“Is something wrong?” John demanded, and the doctor, a balding man with a kind face but a worried look in his eye that John didn’t like at all, just shook his head in response.
“You’ll know as soon as there’s something to know,” the doctor informed him, and then he was shuffled out of the room to cool his heels in a waiting room which was, thankfully, just outside of the door.
The seats, though, how was it possible for seats to be that uncomfortable? It felt like they were made of solid, lumpy granite, with no way to sit on them that felt at all natural. So John spent a lot of time pacing, back and forth, back and forth, until his eyes were a blur of dull, sterile beige.
Why did hospitals have to be so damndepressing? And, while he was asking questions, why was everything taking so long? He had gotten here at eight in the morning, and it was now after two. Sure, he had known that having a baby wouldn’t be an instant process, but every time he started to soothe himself, he saw the look in the eyes of that maternity ward doctor, and he had to wonder.
People died in childbirth.
Babies, and mothers, too. Sure, it didn’t happen as much now as it used to, and Madison was, thankfully, getting the best possible care that money could buy. But this was all so new to John, he had nothing in his past history to help him with this, and how he kept himself from launching himself at the door behind which Madison labored, he had no idea.
Minutes ticked slowly by, each one seeming to drag out, to take an eternity. Somehow, time was passing, but the door remained resolutely closed, and no one came out to tell John a damn thing. That couldn’t be a good thing, could it? The doctor had said he would tell him as soon as there was something to tell, but John wasn’t completely sure what that even meant.
“Fuck,” John muttered. There was no one around at the moment to be offended by his cursing, and he dropped down onto one of those terrible, torturous chairs because it suddenly felt like it was either do that or have his legs give out on him right in the middle of the floor.
Lack of sleep, lack of food, mourning Brett, and worry for both Madison and the baby swirled through him until it was hard for John to tell exactly what he was feeling. It was all one, big, unpleasant mass, that was about all he knew, and how he was going to deal with it, he wasn’t sure.
Hanging his head with his elbows resting on his knees, John lowered himself until his head was resting in his hands, the only thing, he felt, that was holding him up. And then, something happened, when he had been sitting there for God only knew how long. There was the sound of soft footsteps, and seconds later a hand touched his shoulder.
“John,” an achingly familiar voice spoke, and John looked up into the concerned, brilliant blue eyes of the man that he loved.
