Chapter Text
Steve's P.O.V.
It had been seven months since Pony had "committed suicide," but he actually never did. And it has been two months since we found out that he was still alive and a secret agent. I am currently nine months pregnant with Sodapop's baby. We both agreed that the gender of our baby was to be kept a secret until I went into labor, which should be any day now. We had agreed on naming our baby after Pony's favorite horses. Ginger for a boy and Goldie for a girl.
Soda came into the living room and sat right down next to me. He placed a hand on my stomach, where our baby was currently moving around like a bat straight out of hell, and smiled. "I can't wait to meet our little one," he said.
"Me neither," I said, as I placed my hand on top of his.
"I think the baby is just as excited to meet us," Soda said, laughing. "I hope they get your patience and my sense of humor." I smiled, imagining our little one's personality. Any day now, we would finally hold our baby, Ginger or Goldie, in our arms.
I soon felt a sharp pain in my belly. And it felt like our baby had dropped, as if trying to get into position for me to push them out of a tiny hole. I took a deep breath, trying to stay calm despite the sudden discomfort. Soda noticed my expression, and his smile faded, replaced by concern. Soda helped me sit more comfortably, his hand still on my stomach. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice soft. I nodded, breathing through the pain.
I nodded slowly, hoping this was just a false alarm and not the beginning of labor. I closed my eyes, focusing on my breathing, trying to stay calm. Soda gently rubbed my back, whispering reassurances. After a few minutes, the pain subsided, leaving me both relieved and anxious. Was this just a practice run, or was our baby really on the way?
Almost half an hour later, another pain shot through my belly. Startling me from the nap I had been taking on the couch. I sat up, clutching my belly, trying to assess the intensity of the pain. It felt stronger this time, more persistent. Soda knelt beside me, his hand on my knee, his eyes searching mine. The pain came and went in waves, growing more intense each time. Soda stayed by my side, offering comfort and support. As the contractions continued, I realized this was no false alarm—our baby was coming. Despite my fear, I felt a surge of excitement and anticipation for what was to come.
"Do you think it's time?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly. I took a deep breath, unsure, but the tightening in my abdomen told me this might be the real thing. I nodded my head, trying to hold back any tears. Soda's eyes widened with a mix of excitement and nervousness, and he quickly sprang into action. He grabbed the hospital bag we had packed weeks ago and double-checked its contents to make sure we had everything we needed. "Okay, let's get you to the hospital," he said, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him. He helped me to my feet, supporting me as we made our way to the door, his determination to be by my side evident in every step.
It felt like our little one wanted to rip out of my body. The drive to the hospital was a blur of streetlights and hurried anticipation. Soda kept glancing over at me, his hand resting reassuringly on mine as I breathed through each contraction. The car was filled with a tense excitement, and despite the pain, I couldn't help but feel a rush of exhilaration knowing that we were about to meet our child.
"It's okay, Stevie," Soda said. "We're going to meet our baby soon."
All I could do was smile at him, even if I was in the worst pain of my life. As we pulled up to the hospital, the bright lights of the entrance seemed to beckon us inside. Soda quickly parked the car and helped me out, his arm wrapped securely around my waist. We made our way through the sliding doors, greeted by the bustling energy of the maternity ward, where nurses quickly took charge, guiding us to a room where our journey would truly begin. The nurses guided us to a room where they began preparing for the delivery. Soda stayed by my side, offering comfort and encouragement as the contractions grew stronger. The anticipation built with each passing moment, and I could feel the overwhelming mix of pain and excitement as we waited for our baby to arrive.
The delivery room was a whirlwind of activity, but Soda never let go of my hand. Every time a contraction ripped through me, he was there, a steady anchor in the middle of the storm.
"You're doing great, Stevie," he whispered, his eyes bright with a mix of terror and awe. "Just a little longer."
I gripped his hand so hard I thought I might break it, but he didn't even flinch. The doctor, a calm woman named Dr. Aris, moved into position. "Alright, Steve, it's time to push. On the next one, I need everything you've got."
I took a ragged breath, the world narrowing down to the pressure in my abdomen and the sound of Soda's voice. When the next wave hit, I gave it everything. I felt like I was being split apart, but the thought of Ginger or Goldie kept me grounded.
"I see the head!" Soda gasped, his voice cracking. "Stevie, honey, they're almost here!"
One last, monumental effort, and then—the pressure vanished. For a heartbeat, there was silence, and then a loud, indignant wail filled the room. The sound was the most beautiful thing I'd ever heard.
Dr. Aris lifted the crying, squirming bundle. "Congratulations, you two. It's a boy."
"Ginger," Soda breathed, tears finally spilling over as the nurses quickly cleaned the baby and placed him on my chest. He was warm, heavy, and perfect, with a dusting of light hair that looked just like Soda's.
"He's here," I whispered, my voice thick with exhaustion and relief. "He's really here."
Soda leaned down, kissing my forehead before pressing a soft kiss to the top of Ginger’s head. "Hey there, little man. Welcome home."
I reached out a trembling finger, tracing the curve of Ginger's tiny, red cheek. He had stopped crying, now letting out small, rhythmic grunts as he settled against my skin. The sheer weight of him—this tiny person we had made—felt like the most important thing I had ever held.
Soda was leaning over us, his face reflecting a kind of pure, unadulterated joy I hadn't seen in years. He looked like he was afraid to touch him, but his hand eventually found its way to Ginger's miniature fist. The baby’s fingers instinctively curled around Soda's thumb, and I saw Soda's breath hitch.
"He's got your eyes, Stevie," Soda murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "And my hair. Look at that little cowlick already."
"He's perfect," I breathed, closing my eyes for a second just to feel the warmth radiating from both of them. The pain of the last few hours was already starting to feel like a distant memory, replaced by this overwhelming sense of peace.
The nurses moved quietly around the room, giving us a few moments of privacy before they had to take him for his official measurements. One of them stepped forward with a warm blanket, gently tucking it around both of us.
"You did good, Steve," Soda said, his hand moving from the baby to stroke my hair back from my forehead. "I'm so proud of you. I don't know how you did it."
"I did it for him," I said, looking down at Ginger, who was now blinking up at the world with dark, curious eyes. "And for us."
Soda leaned down and kissed me, a long, soft kiss that tasted like salt from his tears. "We’re a family now. A real family."