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Nobody knows what little factor of genetics gives someone the ability to get pregnant.
Well, that's not true, science knows, the gene has a long complicated name that's wholly unimportant. Gender has no bearing -- some people can get pregnant, some people can't, and the species continues.
The point is; all four of them had the ability to get pregnant. They went into their improv group and their personal relationship knowing that.
They also knew, when they reached a point where a baby wouldn't be the end of the world and was, in fact, something they not only could afford but wanted, that they all stopped using various forms of birth control and started fucking one another with reckless abandon for three months.
They weren't trying, nobody was necessarily trying, but if it happened, it happened.
The most shocking thing was that it happened to Sam.
There are a few things to mention at this point;
One, Sam may bottom the most, but he also did the least to get pregnant, still vaping and drinking and refusing to lay still after sex because he liked taking care of his partner or partners, and that meant getting towels and making tea the moment his legs were not jello.
Two, Sam has the most complex medical history of any of them, between the brain thing and the eating disorders and the addiction. He treats his body well now, eating right and minimizing his substances, but its been through hell.
Three, Sam has been pregnant before.
It's one of those things they don't talk about.
It was in Uni, Sam had been casually fucking way too many people including Luke and Tom, some while sober, most while intoxicated.
The two of them had known about it -- had to, when Sam was vomiting nearly every day for two months. They'd tried to support him, but Sam had actively tried to avoid their help, looking like a spooked horse every time someone brought up the pregnancy.
At some point, the baby had miscarried. Sam took a month off of Uni and returned sober as a priest. Tom and Luke didn't ask for details, just silently dragged him to improv shows and hugged him a little tighter.
Sam had never given any indication as to if he wanted to be pregnant again, but he didn't protest when they agreed they'd try, so when he starts puking his guts up after two months, Tom is the one to bring him the test.
“Welp,” Sam announces as he stares at the two lines. “We did it.”
“Is this a good thing?” AJ asks carefully, because AJ wasn't there but he knows about the last time.
Sam turns to him with a trembling smile and tears in the corners of his eyes. “Yeah, baby, it's a good thing.”
And his people descend.
His doctor is less convinced that this is a good thing. Apparently, Sam is considered a high risk pregnancy.
She's supportive, because Sam chose her and trusts her and if she wasn't supportive he wouldn't keep seeing her, but she's understandably cautious, immediately putting Sam on three different prenatal vitamins and asking about if his job requires intense physical labor.
“These three jump on my back sometimes?” Sam says, pointing at them with his thumb.
His doctor, a firm older woman named Joan with hair that's purely white, turns to them with a piercing gaze that immediately makes all three of them shrink.
“For the next nine months,” She says, pointing at Sam. “Treat him like the most delicate piece of ceramic. No dropping him, no throwing him, absolutely no jumping on him.”
“Yes ma'am,” Luke squeaks, and Sam bites back a laugh.
Joan does an ultrasound and says that Sam is 7 weeks along, which means they should be able to hear a heartbeat. Sam bites his lip hard when she says that, and Joan catches the movement, placing a gentle hand on his shin.
“I can listen first, if you want,” She says solemnly. “And if I don't hear anything, it might mean that the baby is simply positioned too far back, it doesn't mean anything bad.”
“Yet,” Sam says softly.
“Sam,” Joan says, “do you want to have this baby?”
Sam nods immediately, in a way that makes it clear that it isn't just because the baby's father -- whoever it is -- is in the room.
“Then trust me, I am going to do everything in my power to make sure this baby is born healthy.” She promises.
Sam swallows, nods once, and Joan hits a button on the machine.
The steady wublubwub of their baby's heartbeat is more beautiful than anything the four of them have ever heard.
That night, after Sam has been in the shower for a full hour, Tom forces the door open because he knows Sam is pregnant, but save some hot water for the rest of them, please.
He isn't really that surprised to find Sam sitting on the floor of the shower, having a soggy panic attack. He sighs heavily, turns off the water, and shouts “family loo meeting!” Over his shoulder.
AJ and Luke file in, and Sam says; “I threw up my vitamins.”
“You have morning sickness, babe, you've thrown up everything for the past week.” AJ says.
Sam buries his face in his arms. “But I'm supposed to keep those down. They're good for the baby.”
“You can take them again,” Luke soothes, “with food or that peppermint tea you like. We'll call the doctor if you can't keep them down and find a solution.”
“It should've been one of you,” Sam says, fresh tears in his eyes, "I'm already fucking it up.”
“Actually, I think keeping a living being alive for seven weeks is the opposite of fucking it up.” Tom says, and Sam just presses his face a little further into his arms.
“We're here,” AJ says, reaching for him, “we're right here, Sam.”
Sam doesn't move, not until Luke says, quietly; “and we aren't going anywhere, no matter what.”
Sam uncurls, and gets off the bathroom floor.
It's a start.
The next morning, AJ goes out and returns with 5 brand new crystals to add to his already vast collection, a new brand of tea for Sam to try that's supposed to help with anxiety, and a new wind chime for their back yard.
The crystals may be AJ's thing, but Sam's wind chime collection was a small but mighty force. He changed them out regularly, some of them were themed for specific seasons or holidays, each one had different sounds, and they were all beautiful, bits of metal or wood or crystal that clinked against the chime and one another softly. Sam's favorite arm chair was right next to the window where he could see and hear the chimes blowing in their tiny yard.
This wind chime has small, delicately carved elephants, meant to look like they were on parade.
“The baby's Pinterest board has a circus theme.” AJ says, “i won't buy anything yet, or start decorating the nursery, but when we do? Circus, clowns, animals. This baby is the child of performers and they're going to know it.”
Sam tears up immediately, but swears it's good tears. He hangs up the wind chime, and every time the wood clinks against the metal, he seems to breathe just a little bit easier.
The morning sickness gets the tiniest bit better.
Sam's eating disorder was always rooted in his anxiety around if food was safe to eat or not, and luckily a lot of his safe foods were non-perishable things that were easy on the stomach. Pasta and Rice could be made bland, and they seemed to help him keep his vitamins down and in his system.
Unfortunately, he also starts getting migraines more often, which Joan says is normal for pregnancy.
Sam's usual migraine medication says do not take while pregnant on the bottle, and Sam says that if they bring the bottle within ten feet of him he will shove it into whatever orifice he can reach first. A quick phone call to Sam's neurologist -- because Sam has a fucking deformity in his brain and he has one of those -- reveals that pretty every prescription migraine treatment is unsafe for pregnant people.
Sam, who can't open his eyes unless its pitch black in a room or move without puking, says he'll deal with it.
Tom and Luke and AJ hold an emergency family meeting about it, and they recognize that there's no talking Sam out of this. Sam's first priority is their baby, has been for the last 3 weeks. Nothing they say or do will make him change his mind on this.
So they bring him water and tea and move about as silently as they can. They call the BBC and tell them Sam will be late on his deadlines. They do shows without him.
Sam smiles at them with a knowing look in his eye, like he sees what they're doing, and life continues on.
The morning of Sam's ten week appointment, they wake up to find him sitting silently in the living room, one hand on his stomach, staring at nothing.
“Sam?” Luke asks, and he doesn't respond. “Sam, are you ok? Are you in pain?”
Nothing. Luke sighs heavily, grasps his hand.
“Just -- squeeze. Squeeze so I know you're in there, then I'll leave you alone.”
Sam squeezes his hand. Luke leaves him be.
When it's time to leave for the appointment, Sam is the first one standing at the door, shoes on, still silent. He ate a bit of toast and took his vitamins, and hasn't thrown up or hidden from light, so they assume he's ok to go.
When they arrive, their brought back to an exam room, and before the nurse can even take his vitals Joan walks in and says “ok, this is a bit unorthodox, but I know how anxious you are for this, so I'm going to start with the ultrasound up front, is that alright?”
Sam nods immediately, and suddenly the other three have an inkling of what's going on.
“Sam,” AJ whispers as Joan steps out to bring the machine in. “Sam, they'll still be there.”
Sam doesn't answer, but his lips tremble. He refuses to meet any of their eyes.
Joan returns with an ultrasound technician, who spreads the gel on Sam's stomach and presses the wand against it.
Joan points out the blob of their baby to them when they find it -- in the past three weeks, its head has formed more, and there are the stubby beginnings of limbs.
“Baby looks like it's developing normally,” Joan says, glancing at Sam. “Would you like me to listen first?”
Sam nods frantically, and Joan plugs in a pair of headphones before hitting a button.
Then, she smiles, and unplugs them. The baby's heartbeat fills the room.
“Strong and healthy,” Joan confirms.
Immediately, the tension in Sam releases, and he slumps back against the bed, eyes sliding shut.
Joan takes her measurements and a few pictures, then steps out with the tech and the machine. The moment the door slides shut behind her, Sam lets out a horrible, painful wail.
Luke reaches him first, clambering up on the bed with him to wrap his arms around Sam's shoulders and pull him into his lap. Tom and AJ aren't dare behind, each taking a side and holding Sam's hands, soothing him as he cries.
None of them ask. They can all figure it out.
Still, after a few minutes, Sam sniffles, peeks up at them with red rimmed eyes, and says “The last time. The. The last time, it looked the same, and felt the same, and then it was just. Silent.”
He closes his eyes again, pressing his face back to Luke's chest. “And I was all alone, I had to take the train back alone and-”
“You aren't alone,” Tom says, perhaps a little too sharp. “You hear me? You'll never be alone, Sam, no matter what happens, we're not going anywhere.”
“You're stuck with us, babe.” AJ says, kissing the back of Sam's hand. “Through thick and thin, for always.”
“Promise?” Sam whispers, and Luke kisses the top of his head. “Promise.”
The cravings creep in when they aren't looking. One day, Sam is putting his usual salt and Italian seasoning on his pasta, the next he's staring at the peanut butter and wondering aloud what the texture would be like.
“This is better than the throwing up,” AJ says, “but please use the smooth peanut butter instead of the chunky, chunky on pasta would be weird."
“Just because you said that, I'm trying them both. It's an experiment.” Sam says, taking both jars, splitting his penne into two groups and putting a spoonful of peanut butter on each side.
Chunky turns out to be more satisfying. AJ is convinced the baby is already rebelling against him specifically and this is foreshadowing for their teen years.
Other cravings include tomato paste directly from the tube, chocolate chip cookies with mustard, but not on top of the cookie, just a spoonful after a cookie, and the strange urge to chew on cardboard.
Sam’s morning sickness gets a little better, his migraines stay consistent, and one very scary night at 11 and a half weeks, Sam has a seizure.
It’s only a small one, he comes out of it, and doesn’t even stop breathing, but when he comes back to himself he cries in the backseat in AJ’s arms while Tom drives him to the hospital so they can check him over. Everything is fine, baby is strong and healthy and the size of a plum.
Sam still spends the last week of his first trimester walking on eggshells. Nothing strenuous, no medication other than his prenatals, only foods that are good for the baby even though he starts craving greasy fish and chips with a ferocity that shocks everyone including him.
He wakes up the morning of his second trimester and says he feels like he can breathe, and collectively, they all hope the worst is over.
Their wish almost comes true.
On one hand, Sam's anxiety drastically decreases as the chance of miscarriage goes down. On the other hand, Sam's mood swings kick up, and his ankles start to swell.
“Oh god,” Sam says the moment he starts to notice the smallest bump of his stomach, “I'm going to be a fucking whale.”
“Code Red!” Tom shrieks. “He's realized it!”
“Promise you'll love me when I weight 600 kilos.” Sam says with utmost sincerity, even though he only weighs about a hundred kilos now.
When AJ pointed out that actually, 600 kilos was pretty close to the world record, Sam immediately tears up and asks if “you think I'll break that?!”
“Why,” Luke groans, “why would you say that, Alexander? Why do you hate our boyfriend's emotional stability?”
They bundle Sam on the couch with tears still on his cheeks. AJ has been (lovingly) swatted on the head, and Tom starts doing his best (worst) impressions in an attempt to make Sam laugh.
He still wears baggy clothes for the next week, but he does stop poking his stomach judgementally.
(The ankles though, they don't mention the ankles. Sam's sensitive about his ankles.)
Between the migraines and his steadily rising blood pressure, Sam generally feels like shit throughout his pregnancy.
He does get the hormone glow that means his skin is soft and clear of acne, but he has perpetual bedhead, he gains weight quickly and finds himself reduced to sweatpants and stretchy gym shorts. He gets cleared to work from home and starts refusing to leave the house other than for shows.
He also just. Forgets to shower. Pregnancy brain is no joke, Sam's already shitty memory gets bad enough that Luke cautiously asks him to recite the alphabet one day and nearly calls an ambulance when Sam forgets the letter r.
It's not glamorous or pretty, and at around week 20, Sam says “I think I'm going to see if I can get my tubes tied, after.”
“Yeah?” Tom asks, looking up from his book.
“Yeah, Joan and I talked about it at my last appointment, given my medical history she thinks I'm a good candidate." Sam shrugs and takes a bite of his beans (mixed with celery and even more peanut butter). “I… I don't regret saying yes, and I know that I'm going to love this baby more than anything, but I'm not enjoying this. Everyone says pregnancy is supposed to feel great, I feel like I got hit by a truck and swallowed a melon.”
“Thats fair,” Tom says. “If I could trade places I would.”
(In three years, in the midst of his own hormone fueled meltdown, he will regret those words).
The first time the baby kicks is on stage.
Truly, they're the child of performers.
Sam is in the middle of book game when he feels the first nudge, and the book tumbles out of his fingers.
“Stop everything!” Tom shouts, which is a line in his book. He points dramatically at Sam, and Luke (who's the free voice in this whole thing) stares. “Was that…?”
Sam gestures for one of his boyfriends to pick up the book, don't make him try to bend over when he's in his second trimester, do you want him to pee on stage? He flips through the pages, taking his time looking for a suitable response while the scene partners and their audience of loyal fans wait with baited breath.
Sam finds the line he wants, grins, and raises his chin proudly, throwing his arms wide. “The child!”
The Bill Murray explodes in cheers, and AJ rushes on stage to hug him.
Sam laughs and laughs and laughs -- its perfect.
They don't stop touching his belly, after that.
They make a bet -- first one other than Sam to feel the baby kick gets bragging rights and gets to make the social media post after the baby is born.
“Fuck you three,” Sam says when they tell him that, “I’m the one pushing a human out of my body, I'm making the post and Tom's not spell checking me, the dyslexia is gonna be out in full force.”
So really, whoever feels the first kick is just getting bragging rights, but it doesn't stop them from competing for it. AJ sings to the bump, Tom recites bits of poetry and plays, and Luke comes up behind Sam when he's cooking and just. Rests his hands. Like Sam is something to be cherished and protected.
In the end, Tom wins, and as soon as the kicking starts it doesn't stop.
Honestly though, of all his symptoms? The kicking is the thing Sam minds the least. No matter how many times he has to go to the bathroom or gets woken up from the feeling of their baby moving inside him, he likes the knowledge that this is real, that their baby is growing strong and healthy, and soon enough they'll be able to kick whoever they please.
They don't find out a gender by unspoken agreement -- it doesn't really matter for AJ's circus aesthetic, and Tom spent most of Uni running around in genderqueer spaces, so they're all well aware of the fact that biology doesn't have a lick to do with gender.
After they pass the midpoint of his pregnancy though, they collectively realize they can't keep calling the baby bump or nudger or fucking annoyance (affectionate) forever.
Sam makes a list of rules for name suggestions; no Shakespeare names, no crystals, Luke is in charge of making sure each name doesn't translate into something nasty in another language, and Sam gets final veto.
Rejected names include Jemima, Jeremy, Robert, Rolland, and Clarissa because they, quote, aren't pricks and aren't going for one of their easy to remember stage names.
Susie is tossed around for a while, until AJ decides he hates the nickname Sue. Buster is rejected because seriously, it's not the 30s anymore. Naming them after someone they know isn't even suggested -- it would get confusing.
Sam does like Riley, for a girl, and Elliot. They shrug and call the matter settled -- if they hate it by the time their baby is born, well, they are improvisors, they'll make it work.
(“We can't improvise our baby's name, that's how we end up with a goddamn Jemima.” Sam says firmly.
“Jemima would make a good middle name, actually.” Luke says.
“I will kill you in your sleep, Luke, do not fucking test me.”)
As Sam progresses further in his pregnancy, Joan sees him more and more, and each time he learns about some new health complication the baby is giving him -- if its not his blood pressure, its his blood sugars, if its not his ankles its his hips, and if its not a migraine… well.
Sam has spent the last 23 weeks hoping and praying he could get through the last trimester of his pregnancy without major incident.
The one day he has to go into the BBC, the one day he's alone is the one day where it all goes to hell.
Tom is technically listed as Sam's primary emergency contact for no other reason that he's usually in England, so he's the one who gets the call from the hospital that Sam's been admitted due to a massive seizure. They find out later that there had been no warning signs, no precursors or auras for Sam to warn anyone, he'd just dropped and he'd smacked his head on the way down.
Tom and Luke rush to the hospital, but AJ happens to be in France and can't make it back for at least four hours.
It doesn't matter, none of that matters, not when Sam is crying and nursing a concussion, not when he's hooked up to a million monitors and staring at the one measuring the baby's heartbeat like if he looks away it'll stop.
They find out that his water broke when he fell. They managed to stop his labor, but it had been close.
Too close.
“Right,” Joan says, hours later, after AJ has finally managed to get there. “I want to keep you overnight, just to monitor everything.”
Sam doesn't protest, which is really a testament to how scared he is, because Sam hates hospitals.
“Afterward, I want you on bedrest. Nothing heavier than 5 pounds, try to keep off your feet as much as possible. My goal is to get you as close to your due date as possible, and for that to happen you need to limit strenuous activity.”
Sam nods, squeezing AJ's hand.
Joan softens, just a bit. “We're near the finish line, Sam, baby's vitals are still strong. All we have to do is get them through this last bit.”
The four of them all shared a look -- frightened, emotional, and determined.
They can do this.
Their fans are wonderful and supportive when Sam announces that he won't be at shows for a while. Throughout the whole thing, people have been cheerful and excited for them, laughing at all of Sam's pregnancy jokes and bringing them hand knitted blankets.
(He'd been cautious to accept those, at first, quietly telling them that the worst part of the last time wasn't the blood or the pain -- it was the fact that his dad had bought him a single onesie for the baby, and getting rid of it had been like eating hot coals.
But Sam was braver than he ever gave himself credit for, so he let himself be seen and celebrated, accepting the gifts with a smile.
It was terrifying, but they got through it the way they had gotten through everything -- together.)
A live stream from home feels like the perfect thing for this situation- they set it up differently than normal, a wide shot instead of their normal floating heads. Sam is on the couch, surrounded by blankets, wearing a silly plastic crown.
“If we hit our kofi goal,” AJ declares, “I'll show everyone the nursery.”
Sam raises his eyebrows. “I haven't even seen the nursery yet.”
“Then it'll be an even bigger reveal.” AJ smirks. “I worked really hard on it.”
The donations flood in.
They make the night as fun as possible while still being chill -- they do book game using the cheesiest parenting books they could find, write a letter of complaint about diapers that devolves into then stating how scared they all are of baby shit. Their fans call them cowards for the rest of the night.
They hit the goal -- of course they hit the goal, how couldn't they with such a carrot from AJ, and he expertly scoops the camera off the tripod and glances at Sam.
“Ready?”
“If you make me cry on camera, you're sleeping on the couch,” Sam says. AJ leads them into the bedroom.
The circus theme includes cream colored walls with red accents, and striped curtains. There are animals everywhere -- little stuffed ones, and big versions carefully painted on the walls. A surprisingly cute baby clown holding balloons is painted near the changing table. Four painted animals parade on the wall by the crib -- a giraffe with books on its back, a monkey holding a camera, a lion wearing glasses, and in front of it all a bear in a red shirt, holding a tiny ringleader in his paws.
It wouldn't make sense to anyone else.
It makes sense to them.
Sam does cry, but AJ doesn't have to sleep on the couch.
They've made the space. They are as ready as they'll ever be.
“I would give anything,” Sam says, deep into his third trimester and balancing a bowl of edamame (with peanut butter) on his belly, “to just. Magically pop them out.”
“Not excited for the miracle of childbirth?” Luke asks, and Sam's face scrunched. “Not even a little bit. It's not even the pain, I just fucking hate hospitals.”
Luke frowns. “That bad?”
“I hate the needles, I hate the nurses with their creepy smiles, I hate how small and hard the beds are-” Sam stubbornly bites into an edamame. “Hate ‘em, have since I was a kid.”
“Im sorry,” Luke says, “if a home birth was safe…”
Sam softens.
“Hey, its not your fault.”
“Might be, actually.” Luke shrugs. “Technically, could be any of our faults that you feel like shit.”
Sam throws edamame at him, and Luke ends up with peanut butter in his hair.
“Let me be clear,” Sam says while he helps him wash it out, “I hate this. I’m going to hate it until the baby is born. I also would do every last second of it again to hold our kid in my arms.”
Luke smiles. “Your stronger than any of us, babe.”
“That's what I’ve been saying,” Sam laughs.
In typical Sam Russell fashion, he goes into labor at the most climactic moment possible.
Its literally the middle of a thunderstorm. Luke has a cold. Tom and AJ are doing a live stream for their patrons.
“Uh, guys!” Sam calls from the bathroom.
“If you're going to talk about your shit again, keep in mind we're live!” AJ holders back.
“I think the baby is coming!”
Chaos descends.
Luke tries to move too fast and nearly collapses. Tom goes to get the birth bag and walks straight into a door. AJ jungles the phone and asks “should I keep live streaming?!”
“No!” Luke and Tom chorus in unison
“It's my body, and it’s good content!” Sam says as he waddles out of the bathroom.
“We are not live streaming our baby's birth!” Luke says, “AJ give me that phone --”
And thats the end of the stream.
Patrons of the channel will laugh about it for ages.
“Im never having sex again, I'm going to become a monk and move to the mountains with a goat.”
“You can do whatever you want babe, just keep breathing.”
“Say the word breathing one more time Luke-”
“Okay!” Tom says, tugging Luke out of Sam's range. “Why are you poking the bear?”
“He needs oxygen!” Luke protests, “Oxygen is important for continued living!”
“Your dick isn't important for continued living and if this baby comes out blonde I'm ripping yours off!” Sam wails.
“What will you do if it comes out with brown hair?” Tom asks, and the snarl Sam lets out makes them take two steps back.
“I brought soda!” AJ says as he comes back into the room. “Why do you two look like you've seen god?”
“God is dead and Sam ripped his dick off.” Luke whispers.
“I am making hair based threats,” Sam says, “if this baby comes out ginger-”
“I'll launch myself off a roof.” AJ says solmenly, and Sam looks at him for a moment, then nods.
“You passed the test.”
“What the fuck?” Tom whispers.
Sam's anger melts into pain as he winces through another contraction. “Fuck, fuck, fuck- i want to stand, can I stand?”
“Yeah, baby, let's stand.” AJ says, immediately rushing over to help him up. “Take your time. Breathe.”
“How come he can say the B word?” Luke asks, but helps Sam stand and do a little waddle around the room.
“Everything is terrible and I am never doing this again,” Sam groans, “holy fuck-”
“You're doing amazing, Sam,” Tom says, “You've been so amazing for so long, just a little longer and then its all done.”
Sam cries out as another contraction hits -- theyre getting faster, rolling into one another.
“Almost there, Sam,” Luke says. “You’re almost there.”
“Good news!” Joan announces, “it's time to push.”
“That doesn't feel like good news!” Sam moans, drenched in sweat with AJ and Tom on either side and Luke by his feet.
“I can't believe you can watch,” AJ says, shaking his head, “I would faint.”
“I might!” Luke says cheerfully.
“If you faint, you stay there until the baby is born.” Joan says.
“Everyone shut the fuck up!” Sam shrieks as another contraction hits.
“Alright, next one? You push.” Joan says, taking her position between Sam's knees.
“You can do this,” Tom says, “you are Sam fucking Holmes, our tank and the love of our life. You can do fucking anything.”
The contraction hits.
Sam screams.
His entire body clenches as he puts his energy into a big push, and Joan grins. “Just like that, Sam, wonderful -- you're doing wonderful. Keep doing that.”
Sam clenches around Tom and AJ's hands so hard that one of Tom's fingers pops out of its socket.
“You're a beast and a champ, Sam!” Luke cheers, “Fuck, I saw the head!”
“Ready?” Joan asks, and against all odds Sam nods, and he does it again, and again, and once more before he slumps back, exhausted.
“Tell me I at least got the head,” He cries, “I can't keep doing that-”
“Not quite, but your close,” Joan says, “try some smaller pushes, get us through the crown, you're so close-”
“Something is wrong,” Sam says, “Something, something feels wrong-”
“Your vitals are stable,” Joan says, “Sam?”
And that's when Sam's body lunches so hard that he nearly falls off the bed.
“He's seizing!” Joan shouts, “I need help!”
Nurses and other doctors flood in, and AJ and Tom are pushed out of the way.
“What's going on?! Someone tell us whats going on!” Luke shrieks even as Joan ushers them all out.
“Listen, Listen, Sam's having a seizure,” Joan says once they're in the hallway, “This isn't unexpected, his body is under a lot of stress. The placenta has already detached, so I believe the best option for Sam and the baby is for me to do a C-section.”
They had discussed this before, what Sam consented to if it came down to it. This had always been the back up plan -- hell, Sam had actually been ready for it to be the initial plan, if the baby hadn't come on its own.
They all turn toward Tom -- on paper, he was the one who got to make this decision.
Tom nods firmly. “Do it.”
Joan nods. “I'll take care of him, I promise.”
And then she's gone, and the three of them are left with their hearts in their hands and nothing but hope.
The surgery feels like it takes ages.
They sit in a waiting room together. Tom gets them too hot tea from a kiosk, Luke paces, AJ clutches the rose quartz he brought and whispers “I made them a room, I made space in our house and our heart, they have to fill it.”
“Sam can't take that again.” Luke whispers back, as if he's afraid to say it too loud and make it real.
“Nothing will happen to Sam or the baby,” Tom says, “not when we're so close.”
Joan walks into the waiting room, and they're all on their feet immediately. She smiles at them.
“You have someone waiting to meet you,” she says, “and another someone who's probably very relieved to not be pregnant anymore.”
And just like that, it's over.
“Your hair based threats didn't include baldness,” AJ says, holding their son in his arms like he can't believe how small he is.
“The dick ripping is on hold until he's bigger and screaming his head off.” Sam mumbles, leaning heavily against Tom's shoulder.
“Elliot,” Luke coos, “little Elliot Buster Holmes.”
“Not Buster,” AJ says, face scrunched. “Anything but Buster, I'm sorry Buster.”
“Gertude? Go old fashioned and gender non conforming with it?” Sam offers.
“I think it should be Sam.” Tom says.
They're all quiet for a beat.
“Elliot Samuel Holmes.” Luke says. “I don't hate it.”
“Elliot Samuel Mayo-Holmes-Manning.” Sam says back. “Sorry AJ, but I think Jeremy is too much.”
“Agreed.” AJ shrugs. “I can name the next one.”
“Let's keep this one alive first.” Tom says, rolling his eyes. He leans over and kisses the top of Sam's head. “And let's get Sammy here home.”
“Home,” Sam echoes, thinking about their flat and their fans and Elliot's circus room and the love that surrounds him everywhere he goes.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “Let's go home.”