Isla
No I can't, is what Isla almost says as Ever's steady voice reaches her ears, the Remedy panting through the brief reprieve between contractions and clutching at his hand the moment it's offered. I can't, I'm too tired, it hurts--
But regardless of how she feels about it, it seems to be happening anyway, and from somewhere behind her where one of the doctors is checking how things are progressing (Isla is long past the point of caring about silly things like modesty), she distantly hears the instruction to push. And for once the Remedy is quick to comply; she doesn't crush Ever's hand so much as she grips it like a lifeline, riding the next contraction out through a bitten back scream and a pressure so intense it feels as if she might burn up entirely despite being immune to such things.
The world dissolves into something primal at that point. Seconds pass or perhaps minutes, Isla only vaguely aware of it beyond pain and breath and guiding hands, of gentle but firm instructions and the feel of Ever's palm against her own. And just as she thinks she has nothing more to give, there's a sudden sense of reprieve that leaves her gasping, and though she still feels as if she's somewhere very distant, she imagines she can hear a baby crying.
Back in grounded reality, there is indeed a baby crying. The doctor who has just delivered their daughter offers Everest a smile and a murmur of congratulations, before rising to clean and check the squalling infant whilst a nurse steps in to assist Isla onto the bed.
But regardless of how she feels about it, it seems to be happening anyway, and from somewhere behind her where one of the doctors is checking how things are progressing (Isla is long past the point of caring about silly things like modesty), she distantly hears the instruction to push. And for once the Remedy is quick to comply; she doesn't crush Ever's hand so much as she grips it like a lifeline, riding the next contraction out through a bitten back scream and a pressure so intense it feels as if she might burn up entirely despite being immune to such things.
The world dissolves into something primal at that point. Seconds pass or perhaps minutes, Isla only vaguely aware of it beyond pain and breath and guiding hands, of gentle but firm instructions and the feel of Ever's palm against her own. And just as she thinks she has nothing more to give, there's a sudden sense of reprieve that leaves her gasping, and though she still feels as if she's somewhere very distant, she imagines she can hear a baby crying.
Back in grounded reality, there is indeed a baby crying. The doctor who has just delivered their daughter offers Everest a smile and a murmur of congratulations, before rising to clean and check the squalling infant whilst a nurse steps in to assist Isla onto the bed.
I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it
When you hit me, hit me hard
When you hit me, hit me hard
