Something to Fight For

Chapter 17

   The second the quinjet touched down, Melinda was helped out by Phil and Jemma, the baby staying on her chest, fussy and unhappy. Melinda had the blanket wrapped around her and the child, and it was quickly evident that she couldn't stand, the sharp ache between her thighs and burning sensation in her pelvis making her mobility limited.

   Phil picked Melinda up, careful to keep the child close the it's mother, and Jemma came out with a wheelchair, and they set Melinda into it, a small procession of agents running to the med bay where Jemma took over, instructing Daisy on how to help Melinda deliver the afterbirth as she cleaned the baby properly, returning with the child wrapped in a softer blanket, showing her to Melinda.

   The first thing Jemma did was seal off the cord, then allowed Coulson to cut it, severing the line that connected Melinda to her baby.

   Setting the baby back down on May's breast, Jemma leaned back to get a breath. "I need to give the baby some medicine and draw some blood, May." 

   Melinda was crying as she looked at her baby. Pink cheeks strewn with both mother and baby's tears.

   "I had to clean her tiny little nose, and we need to make sure she can breathe properly." Simmons told the older woman, who waited for her to continue. "She's a premie, May."

   "We know." Coulson stepped up, "But is she okay?"

   "She seems healthy, but underdeveloped. She's going to need constant external heating and continuous care for the next several weeks." Jemma told them. "Not only that, but those rashes?" Jemma pointed to the child's back, arms and legs, "Those are from your body rejecting her." 

   Phil and Melinda looked up in alarm.

   "This baby's blood type is different from yours, inherited from Coulson, and it seems that May's immune system was attacking this little angel." Melinda subsequently burst into tears. "There was nothing you could do about it." Jemma assured. "But this also means that the baby's growth was stunted and breastfeeding will be a pain."

   Melinda muttered some colorful language to herself.

   "Will. . . will this harm her terminally?" Phil asked the unspoken question.

   "I. . . I'm going to have to give her a full examination to see if there are any lasting problems."

   "Like what?"

   "I would be shocked if she never gets asthma, or other breathing problems." Simmons looked down at her hands. "But this early. . . I'm, well, I'm-"

   "Spit it out, Simmons." May said, her hand stroking her baby's head.

   "I'm amazed that she survived the birthing process." Jemma sighed. "And you, with your smaller asian bone structure and Coulson's dominating European height genes. . . well," Jemma stammered. "It's a good thing she fit."

   "Are you calling me small?" Melinda looked up momentarily.

   "No!" Jemma coughed. "Maybe."

   "It was fine." May told her.

   "I'm not so sure. You were in labour for twenty-three hours, six hours in a cold car with hardly any resources." Jemma frowned. "I don't know if you saw the blanket that had been wrapped around you in the wheelchair before we removed it, but. . ."

   "But what?" Coulson leaned farther over May.

   "It was soaked in blood." Jemma answered, and May stared down at the baby in her arms. "You've been bleeding since you gave birth." May's head snapped up. "I need to check you now."