat and water. Her face attempted to stifle tears that desperately wanted to come; desperately wanted to make themselves known.
“It’s just us here.” Rio reminded her. “You don’t need to be anything.”
A light laugh turned into a silent bawl, and Agatha reached both arms around her wife, falling into her as much as the low inflatable partition between them would allow. She cried, and everything she couldn’t let herself say was known, without having to utter a word.
“Solo nosotras.” Rio breathed into her wife, in muted tones. “Just us.”
An unwelcome and unbearable pressure between Agatha’s legs announced itself, a moment that seemed lifetimes away now beginning. She couldn’t speak though the pain, only able to release herself from her wife’s embrace to lean back and yell.
“Alright. Alright.” Rio said gently, putting a hand on Agatha’s stomach. “Will you let me take a look?”
“No. No.” Agatha pleaded. Her breathing quickened and hitched on itself, matching the rate of her running heart and the drops racing down her cheeks.
“Okay.” Rio agreed; impossible to say no to her wife even knowing that she won’t be able to honor the request for long. A baby came when the baby wanted, no magic or witch could change that. She ran her thumb over Agatha’s cheek, cradled it in her steady palm.
“I’m coming in.” Rio decided, before Agatha could protest. She positioned herself in the tub as her wife’s pillow, and Agatha collapsed back into her chest. Quick breathing was warm on Rio’s neck as Agatha’s forehead pressed into it; their hands entwined again as they had thousands of times before. Rio kept one on her wife’s lower stomach, felt where the baby is, and at the same time reminded Agatha of her touch, that she was there.
“Rio.” Agatha exhaled into her lover’s neck, her breathing starting to slow. The rain outside pounded down on the pavement and the town, tiny explosions not letting up; not letting the women be in the hospital for the birth of their son. It was roaring, a cacophony, loud.
Their love is quiet.
It was still in this home now - as most of labor had been. Rio took in the scene, stroking Agatha’s hair and listening intently to her breathing, as if it was the most important - and only - sound she has ever heard.
Her hand made its way down to Agatha’s leg, close to her center; silently restating the previous question. “He’s going to be okay. I’m going to keep my hand on his head the whole time. I’ll catch him. I promise.” Rio murmured.
Her wife silently complied, the searing ache at her core not allowing her to fend off the imminent task at hand. A tiny head of hair brushed against her palm, now peaking between Agatha’s legs.
An audible wince pierced the air, preparing for a fast approaching contraction. Her body tensed against Rio’s, clutching her hand for dear life as her wife spoke.
“Sweetheart. Listen to my voice.” Rio instructed softly. “Next contraction, you’re going to push. I’m going to count to ten. Then you can rest, and we’re going to do it again. Okay?”
Agatha nodded slightly, pressing her forehead deeper into her wife’s neck, a solace in her lover to distract from what was happening below. A contraction came, even with the silent prayer that she would promise to be good… as long as this could wait until tomorrow. Or the next day.
Her shaking frame pushed for a count of ten, suppressed screams unable to be quieted. Rio was there, as she said she would be, guiding their son gently into the world with one hand, and holding his mother with the other.
“Good.” Rio praised. “Take a breath.” Agatha felt her wife waiver under her for a short moment, and shifted herself slightly to see tears mirrored back on Rio’s cheeks.
They didn't need to speak to know - this was terrifying. Agatha knew, if roles were reversed, how scared she would be to see Rio in the pain that she is now. Months ago, Rio had told her that she wanted to carry the baby, so she didn’t have to see Agatha like this. Agatha insisted, that it would be an honor to home their child. She knew Rio was terrified of childbirth - of course Death would be - and the fact that she offered anyway was everything she needed. Their lips met, as they were meant to; each kiss destined, each kiss the first time again. They are here, their love is here, it is nothing but alright.
Agatha’s free hand made its way to her wife’s face, in a familiar act of comfort. “You’re supposed to be comforting me.” She teased quietly, with a small laugh of delirious exhaustion. “I’m the one pushing your baby out of me.”
Rio smiled; the one that Agatha adored. “That you are. I’m okay. No te preocupes por mí.”
Before Agatha could respond, her body seized, forced back into the rhythm of a count of ten. The stretch seared and burned; “…nine, ten. Good.”
It went on like that for an hour, the baby barely budging, his small head only ever so slightly making an appearance.
“I want you just to listen to my voice, don’t worry about what my hands are doing, okay? I need both hands for a minute. You can have one back after we get his head out.” Agatha was too tired to argue, and compiled without complaint; her own hands now gripping her wife’s arms. Rio’s hands made their way to Agatha’s core, and as she touched, she reminded her it would be okay, it was okay, it would be okay. Rio steadied her hands, and held tight, pulling skin back slightly, as gently as she could.
“I need you to push really hard this time - this won’t feel great, but his head should come out. It’s going to hurt.”
“No shit.” Agatha breathed, half laughing, half about to cry again. “Where did you learn how to deliver a baby like this?”
“Jen taught me - I asked her to, just in case. Good thing I did.”
Agatha laughed. Cackled, almost. Not the reaction Rio was expecting. “You learned something? For me?”
Rio smirked in understanding. “Cállate.”
The smile morphed into an expression of discomfort, then agony: another contraction was imminent. Agatha focused on the count of ten, the low hum of her wife’s voice instructing her, directing her through the trial necessary to meet their creation.
Rio was right: that hurt. Like hell. Agatha screamed; then whimpered into her wife, no longer concerned with keeping up her snappy exterior, her brassy persona. With Rio, she didn’t have to put on a face. It didn’t matter right now, the only thing that mattered was that this was almost over.
“His head is out.” Rio muttered, confirming what felt obvious to the one he had grown in. As promised, one hand went back to Agatha, who took it with an eager grip, and one to their son.
“If you let go of my hand again, I’ll kill you.” Agatha joked, melting further into her lover. Rio watched the rise and fall of Agatha’s chest, and kissed the top of her head lightly. “I’m sure you will.”
“Don’t make me push yet. I need to catch my breath.” Agatha breathed, wincing and writhing, trying anything to alleviate the intense sting occurring at her center. “Okay.” Rio promised again, knowing it wasn’t hers to keep.
They laid there in silence for a moment, Agatha’s breathing matching the pattern of the sleet falling outside. If Rio could stop time here, just the two of them, she would have.
“On the next one, if you give me another big push, you should be done.” The words tip-toed out of Rio’s mouth, walking on the thin ice of Agatha’s waning energy.
What Rio failed to realize is that Agatha could not say no to her wife right now either. “Okay. As long as you hold my hand.”
“Te veo.” Rio promised.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five, six, seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
And there he was: wailing sharply in hello to the world, laying on Agatha’s chest, quickly covered by a warm towel that was waiting in the wings. The women both rested one hand on him, letting him know they were there.
Agatha and Rio wordlessly looked at each other, grinning, as they took in their new son. In the wee small hours of the morning, their free hands remained together, locked in a forever hold.