Work Text:
The air in the Diaz-Buck kitchen was thick and sweet with the smell of cinnamon rolls, a treat Buck had started making every morning since Eddie passed his due date four days ago. It was a nervous ritual, a way to anchor himself in the domestic normalcy they cherished, despite the biological hurricane waiting to happen.
Eddie, four days past his due date, felt less like a hurricane and more like a vast, stagnant, slightly spoiled ocean. He was huge—unmistakably and undeniably nine-months pregnant—and every movement was an exercise in gravitational physics. He wore Buck’s softest grey joggers, pulled up high over the colossal curve of his abdomen, and a loose black t-shirt.
He was currently leaning against the doorframe of Christopher’s bedroom, watching his son struggle good-naturedly with a rebellious sock.
“Come on, Superman,” Eddie grumbled, his voice low and heavy with sleep and physical weight. “We’ve got a cinnamon roll countdown running.”
Christopher finally yanked the sock on with a victorious flourish. “I won! Tell Buck I won!”
“You won, buddy,” Eddie smiled, pushing off the frame.
It was in that moment, in the brief space between the push-off and the first step, that the stagnant ocean of his body finally felt a current. It wasn't pain, not yet. It was a deep, internal tightening that began in the small of his back and wrapped forward like a velvet ribbon being pulled tight around his core. It wasn't the sharp, localized contraction he'd felt during Braxton Hicks, this felt tectonic.
He froze, one hand instinctively covering his belly, the other flattening against the door frame to steady himself.
"Eds?" Buck’s voice was instantly alerted, filtering in from the kitchen with a question mark woven into the tone. Buck had developed a sixth sense for even the slightest shift in Eddie’s demeanor over the last nine months.
The tightening peaked, holding for a long, quiet moment, and then slowly, beautifully, released.
Eddie let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He hadn't made a sound, but his eyes were wide, and the sudden shift from sluggishness to stillness was all the answer Buck needed.
“What was that?” Christopher asked, noticing the lack of forward movement.
Eddie pressed a kiss to Christopher's forehead, his voice calm. “Just a little stretch, buddy. Tell Buck I’ll be right there.”
He started walking again, slowly, deliberately. By the time he reached the kitchen archway, Buck was already standing there, a cooling rack of rolls forgotten on the counter. His face was open, a mix of terror and elation that made Eddie’s heart squeeze.
“A real one?” Buck asked, his voice barely a whisper.
Eddie nodded, a small, genuine smile curving his lips. “I think so. It was… different. Definitely not a practice drill.” He walked the final few steps and leaned against Buck, burying his face in the reassuring warmth of his neck. “It just feels like… a very intense period cramp that decided to wrap around my entire torso.”
Buck wrapped his arms around Eddie's massive middle, carefully avoiding pressing too hard. He breathed in the familiar scent of Eddie—coffee, sleep, and the faint, coppery scent that had accompanied the final weeks of pregnancy—and let out a slow, steady exhale.
“Okay,” Buck said, voice stabilizing instantly, falling into the familiar cadence of a Captain on a chaotic scene. “Okay. We’re good. Five days overdue, this is fine. This is great, actually. Timing?”
Eddie glanced at the clock on the stove. It was 8:05 AM. “Just one. It started right as I was leaving Chris’s room.”
“I’ll start tracking on the app,” Buck said, pulling out his phone. He looked at Eddie, his eyes steady and reassuring, but his hands were buzzing with suppressed energy. “You okay? You don’t look panicked.”
“I’m not,” Eddie admitted, easing himself carefully onto one of the kitchen stools. “It’s been twenty-four hours of waiting for this feeling. It’s a relief, honestly. And it was just… tight. Not painful.”
The next one hit ten minutes later, right as Christopher was asking if he could frost his own cinnamon roll. Eddie felt it starting again, that slow, irresistible tightening, and he stopped mid-sentence, his breath hitching slightly. He closed his eyes and gripped the edge of the granite counter, silently riding the wave.
“Dad?” Christopher’s young voice held a hint of concern.
“It’s okay, Superman,” Buck answered immediately, his hand placed firmly on Christopher’s shoulder, keeping him grounded. Buck looked at the clock: 8:15 AM. “It’s just what the doctor said, remember? The baby is starting his long journey.”
Christopher watched Eddie’s face, which was currently a mask of concentration. “Does it hurt?”
Eddie opened his eyes as the contraction faded, breathing a slow, deliberate 'ha' through his mouth, a little trick he’d learned in their birthing class. “Not really, bud. It’s intense, but not hurting yet. It just means the baby is getting ready to come meet you.”
“Will the baby come today?” Christopher asked, completely captivated.
“We don’t know,” Buck chimed in, smiling softly at Eddie. “This is just the warm-up, buddy. This part can take a long time, maybe even all day and all night. But we’ll be right here, doing normal stuff until it’s time to call the midwife.”
“Right,” Eddie agreed, feeling the last vestiges of the contraction dissipate. He took a deep breath and looked at Buck. “Let’s call Maria now. Just to give her a heads-up that we’re starting, and get her projected ETA.”
Buck nodded, already tapping the phone. He held it up to his ear, his voice calm and professional as he spoke to their midwife, Maria. “Yeah, it’s Eddie. Just had the second one, about ten minutes apart. Mild intensity… yeah, he’s calm… we’re eating cinnamon rolls. Great. We’ll keep you posted, and let you know when the pattern shortens.”
They finished breakfast in that surreal, calm state of suspended reality. Every ten minutes, Eddie would pause, lean back, and breathe through the tightening, while Buck would track the duration and interval on the app. Christopher, after his initial curiosity, accepted this as the new normal. He knew the drill: when Papa Eddie stops, we wait quietly until he starts again.
After breakfast, Eddie stood up, feeling a deep, almost instinctual need to move. “I’m going to walk a bit. I need to get things moving, and the house feels too small.”
“Perfect,” Buck said, immediately retrieving Eddie’s water bottle, a small towel, and his own phone. “We’ll start putting up the backyard tent and setting up the pool now. Christopher, you want to help me pump up the mattress?”
Christopher nodded excitedly. The birth was an adventure they’d all prepared for, and now, finally, the mission was underway.
By 11:30 AM, the backyard had been successfully transformed into their designated birthing sanctuary. The large, dark-blue inflatable birthing pool stood proud on the wooden deck, filled a third of the way with warm water, awaiting the moment of full submersion. A spacious, pop-up canopy covered the area, protecting them from the relentless LA sun, casting the whole space in a gentle, diffused light.
Underneath the canopy, Buck had meticulously arranged the rest of the gear. There was the inflatable mattress covered in waterproof pads and soft blankets, ready for resting; a stack of fresh, brightly coloured towels; and the birthing ball, a large, deep purple sphere, already inflated and waiting. Chairs for Buck and Maria were placed discreetly out of the way, and a small, rolling cart held water, juice, and small snacks.
Eddie was walking. It was still early labor, the contractions ranging from eight to ten minutes apart and lasting about forty seconds. The intensity was rising, but it was still manageable—more demanding than painful. He was wearing a fresh pair of black athletic shorts and a light grey tank top.
He walked circuits around the perimeter of the backyard, occasionally pausing to lean his forehead against the cool, rough bark of their old lemon tree when a wave started. Buck walked in tandem, not clinging, but hovering close enough to anticipate a need.
“It’s starting to feel… stronger,” Eddie murmured during a walking break, taking a long sip of electrolyte water. “Like a real purpose behind it now. It’s hard to ignore.”
“It’s doing its job, Eds,” Buck replied, massaging the back of Eddie’s neck and shoulders, working the tension out of muscles that were bracing for the next wave. “Keep moving. Gravity’s your friend.”
They settled into this rhythm. Walk, pause and lean for a minute, track the contraction, walk again. Christopher, meanwhile, was doing his part by carefully arranging a basket of small, comforting toys and books near the inflatable mattress—his contribution to the ‘nest.’
Around 1:00 PM, Maria, their midwife, arrived quietly. She was a calming, steady presence, accompanied by her assistant, Sarah. They didn't disrupt the flow, simply setting up their minimal medical gear in a corner of the covered deck and letting their presence filter in gently.
Maria watched Eddie walk for a few minutes, observing his pace, his posture, and the way he instinctively breathed through the waves.
“Eddie, you are moving beautifully,” Maria said softly, her voice carrying a calm authority. “I’m going to sit and knit for a while. If you feel like you want me to check where things are, just give me a nod.”
The offer hung in the air, tempting him with knowledge. After another three contractions that left him slightly winded, Eddie nodded toward Buck.
Buck relayed the request to Maria. The check was quick and professional. Eddie knelt on the mattress, leaning his arms onto the birthing ball for support while Maria made the assessment.
“You’re doing great, love,” she murmured, withdrawing her hand. “I can feel you’re about two centimeters dilated, maybe three, and things are softening nicely. This is classic early labor. The contractions are close enough to be working well, but you’re still talking and smiling. Your body knows what it’s doing.”
Two centimeters. After five hours of work, only two. A flash of disappointment crossed Eddie’s face, but Buck was there instantly, kneeling in front of him, hands framing his face.
“Hey. Two centimeters is huge. That’s the first wall broken down,” Buck insisted, his blue eyes intense. “That’s hard work, Eds. You already started the journey. We’ve got a long, slow road ahead, just like they said. You ready to switch gears? Maybe try the birthing ball for a while?”
Eddie slid onto the large purple ball, finding immediate relief in the slightly unstable, soft surface. He began to gently sway his hips in slow, figure-eight motions, allowing the gentle movement to take pressure off his lower back. Buck knelt beside him, his hands resting on Eddie's thighs, a silent, grounding weight.
Christopher came over, fascinated. “Can I sit on the ball?”
“Not yet, buddy,” Eddie chuckled, the movement helping to distract him from the impending next contraction. “Dad needs this magic ball right now. But you can rub my back, if you want.”
Christopher climbed onto the edge of the mattress behind him and started awkwardly patting his hand against Eddie’s tense lower back. It wasn't helpful, but the love in the gesture was a soothing balm.
The contractions began to drop to the seven-minute mark. Eddie felt the need to vocalize a bit more now. During the peak of a contraction on the ball, he didn’t just breathe a quiet ha; he let out a low, drawn-out hnnnn sound, a primal groan that vibrationally eased the pressure.
They spent the next few hours in this easy rhythm. Buck offered water after every two contractions, encouraged a small meal of protein and carbs (a few bites of rice and beans), and ensured Eddie changed his top because he’d started to sweat lightly. The air was warm, the backyard sounds—birds chirping, distant city hum—were peaceful, and the work was slow, steady, and deep. It was peaceful, gentle labor, but the pain, though still low-grade, was definitely intensifying with every hour that passed.
The slow, steady climb continued relentlessly through the late afternoon. By 5:00 PM, the contractions had tightened to five minutes apart, locking Eddie into a predictable, painful rhythm that demanded all his focus. This was unmistakably active labor.
The gentle swaying on the birthing ball was no longer enough. The contractions were hitting harder now, feeling less like a tight ribbon and more like a crushing force around his pelvis. He needed a stronger, more dynamic motion to cope.
“Buck, I need to move. Get off the ball,” Eddie gasped, pushing himself up the moment a contraction released.
Buck was immediately there, supporting his weight. “Okay, what do you need? Walk again?”
“Sway with me,” Eddie demanded, almost an order. He stumbled slightly, and Buck caught him, wrapping his strong, steady arms around his back.
They stood chest-to-chest, or rather, chest-to-belly, with Buck’s arms locked around Eddie’s ribs and his chin resting on the top of Eddie’s head. Buck started a slow, rhythmic dance, a gentle rocking motion that shifted Eddie’s weight from side to side.
When the next contraction hit, Eddie leaned his full weight into Buck. He didn't speak; he just moaned, a sound that started deep in his chest and climbed into a low, mournful, yet powerful vocalization. The pain was real, forcing his muscles taut, but the rocking motion and Buck’s grounding presence seemed to center it, keeping it from splintering into panic.
“That’s it, Eds. You’re doing so good. Just ride it,” Buck whispered into his ear, his voice a low, encouraging rumble. He smelled like outside and clean sweat, a comforting scent. Buck’s hands rubbed in firm, continuous circles on Eddie’s lower back, an instinctive counter-pressure that felt like a lifeline.
Christopher had been playing quietly with his tablet, but the shift in Eddie’s sounds brought him over. He stood close, watching his parents in their intimate, intense dance.
“It’s time for you to start getting ready for bed, buddy,” Buck said softly, not breaking the rocking motion. “We’ll read a book on the couch inside, okay? I’ll be out in two minutes, but I need you to give dad a big hug first.”
Christopher understood. He carefully slipped his arms around Eddie’s legs, giving him a tight squeeze. “Good job, dad. I love you.”
“Love you, too, Superman,” Eddie panted, lifting his head long enough to press a kiss into Chris’s hair before burying his face back into Buck’s shoulder, readying himself for the next wave.
Buck walked Christopher inside, making the bedtime ritual quick and gentle. He made sure Chris knew the midwife was close by, that Papa was okay, and that he would be right outside, just a few feet away.
By 7:30 PM, after Christopher was tucked in and Buck was back, the contractions were closer to four minutes apart and lasting nearly a minute. The pain was intense enough that Eddie had stopped trying to move between waves. He was now leaning against the arm of the outdoor sofa, half-draped over Buck, utterly exhausted. He was sweating heavily, so Buck helped him take off his tank top and replaced it with a dry, soft, oversized cotton T-shirt, which he quickly discarded an hour later for just shorts. Physical comfort was paramount.
“I need to check again, Eddie. Just for my peace of mind,” Maria requested gently.
This check was harder. The pain was more immediate, and Eddie hated the intrusion. He had to be coaxed onto the mattress again, grunting into a pillow as Maria checked.
“Five to six centimeters, love,” Maria announced softly. “We’re making excellent progress. This is the hardest part, this middle section of active labor. It feels long because it is. You are doing everything right. Your body is opening.”
Five to six. Eddie slumped against Buck, who was now sitting cross-legged behind him. “It feels like zero. It feels like I’ve been here for a week, Buck.”
“I know it does, mi vida,” Buck murmured, pulling Eddie’s heavy body back against his chest. He held him there while they both stared up at the canopy. “But you’re halfway there. Halfway. We’ve done twelve hours of this. We can do twelve more.”
He began to feed Eddie ice chips one by one, a simple, cooling act of service. The quiet intimacy of the night began to settle in, wrapping around the small, powerful space of their birthing sanctuary.
The night was a long, slow tunnel of pain and endurance. Hours blurred into a singular, endless rhythm: the quiet anticipation, the slow, agonizing ascent of a contraction, the guttural sounds, the blinding peak, and the brief, blessed moment of reprieve.
By midnight, Eddie was deep in the active labor zone, completely stripped down to just his shorts. The constant dampness from sweat and the occasional leak of amniotic fluid had made clothes unbearable, and the cool night air was a welcome sensation against his skin.
He had abandoned the upright, dynamic movements for periods of resting on the inflatable mattress. He lay on his side, curled around a stack of pillows, with Buck pressed tightly behind him, acting as a human anchor. When a contraction started, Eddie would push himself up to a kneeling position, often with a loud, involuntary cry, desperate to escape the intense pressure that laying down exacerbated.
“It’s coming, Buck,” he’d pant, scrambling to brace himself. Buck would instantly move with him, providing a solid surface to lean against or applying fierce, unrelenting pressure to his sacrum.
Around 2:00 AM, the work hit a devastating new level. Eddie had been kneeling for three hours, leaning over the back of the inflatable mattress, his arms shaking from the exertion. Buck was applying all his weight to the counter-pressure, his jaw tight with the effort of bearing witness to the pain without absorbing it.
The contraction was the worst yet. It was long, spiking higher and holding tighter than anything previous. Eddie let out a sound he barely recognized, a high, strained wail that was completely outside his conscious control. He felt himself clenching every muscle in his body against the force.
Then, at the very peak of the pain, came a sudden, dramatic release.
It wasn't just the muscular relief of the contraction ending; it was a warm, overwhelming gush of fluid between his legs.
“Buck! It broke! It broke!” Eddie yelled, his voice a mix of shock and residual pain.
Buck looked down, confirming the large, clear puddle now spreading on the waterproof pad beneath the mattress. His water had broken.
Maria was instantly there, calm as ever, checking the color and amount. “That’s it, love. Beautiful clear fluid. Your body has officially shifted gears. Now the baby has less cushion, and things are going to get much more focused.”
And they did. The contractions immediately ramped up, hitting every three minutes, and felt incredibly intense. The pain went from crushing pressure to a sharp, internal burning.
Eddie couldn't stay on the mattress. He needed the instability of the ball again, but this time, he used it differently. He switched to a kneeling position, using the birthing ball as a solid object to lean onto, spreading his legs wide, opening his hips, and bowing over the top of the purple sphere.
He was vocal now, letting out low, continuous moans and sometimes shouting, “It hurts, Buck, it hurts so bad,” during the peak.
“I know. I see you. I’m right here, Eds. You’re doing it. You’re bringing him here,” Buck responded, his voice hoarse from hours of continuous low-talking. He was directly behind Eddie, straddling his legs slightly, his hands gripping Eddie's hips and rocking them back and forth with incredible force to counteract the internal pressure. This forceful, demanding contact was the only thing grounding Eddie in the reality outside the pain.
“Don’t leave. Don’t move,” Eddie pleaded, his eyes squeezed shut, his face slick with sweat and tears.
“Never. I’m right here until you ask me to move. Just breathe, just open,” Buck promised, and for the next few hours, through the darkness and the pain, Buck held him, breathed with him, and moved him, navigating the demanding, primal dance of active labor.
The sun finally began to rise around 6:00 AM, painting the canopy in hazy gold and announcing the start of the fifth day. They were approximately twenty-two hours into labor.
Eddie was shattered. The previous night's intensity had drained every ounce of strength. He was still kneeling, bowed over a chair now, using the backrest as a leaning post instead of the ball, alternating between total collapse and fierce internal focus. The contractions were hitting every two minutes, maybe less, with virtually no break between the peaks. The cumulative exhaustion was a heavier burden than the pain.
He’d lost all sense of time, location, or composure. The gentle, controlled breathing of early labor was long gone, replaced by a ragged, panting, high-pitched noise.
Maria approached again, her face calm and steady. “Eddie, you are in a different place now. The sounds are changing. I think we’re very close to the final stretch, but I need to check you to confirm.”
Eddie shook his head violently, pushing his face deeper into the chair. “No. I can’t. I don’t want to be touched. I can’t.”
“You don’t have to get up, sweetheart,” Maria coaxed. “You can stay kneeling. I can check you right here, you don’t need to move.”
Buck leaned close to his ear. “Just two seconds, Eds. We need to know where we are, so we know what to do next. Just two seconds. Stay right here, I’ve got you.”
Reluctantly, Eddie allowed it. He lifted his hips just enough for Maria to perform the check while he remained on his knees, gripping the chair so tightly his knuckles were white.
“Wow, that’s great, Eddie,” Maria whispered, immediately withdrawing. “We’re at a beautiful eight centimeters. The baby is low, and your cervix is paper-thin. You’ve done the impossible. We are very close to transition. This is fantastic work.”
Eight centimeters. A wave of profound, desperate relief washed over him, quickly followed by the return of a brutal contraction.
Now that the pain was constant and the end was in sight, the exhaustion became unbearable. He felt the overwhelming urge to give up, to stop trying. This was the wall of transition starting to rear its head—the final, most difficult climb.
“I can’t do this anymore, Buck,” he cried out, his voice thin and broken. “I’m done. I don’t want to do this anymore.”
“You are not done! You are not done, Eddie!” Buck’s voice was fierce, cutting through the despair. He hauled Eddie to his feet, pulling him into a standing embrace, his entire body a wall of support. “This is the hardest part. You feel like quitting because your body is opening. You are eight centimeters, you just did all the work. The baby is right there. You are a warrior, mi amor, you are doing this, you are the strongest person I have ever known. Look at me.”
Eddie refused to open his eyes, just sobbing into Buck's shoulder, panting through the contractions.
“We need to get you moving again, just one more push,” Maria advised softly. “Let’s walk to the pool, Eddie. Let’s see if the walking gets us over the edge.”
Buck held him upright, and they began a slow, staggering walk toward the pool. Eddie was completely reliant on Buck, his legs like lead, but the movement, the small effort, was forcing his hips to shift, and the pressure was becoming incredible. He felt heavy, weighted, and the sharp pain was shifting into a deep, intense, undeniable pressure in his lower pelvis.
He walked five steps, then had to lean against the canopy pole, using it to hang onto, stretching his spine and opening his hips further. He was utterly naked to the world now, physically and emotionally, stripped of all inhibitions.
“I need to push,” he suddenly groaned, the words escaping him on an exhale. It wasn't a request; it was a biological command, a powerful, overwhelming compulsion. “Buck! I need to push now!”
Maria was at his side instantly. “Okay, sweetie. You’re having an urge, which is amazing. Let me just check you one last time to confirm you’re fully open. I promise it’s the last time.”
Eddie groaned, letting go of the pole and collapsing backward into Buck, who supported him perfectly. Maria’s check was swift.
“Ten centimeters! Complete! That’s your baby telling you it’s time to push, Eddie,” Maria said, her voice filled with quiet excitement. “We are ready. It’s time to get in the pool. Let’s go meet your baby.”
The walk from the canopy pole to the pool, a distance of maybe six feet, felt like a marathon. Buck half-carried, half-shuffled Eddie toward the edge of the deck.
“Clothes off, Eds. Now,” Buck instructed, his own adrenaline spiking now that the pushing phase had arrived. Eddie’s shorts were the last obstacle. He was so far gone in the agony and the overwhelming pressure that he couldn't coordinate the movement. Buck, with quick, efficient hands, tugged the shorts down and kicked them away.
Eddie stood for a moment, naked and exposed in the hazy morning light, his huge belly taut and powerful, already showing the subtle dome of a descending head with every tightening.
He was trembling, not just from exhaustion, but from the sheer, raw power of the transition. He looked at the pool, then at Buck, his eyes pleading for relief.
Buck dipped his hand into the water. “It’s perfect, mi amor. Warm and ready. You’re going to love it.”
Getting in was a slow, awkward process. Maria and Buck guided him to the edge, and Eddie used the low wall of the inflatable pool to support himself as he lowered his body into the water.
The moment the warm water enveloped him, a primal, audible sigh of relief escaped his lips. The water was instantly, profoundly analgesic. It didn’t stop the contraction that was already building, but it softened the edges, making the weightlessness feel like a momentary suspension of gravity.
He settled into a squatting position, suspended in the buoyant water, his arms resting on the inflated edge. Buck quickly stripped to his trunks and climbed into the pool with him, sitting directly behind Eddie, forming a human recliner.
“Just rest, Eds. Breathe. Let the water hold you,” Buck murmured, his arms wrapping around Eddie’s ribs, his hands meeting on the top of Eddie’s belly.
For three minutes, Eddie just floated, allowing the relief to soak into his bones. Then the pushing urge returned, fiercer than before. It wasn't just pressure; it was an active, irresistible force, demanding his attention.
“Here it comes,” Eddie ground out, his body involuntarily bearing down.
Maria’s voice was clear and steady from the edge of the pool. “The urge is a beautiful thing, Eddie. It’s your body doing the work. You don’t have to push hard yet, just work with your body. Focus that pressure. Don’t hold your breath; sound it out.”
Eddie tried to control it, but the force was too great. He squatted lower, his knees wide, sinking his hips toward the floor of the pool. When the next powerful contraction hit, he bore down with a deep, guttural sound, like a wounded animal. It was loud, primal, and utterly exhausting.
“Ah! Ahhh! I’m pushing!” he shouted, the sound echoing off the fence.
Buck was pushing with him, physically, emotionally. His hands were braced on Eddie’s hips, stabilizing him, giving him a focal point. “That’s it, Eds! Push to the sound, not to your chest. That’s it, you’re so strong!”
The next hour was a long, arduous battle against resistance. The rhythmic, steady progress of earlier labor was replaced by intense effort and immediate feedback. Each push was a monumental effort, and the recovery period felt almost non-existent. Eddie was sweating again, even in the water, his face crimson with the exertion.
Maria kept encouraging him, telling him what a good push felt like, when to breathe, and when to pause.
“I need to move,” Eddie panted, his voice a ragged mess. He shifted his weight, trying to find an angle that relieved the pressure. He stood, then immediately sank back into the squatting position, finding the low center of gravity the only place the power felt right.
Maria’s voice suddenly sharpened with focused excitement. “Eddie, you are crowning! I can see hair! One more powerful push, love. He’s right here.”
The mention of the baby, the visible proof of the end, flooded Eddie with a new, terrifying, incredible energy. He grabbed Buck's forearms, his grip bone-crushing, and centered his focus entirely on the next contraction.
It came fast and hard. Eddie let out a roar, a sound of pure effort and release that tore from his throat. He bore down with everything he had left—his core, his back, his arms—pushing the pain, the exhaustion, and the baby out.
Section Seven
With that final, earth-shattering push, Eddie felt a tearing, stretching sensation, instantly followed by the incredible, miraculous rush of pressure completely leaving his body.
He slumped back instantly against Buck, dizzy and momentarily disoriented, as a small, slippery body emerged from the water and floated free between his legs.
Maria, kneeling gracefully outside the pool, caught the baby with practiced, gentle hands and slowly, reverently guided the tiny body up into the warm space between Eddie’s thighs.
A moment of silent, stunned awe passed over the deck. Then, the baby let out a healthy, indignant cry, a sound that instantly cleared the air of pain and replaced it with pure, staggering life.
“Oh my god,” Eddie wept, the exhaustion finally catching up to him, his entire body shaking. He reached down, his hands trembling violently, and lifted his son into the safe, warm cradle of his chest.
Buck leaned over him, burying his face in Eddie’s damp hair. “We did it, Eds. Oh my god, you did it. Look at him.” Buck’s voice was thick with emotion, tears streaming down his face as he looked at the tiny, wrinkled, screaming face of their new son.
Eddie collapsed fully into Buck's support, holding their baby skin-to-skin against his chest. He looked down at the tiny, perfect human, who immediately quieted, his slick head nuzzling against Eddie's familiar warmth.
Christopher, who had woken up at the sound of the final shout, was now standing at the edge of the pool, his crutches leaning against the side, his eyes wide and bright.
“Dad? Is that him?” Christopher whispered, his voice full of wonder.
Eddie lifted his head and looked at his eldest son, a tired, radiant smile breaking through the sweat and tears. “Yeah, Superman. That’s him. Come meet your brother.”
Buck helped steady Eddie as Christopher leaned over the pool edge. Eddie gently shifted the baby so Christopher could see. The baby’s cry was replaced by small, rooting noises.
“He’s so tiny,” Christopher breathed, reaching out a tentative finger to touch the baby’s fuzzy head.
“He is,” Buck agreed, watching the two boys. He kissed Eddie’s temple. “You were incredible, mi vida. You were so strong.”
Maria gave them a quiet few minutes, allowing the cord to pulse out before she gently clamped and cut it, a moment that went almost unnoticed in the overwhelming peace of the aftermath.
After checking Eddie’s condition and ensuring the baby was rooting and breathing well, Maria helped Buck guide a dazed, exhausted Eddie out of the pool. Buck wrapped him immediately in a stack of pre-warmed towels, and they settled back onto the inflatable mattress in the tent—the ultimate resting position after the battle.
Eddie lay on his side, his new son latched perfectly to his chest, quiet and content. Buck lay beside him, stroking the baby’s back with one hand and holding Eddie’s hand with the other.
They were all safe. They were all exhausted. And they were finally, completely, a family of four. The sun shone down on their little sanctuary, illuminating the beautiful mess of towels, water, and love that had birthed their new life.
It was 8:45 AM. Just over 24 hours of long, intense, but ultimately calm and gentle labor. The fight was over, and the new life had begun.
The baby, whom they named Leo Evan Diaz, after a very persistent suggestion from Christopher, was a healthy eight pounds, four ounces. Eddie drifted into a heavy, contented sleep, the smell of his new baby and the steady warmth of Buck a perfect, well-deserved anchor.