Rising Sun (Book Two)

Twenty-Three: Precious

***Crescent's P. O. V.***

I open the car door, glancing back at Peter before getting out.

"Let me go in and get a wheelchair for you," I say.

"No, no, I can walk," he insists.

"Peter. . ." Joy complains. "At least let me carry you."

"I'm not a damsel in distress you know," he replies angrily. "Don't act like I can't do it myself."

"Babe, a tiny person is making its way out of your butt. You kind of are a damsel in distress at the moment. . ." Joy says, holding back a smirk.

"Shut up," Peter growls, opening the car door.

I stand next to Peter, ready to catch him if he sways. He walks slowly, a look of pure pain plastered on his face.

"Joy!" he suddenly cries out, hunching over and clutching his stomach.

Joy keeps a strong grip on his mate to keep him from falling. He faces Peter, taking his hands and leading him forward as the contraction persists.

"Now do you want me to carry you?" he asks.

Peter looks up, defeated. He slowly nods. Joy scoops him up, his arms shaking slightly from the weight. He was never very strong to begin with, and since the accident he never really got his muscle mass back up to its normal amount. He probably can't hold Peter like that for long, but I know he'd do anything for his mate so he won't complain.

"Hi, we'd like to check in, please," I say when we get to the front desk.

The receptionist nods and hands me a clipboard of paperwork to fill out. We sit down in chairs against the wall as I do so. It only takes me a moment to complete my task.

"The guy who delivered Uncle Clarke's babies is going to be delivering your's," I comment, scanning the room information packet.

Peter grunts in reply.

I think the way it works is that each midwife is assigned to a section of the center, and we just so happened to get put in Matthew Evan's section. What a coincidence!

I hand the clip board and papers back to the receptionist and she gets a wheelchair for Peter and directs us to the men's wing of the birth center. Peter doesn't even argue when it comes to the wheelchair. He (understandably) doesn't wanna walk anymore. I scoot him along in the chair while Joy holds his hand. It isn't too long of a way to the room, so we get there within two minutes.

The room is lit with nicely scented candles just like I remember when Clarke gave birth. It also has an in-ground bathtub in the corner, and an exercise ball. The bed is huge and comfortable looking. There's an extremely oversized, long grey shirt for Peter to wear.

Moon awkwardly goes and sits in the rocking chair, knowing Peter doesn't want him to help out or even talk to him.

"Okay, Peter, let's get you changed and into the bed. . .if you want," I say quietly.

"Okay," he whispers.

Joy helps him stand up and sit on the bed, then slip off his pants. Peter blushes when we take off his underwear as well, but I don't feel awkward. I mean come on, I used to change his diapers when he was little. I've seen it all before. I quickly slip the shirt over his head so he doesn't feel embarrassed for too long. It goes down to his thigh, almost to his knee so he's covered.

"I hate this," Peter says, wincing.

"It'll be worth it in the end," I comfort him.

I ease him back into the comfy bed. He hisses, gritting his teeth and gripping the blankets.