Ignore all those big warning signs
Title: Ignore all those big warning signs
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Puck/Santana
Rating: R (for language)
Summary:She tells him via text and he’s really fucking pissed about that. (baby!fic)
She tells him via text and he’s really fucking pissed about that.
It’s some godawful early hour of the morning when his iPhone vibrates and he’s awake immediately because he’s been waiting to hear from her for days. The kid’s like six days overdue or something and he knows she’s been having contractions off and on for the last couple, so he grabs the phone and presses it to his ear with a gruff, ‘hello’, before realizing it’s a text.
It’s from her and it’s short, distant.
Baby’s here, we’re both ok.
And seriously, what the fuck is that? He tries to call her but she won’t answer her phone and he can’t even handle this right now. He grabs a pair of sweats and this old black t-shirt, swishes mouthwash on his way out because he doesn’t want to take the two minutes to actually brush his teeth, and texts her back on the way out. It’s not the nicest text but he’s pissed, she hasn’t even told him if it’s a boy or a girl and fuck her, because they were supposed to at least be civil when it came to the kid.
They registered when they were still together so he knows what hospital she’s delivering (delivered) at and he still has that little parking pass they handed out on the tour, giving him access to the ‘Maternal-Fetal Medicine’ parking lot. They’re reluctant to give him any information at the nurses’ station until they call into her room and she apparently gives the ok for him to come in.
She’s still in labour and delivery so he figures the kid must have just been born. His hands are shaking as he pushes the door to her room open because, yeah, she’s being a bitch about this, but he’s about to meet his kid for the first time.
She has her eyes closed when he comes in and there’s this little swaddled thing cradled at her right side, in an ambiguously coloured baby blanket. She looks like shit; her face is pale and sallow, and she’s shaking a little beneath a thick layer of blankets. There’s a nurse at her side and she looks up from the IV pump, acknowledging him with a nod of her head and a small smile.
She winces a little but doesn’t open her eyes, rubs at her soft belly over the covers, and his stomach kind of tightens because he still hates seeing her in pain or whatever. He shoves his hands in his pockets and steps a little closer,
“That was a bitch move, San. You said you were going to call.”
She licks her lips, they’re dry and cracking, and kind of rasps, “I know.”
“San, I -”
She opens her eyes and they’re red, pleading, as she asks, “Can we talk about this later?”
He looks up at the nurse, suddenly concerned, and she says, “It was a rough ending to the delivery; the baby’s heart rate was dropping so they had to use forceps to assist and Santana ended up bleeding after the birth. We’ve just managed to slow the bleeding but we’re keeping her here for another hour or two to keep a close eye on her.”
“Fuck, San.” He groans, watching her throat lift as she swallows.
“Come meet her.” She says, reaching over and pushing the blankets away from the baby’s face.
“Her?” He asks, his throat all tight as he moves closer.
“It’s a girl. She’s seven pounds, three ounces.”
He looks down at her and God, this is so surreal. She looks just like Santana with this head of dark hair and her pursed lips, her tiny fingers curling around the edge of the blanket. His fingers graze the outside of her blanket and he says,
“Can I - ?”
She nods and he eases a hand under the baby’s head, lifting her and fitting her against his arm, pressed to his chest. Her little lips turn down in this ridiculous pout and then she opens her eyes, sq uinting at him as though she’s offended he woke her up. They’re dark, her eyes, almost black, and she blinks up at him curiously as he pats her back a little. It just blows him away that she was in Santana hours ago; he saw her a couple days ago with her big belly and felt her kick against his hand. It’s just so weird, he remembers feeling the same way about Beth.
“What’s her name?”
Santana’s watching them together and she’s got this funny expression on her face before she says,
“I was thinking Adelena, but calling her Lena.”
He nods, “Pretty.”
She winces again, pursing her lips and shifting a little bit in bed, and he shifts from foot to foot as he asks,
“You ok?”
She nods, but there are still tight lines at her mouth as she says, “Just sore. They had to do some shitty things to try and stop the bleeding.”
The baby mewls in his arms and he’s distracted by her, rubbing his big hand up her back to try and appease her. Santana’s smiling tiredly when he looks up and she says,
“I’ll try and nurse her, she might be hungry.”
He nods and eases her back into Santana’s arms. The nurse approaches to try and help but Santana shakes her head,
“I’m going to try on my own.”
She steps out and Santana sighs, “I’ve had three nurses tell me different things already. I just - I’ll just do it myself. We’ll figure it out.”
He settles in the chair by her bed and watches her shrug out of her hospital gown, cradling the baby to her chest as she tugs a pillow onto her lap. He keeps quiet because he knows fuck all about her feeding their kid, but she manages to figure it out after a few minutes and keeps her hand along the baby’s back, supporting her neck, as she looks up at him again. He picks at the seam of his jean distractedly before asking,
“Was it - was it awful? Like she said?”
He expects her to laugh it off but she doesn’t, her eyes burn red and a couple tears leak down her flushed cheeks as she rubs her finger through the baby’s downy hair,
“I was so fucking scared.”
She wipes at her eyes with her free hand but the tears keep coming,
“They were telling me that she wasn’t getting enough oxygen to her brain and that I needed to push harder and I just - I had nothing left. I was so scared that something was going to happen because I couldn’t do it.”
He’s kind of fucking pissed at them for telling her that but yeah, he gets it - they were trying to motivate her to get the kid out ASAP or whatever. Still, she’s like all torn up about this and it’s fucking killing him to watch her. He eases onto the bed next to her, mumbling an apology when she hisses in pain, and puts an arm around her still-trembling shoulders. They may be a fucking disaster but he still hates seeing her like this and she just had his kid so there’s some kind of weird vibe between them that’s making this ok.
“You did good.”
She sniffs indelicately and shakes against him, “I didn’t - she could have...”
“Babe, look at her. She’s perfect - you were amazing.”
She leans into him and he knows she’s only doing it because she’s fucking done, but her head is still against his broad shoulder and their daughter is cradled against her chest and, for just a moment, everything feels ok.
*
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Puck/Santana
Rating: R (for language)
Summary:She tells him via text and he’s really fucking pissed about that. (baby!fic)
She tells him via text and he’s really fucking pissed about that.
It’s some godawful early hour of the morning when his iPhone vibrates and he’s awake immediately because he’s been waiting to hear from her for days. The kid’s like six days overdue or something and he knows she’s been having contractions off and on for the last couple, so he grabs the phone and presses it to his ear with a gruff, ‘hello’, before realizing it’s a text.
It’s from her and it’s short, distant.
Baby’s here, we’re both ok.
And seriously, what the fuck is that? He tries to call her but she won’t answer her phone and he can’t even handle this right now. He grabs a pair of sweats and this old black t-shirt, swishes mouthwash on his way out because he doesn’t want to take the two minutes to actually brush his teeth, and texts her back on the way out. It’s not the nicest text but he’s pissed, she hasn’t even told him if it’s a boy or a girl and fuck her, because they were supposed to at least be civil when it came to the kid.
They registered when they were still together so he knows what hospital she’s delivering (delivered) at and he still has that little parking pass they handed out on the tour, giving him access to the ‘Maternal-Fetal Medicine’ parking lot. They’re reluctant to give him any information at the nurses’ station until they call into her room and she apparently gives the ok for him to come in.
She’s still in labour and delivery so he figures the kid must have just been born. His hands are shaking as he pushes the door to her room open because, yeah, she’s being a bitch about this, but he’s about to meet his kid for the first time.
She has her eyes closed when he comes in and there’s this little swaddled thing cradled at her right side, in an ambiguously coloured baby blanket. She looks like shit; her face is pale and sallow, and she’s shaking a little beneath a thick layer of blankets. There’s a nurse at her side and she looks up from the IV pump, acknowledging him with a nod of her head and a small smile.
She winces a little but doesn’t open her eyes, rubs at her soft belly over the covers, and his stomach kind of tightens because he still hates seeing her in pain or whatever. He shoves his hands in his pockets and steps a little closer,
“That was a bitch move, San. You said you were going to call.”
She licks her lips, they’re dry and cracking, and kind of rasps, “I know.”
“San, I -”
She opens her eyes and they’re red, pleading, as she asks, “Can we talk about this later?”
He looks up at the nurse, suddenly concerned, and she says, “It was a rough ending to the delivery; the baby’s heart rate was dropping so they had to use forceps to assist and Santana ended up bleeding after the birth. We’ve just managed to slow the bleeding but we’re keeping her here for another hour or two to keep a close eye on her.”
“Fuck, San.” He groans, watching her throat lift as she swallows.
“Come meet her.” She says, reaching over and pushing the blankets away from the baby’s face.
“Her?” He asks, his throat all tight as he moves closer.
“It’s a girl. She’s seven pounds, three ounces.”
He looks down at her and God, this is so surreal. She looks just like Santana with this head of dark hair and her pursed lips, her tiny fingers curling around the edge of the blanket. His fingers graze the outside of her blanket and he says,
“Can I - ?”
She nods and he eases a hand under the baby’s head, lifting her and fitting her against his arm, pressed to his chest. Her little lips turn down in this ridiculous pout and then she opens her eyes, sq uinting at him as though she’s offended he woke her up. They’re dark, her eyes, almost black, and she blinks up at him curiously as he pats her back a little. It just blows him away that she was in Santana hours ago; he saw her a couple days ago with her big belly and felt her kick against his hand. It’s just so weird, he remembers feeling the same way about Beth.
“What’s her name?”
Santana’s watching them together and she’s got this funny expression on her face before she says,
“I was thinking Adelena, but calling her Lena.”
He nods, “Pretty.”
She winces again, pursing her lips and shifting a little bit in bed, and he shifts from foot to foot as he asks,
“You ok?”
She nods, but there are still tight lines at her mouth as she says, “Just sore. They had to do some shitty things to try and stop the bleeding.”
The baby mewls in his arms and he’s distracted by her, rubbing his big hand up her back to try and appease her. Santana’s smiling tiredly when he looks up and she says,
“I’ll try and nurse her, she might be hungry.”
He nods and eases her back into Santana’s arms. The nurse approaches to try and help but Santana shakes her head,
“I’m going to try on my own.”
She steps out and Santana sighs, “I’ve had three nurses tell me different things already. I just - I’ll just do it myself. We’ll figure it out.”
He settles in the chair by her bed and watches her shrug out of her hospital gown, cradling the baby to her chest as she tugs a pillow onto her lap. He keeps quiet because he knows fuck all about her feeding their kid, but she manages to figure it out after a few minutes and keeps her hand along the baby’s back, supporting her neck, as she looks up at him again. He picks at the seam of his jean distractedly before asking,
“Was it - was it awful? Like she said?”
He expects her to laugh it off but she doesn’t, her eyes burn red and a couple tears leak down her flushed cheeks as she rubs her finger through the baby’s downy hair,
“I was so fucking scared.”
She wipes at her eyes with her free hand but the tears keep coming,
“They were telling me that she wasn’t getting enough oxygen to her brain and that I needed to push harder and I just - I had nothing left. I was so scared that something was going to happen because I couldn’t do it.”
He’s kind of fucking pissed at them for telling her that but yeah, he gets it - they were trying to motivate her to get the kid out ASAP or whatever. Still, she’s like all torn up about this and it’s fucking killing him to watch her. He eases onto the bed next to her, mumbling an apology when she hisses in pain, and puts an arm around her still-trembling shoulders. They may be a fucking disaster but he still hates seeing her like this and she just had his kid so there’s some kind of weird vibe between them that’s making this ok.
“You did good.”
She sniffs indelicately and shakes against him, “I didn’t - she could have...”
“Babe, look at her. She’s perfect - you were amazing.”
She leans into him and he knows she’s only doing it because she’s fucking done, but her head is still against his broad shoulder and their daughter is cradled against her chest and, for just a moment, everything feels ok.
*