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"Ohdearohdearohdearohdear," Rodney mumbles to himself, pacing back and forth between vending machine and waiting room doors.
John watches him with one eyebrow raised. "Hey."
Rodney tilts his head in acknowledgement, wild-eyed, and continues to mumble and pace.
"You're making me kinda crazy," John offers.
"Well I just – " Rodney flings out his hands in a gesture of exasperation. "It's taking so long!"
"Babies generally do," John says gently.
"Yes, yes, quite, I know, I've – been there twice, I just – "
John snags Rodney's wrist as he passes by on his seven-hundred-and-twenty-first spin around the room. "C'mere."
"I can't, I can't just sit, I'll – " Rodney collapses beside him on the faded couch and slumps pliably as John hooks an arm around him, pulling him in close. "You think she's okay?"
"As okay as she can be, yeah," John says, nudging his nose into Rodney's receding hair. "She's a tough lil peanut. She'll be fine."
Rodney grumbles at the back of his throat and leans his head against John's shoulder. "I'm not cut out for this."
"What?"
"Waiting. I don't have the patience. I want to do things."
"Pretty sure she wouldn't thank you for trying to do anything right now."
Rodney hmmphs. "Probably not."
"Besides, Aiden has it under control."
"Oh please, since when do novelists have things under control? She's not a dangling modifier he can fix! Things are slightly more complicated in there than he's ever had cause to deal with before, the thesaurus-using . . . "
John shifts, stretching out his legs. "You ever gonna get over the fact that she shacked up with an English major?"
"No! Why should I? First I have to suffer my sister hooking up with her inferior, humanities-and-arts-loving boyfriend – "
"You like Caleb."
" - now my daughter has to heap on the disgrace by – "
"Shhhhhh," John croons, stroking his hand down Rodney's arm. "You'll only wake the babies."
Rodney sighs petulantly and hooks his fingers inside the waistband of John's jeans. "The babies are all the way down the other end of the corridor."
"Yeah, and you were working up to a floor-wide fit, so I figured – "
"I don't have fits."
"Sure you don't."
"I don't! I have . . . well reasoned discourse with . . . with people!"
"Uh-huh."
"Shut up."
John smiles and kisses his head.
They doze for a while, sleepy despite all their adrenaline, and John wakes with a start when Aiden comes to get them, face washed over with a strange, fragile wonder and his scrub hat mashed up in his hand. "Here," he manages, and John smiles at him, wondering if he'd ever looked that young himself.
"Rodney," he says, jiggling his shoulder. "S'time."
"Time?" Rodney says, waking up blearily. "S'time? Time for – oh!" He sits up, blinking rapidly. "Oh, oh, time, time, is she okay, she's okay right? You'd tell us if she wasn't okay?"
Aiden ducks his head, running a hand through his hair. "She's – she's amazing," he says, sounding awed and a little stunned. "Yeah, she's – she's just – "
John stands up and claps him on the shoulder. "S'okay," he says, turning him bodily around, back toward the doors. "Lead the way."
"Lead the – oh no no no no no no," Rodney says, pushing them both aside and maneuvering around the National Geographic-laden coffee table. "No no no, I'm not waiting for anyone, not even you, sperminator-bob – " And he's out the door, tearing down the hallway, and it's all John can do not to laugh as he jogs up behind.
Tucked into the dimly lit confines of her private room, Merrie looks exhausted, just as John had supposed she would, but she smiles as they shove each other through the door. "Hey," she manages. "Did you – "
Rodney's at her bedside in an instant. "Are you okay?" he asks, bending to kiss her forehead. "Are you okay, do you need anything? I have credit cards, several actually, we can get you anything you need, do you need a better bed? This one looks a little – I can get you a better bed, you really should rest after –"
"Dad," Merrie grins, gripping his hand to get his attention. "It's okay. I'm fine."
"I just – maybe some fruit? You must be hungry, or, oh, oh – " he snaps his fingers several times " – ice cream? Would that taste good, strawberry, of course, or maybe chocolate, you can have both, you absolutely can have both if you want and we can – "
"Rodney?" John says softly.
"What!?" Rodney snaps, turning around. "What on earth could you possibly need right now that I – " And then he stops dead. "Oh," he manages, eyes suddenly bright. "Oh, John."
John smiles at him, crossing the room, a brand new grandchild cradled in each arm, two dark-haired moppets with pointed ears and pink faces and sweet button noses. "Take one," he murmurs.
"Oh, oh my god," Rodney whispers, transferring one of the babies into his own arms, pushing back the blanket to search for little hands. "Which one is – I have – who? Who is this?"
"Jake," Merrie says sleepily, smiling at them both so fondly. "Baffa's got Emily."
"For Grandma McKay?" Rodney asks, blinking.
"Yeah," she grins. "Spitfire."
Rodney laughs, a little choked, and lets Jake grab his finger. "God, I'd forgotten," he says, looking up at John. "What they do to you."
John smudges a kiss to Emily's forehead, laughs softly as she screws up her face and yawns at his attention. "Big old grab for your heart," he says, mesmerized.
"Yeah," Rodney breathes. "Oh god. I'm a grandpa. I'm a bona fide grandpa."
Merrie slides down in her bed, eyes drifting closed. "Just don't drop him," she cautions, yawning.
"Like I – that's your Baffa who – "
"Hey, I never did, I just worried that I'd – "
"You absolutely let Finn roll off the – "
"He was rolly! That wasn't my – "
Aiden clears his throat ominously and they both look up, silent. "She's asleep," he whispers.
Rodney swallows, face showing so many emotions John can't begin to count them. "Poor love. She's – we can stay, right, we can stay?"
Aiden shakes his head, laughing quietly. "Of course. God, here, have a chair and . . . "
And while Rodney gets settled with cushions and a tiny blanket, telling Jake the same stories of dark matter and wormhole entropy with which he'd once soothed his mother to sleep, John bends to kiss his daughter's forehead, heart pinching as she makes the noise she always made when tumbling into dreams. "Sleep, sweetheart," he whispers, "we've got 'em," and crosses the room to join his more-or-less son-in-law, husband, and other grandkid, all the while coaxing Emily to sleep in the comfort of his arms.