Summary: District Nurse and midwife Emma Swan has her priorities sorted out: babies first, friends second, and men… somewhere further down the list. That is until she meets Killian Jones and his son Liam who have a way of worming their way into her heart. (CS AU Week Day 5: Another Time)
Notes: So this is a Call the Midwife AU, you don’t need to watch the show to read this fic but I HIGHLY recommend it! HUGE shoutouts to @holdmecloseandfast for being an amazing beta and telling me so much about childbirth and kids, @shipsxahoy for this gorgeous banner, and @potentialheartofdarkness for encouraging me when I wasn’t sure how this was going to turn out.
Also squick warning for child birth, this is a midwife fic after all. (ff.net/ AO3)
WC: 1.8K/ Rated B for Birth and Backstory
“Okay Mary Margaret you’re doing great! You’re almost there,” Emma Swan tried to say soothingly over the sound of people ringing in the New Year just outside the window. Mary Margaret Nolan nodded and groaned as she pushed with all her might. “Good good! The baby’s head is born, you’re nearly there!” The contraction passed and Mary Margaret relaxed as much as she could, trying to regain some strength before the next contraction hit.
“This baby’s certainly taking its sweet time,” she said between deep breaths.
“Believe it or not, but this isn’t the longest labor I’ve seen. There was one woman who was in labor for 24 hours,” Emma soothed.
“Oh dear Lord, that must have been awful,” Mary Margaret grimaced. Emma noticed Mary Margaret’s breathing begin to speed up again and the furrow set in her brow.
“That’s good Mrs. Nolan, just keep panting like that!” Emma watched as one shoulder than the other came through and with one last push the rest of the baby came. His little limbs waved back and forth, his little foot kicked Mary Margaret in the thigh. Mary Margaret collapsed back on to the pillows of her bed exhausted, her brow shining with sweat. Church bells began to ring followed by many shouts and whoops of joy as the new year was announced.
“Is the baby okay?” Mary Margaret asked, once she caught her breath. Emma wrapped the newborn boy in a blanket, rubbing gently on his chest to get him to cry. The boy fussed and let out a loud wail, alerting his mother and possibly the whole block that he was here, Mary Margaret smiled and pushed herself up onto her elbows, a wide smile on her face. Emma cut the cord and gathered him in her arms, taking the pink and squealing infant into her arms.
“He’s fine, ten fingers and ten toes and what sounds like a very good set of lungs. He might just be the first baby of 1958,” Emma smiled and weighed and measured the baby and re-swaddled him before handing him to Mary Margaret, “Do you and your husband have a name picked out?”
It All Starts With a Dance 