**A/N**

Hey, guys. So, this is the last official chapter of Shattering Glass (It's technically a novel now, going by length, and longer than The Great Gatsby!), the epilogue coming in two weeks, and I'd like to give my thanks and say my goodbyes with this author's note. Feel free to skip.
Where to begin. I've poured my heart and soul, blood, sweat, and tears, (a lot of tears) into this story; in the last six months, it's become such a part of me that I genuinely don't know what I'll do with myself once it's completed. This isn't the end of my journey as an author, that's for sure, and to those who read this story for the sole reason that this is Otayuri mpreg (yes, a guilty pleasure of mine, too), I can guarantee that there will be more of that on my channel, so just be patient. Primarily, I write on AO3 but I've never liked the idea of just abandoning a platform like this one, so everything that I write for AO3 (weeks, collabs, etc.) will go up on this page, too. That said, I am most active on AO3 and I think that following/subscribing to me on there is the best idea. (I get it if you don't want to go through the hassle of making another account, I normally don't either, but, trust me, AO3 is worth it.)
I don't have a specific plan for what I'm going to work on after SG is complete-- right now, I'm hoping to finish up a few one/twoshot WIPs I've had on my GoogleDoc Graveyard for a while, and have a goal of participating in every YOI fanweek that comes my way, even if I only contribute one piece. So far Spooky Week, YOI Angst Week, and, of course, Otayuri Week are on the horizon. Rest assured, though, that there will be plenty more multichapter, mpreg and non-mpreg, Otayuri stories from me, though I'm hesitant to commit before I'm sure I know which multichapter WIP I'll write (there are many to choose from). To get updates on my works, subscribe to me as an author, if you want.
I'm almost done! Finally, I just want to say a resounding, teary-eyed thank you to all of my readers, out there. To my few commenters, your words mean the world to me, to my silent readers, I understand, I'm comment-shy, too, and to my future readers, I love all of you. Thank you for coming with me on this journey, and I hope I'll see you again! ♥

(ALSO: I'm doing an AO3 collab with venom_for_free (on AO3, obvi) and over a dozen creators. "Superfan" is an Otayuri work that I think you guys will love! Fanfic, fanart, cosplay, crazy comment chains: it has it all! I'll put up a notice in my Otayuri oneshot book when it's published, along with a link to get to it! I highly recommend that you check it out!)

At last, we have reached the end of my uber author's note. Enjoy the final chapter of Shattering Glass and I'll see you on OCTOBER 2ND for the epilogue! ♥

***

Yuri almost wanted to cry. He could feel it: he was floating back, up through the realms of sleep toward consciousness, the border between the lightest layers of the two he had been drifting for a long time, lapping at the edges of wakefulness even as he tried to cling to sleep.

And still, the world was making more sense as Yuri grasped for the last vestiges of sleep, seeking to enshroud himself in its warmth and rest a while longer.

It was not to be, it seemed, and Yuri let out a tiny whimper as he became aware of the pillowcase scratching against his cheek, the pinpricks of light filtering through the film of his eyelids, the warm, late afternoon sunlight coming in through the barely open window on the breeze.

Hazily, he blinked, fogginess clinging to the edges of his vision and dew sticking his eyelashes together, the last remnants of yet another slumber disturbed.

It was almost funny, really, Yuri's half awake, clumsy brain cells pointed out as they stumbled into function. Before, if asked, Yuri would have said that the stereotypical, late-term pregnancy exhaustion was a myth, perhaps an excuse contrived by expectant parents to justify laziness and excessive napping. While it was true that Yuri had encountered his own number of aches and pains throughout pregnancy, more tiredness than he would've expected, too, up until recently, he still would've written off the life-draining, soul-sucking, energy-stealing, phantom exhaustion as flowery dramatics and hormonal fluctuation-induced exaggeration. And then he had hit 37 weeks. And that had helped several things make sense.

Yuri had lived in some state of less-than-energetic ever since month two of his daughter's existence, the frequent runs to the bathroom to vomit, draining, and the absolute lack of will to live, even more so. Now, though, he thought he could see where the complaints of exhaustion came from.

Yuri had never been so appreciative of doctor-mandated bed rest; he knew that, without it, he would've forced himself up and about despite his fatigue, but with it, he had a ready excuse for staying in bed and sleeping all day. Or, at least, he would, if he was ever able to sleep all day. Or, you know, at all.

Yuri yawned widely as he shifted slightly in bed, the world around him soft and warm, comfortable in the way it only can be when you're trying not to go back to sleep. Or, in Yuri's case, trying to go back to sleep, only to have your demonic, sadistic body betray you.

It wasn't even that he couldn't sleep -- he was drifting off already --, but he just kept waking up.

Nestling further down into the covers and pressing his eyes firmly closed, Yuri made his best effort to turn his mind off, hoping to lull himself back to dreamland. After five minutes of that, though, Yuri had to face the music. He was now fully conscious, if formidably groggy, and he was hyper aware of how warm it was in his position, snuggled beneath the blankets. Granted, it was the middle of October in Russia, so it couldn't justifiably be called warm in any right, but with the heat cranked up in the house and under five layers of alternatingly fluffy and heavy blankets, Yuri thought that it was fairly reasonable to be uncomfortable.

Shrugging the bedding off of his shoulder and pushing it down to cover his abdomen with sleep-weakened arms, Yuri glanced behind him, eyes squinting as he took in just how not-pitch-black it was in the room; the golden, late afternoon sun coming in through the window was nice, but a bit blinding when the eyes were still delicate from sleep.

Yuri blinked once or twice as he turned his gaze over his shoulder again and struggled to read his clock. The LED numbers blurred together and he rubbed his eyes, squinting as he tried to force the unruly lines into focus. Finally, once his sight felt like cooperating, Yuri was able to make out the slightly fuzzy digits to be those comprising 6:52.

God, had it really been two hours?

Yuri groaned lightly as a Braxton Hicks contraction tightened his abdomen, heightening the soreness he'd been feeling in it and his back, all day. Still too sleepy to begin to contemplate pacing to ward off the practice pain, Yuri hoped that a mere change in position would settle it, and braced himself on his elbows to roll over, exhausted.

He'd been trying to sleep since almost five o'clock that afternoon, and had little to show for it-- a handful of disrupted minutes and a persistent, nagging instinct to abandon trying to rest and instead rearrange the baby's room, his only results. Of course, the only two things that had the ability to keep him in bed when in opposition with the nesting instinct, his supreme tiredness and his bed rest schedule, had kept him where he was, but perhaps the influence of the need to make sure that everything was perfect had been too great, and had cost him his nap. Certainly, though, something had cost him his nap, and he felt as though he'd barely slept at all.

Now on his back, feeling slightly like a turtle flipped on its shell, Yuri let himself sag into the pillows, hoping that the positioning would accomplish what he wished. In a second, he let out a little sigh; rolling over had done the trick: the contraction had run its course. Instead of moving immediately, however, Yuri just laid there for a second, comfortable and, ridiculously, spent from his short spurt of movement.

There was no way he'd be able to sleep like this and the resulting backache wouldn't make it even close to worth it, but Yuri took a moment to shut his eyes before he began the arduous process of transitioning further, onto his left side. Yuri was just debating whether or not he should try to move his maternity pillow with him, depending on if he would be awake or asleep, and if he would end up using it, or just kicking it away, when there was a light knock on the door, and Otabek poked his head through.

"Hey," he said, taking a small step into the room, the door ajar behind him. "Oh, sorry-- did I wake you?"

Yuri shook his head, both sides of the argument losing, and scooted further up so he sat against the pillows. Otabek followed his motion, looking conflicted (an expression Yuri knew well), his instincts obviously screaming at him to help but his sense commanding him not to.

While it was true that Yuri and Otabek's relationship had improved over the last two weeks, things relaxing somewhat once Yuri had finally allowed Otabek to help him, things were still far from normal and farther still from the way they used to be. Otabek, while obviously more confident in taking over tasks for and offering help to Yuri without the constant, cold fear of rejection (something else Yuri knew well), was still hesitant to cross any lines, and was careful to keep himself at arm's length from Yuri-- a fact which Yuri appreciated. At any rate, their relationship had certainly become easier, and Yuri was considerably less worried about how they'd manage once the baby came.

"I couldn't sleep," Yuri said and Otabek allowed a look of sympathy to cross his face-- certainly more than he might have done a month prior.

"Insomnia?" He asked (Yuri would bet anything that he'd been researching -- again -- and knew better than Yuri did, what would ail him at this stage).

"Couldn't get comfortable." Yuri muttered, his voice dulled with drowsiness. "Kept waking up."

Otabek nodded, and glanced at the clock. "Uh, I came up because I was wondering what you wanted for dinner?" He said, "I was thinking Chinese? We haven't had takeout in awhile."

Yuri nodded, pressing the back of his hand over his mouth as he yawned.

Otabek was turning to go, knowing their orders by heart (even Yuri's pregnancy-altered ones), when he suddenly turned back, apparently impulsive.

"Have you tried doing something else?" He asked abruptly, and Yuri blinked. "To sleep, I mean," he added hastily. "Apparently after trying to sleep for a few hours, getting up and doing something else for a while helps. I read it somewhere."

(Bullshit; he had most definitely found it on one of his daily perusals of the entire internet's contents of pregnancy information.)

As Yuri's still groggy brain struggled to comprehend this, Otabek's face fell, almost imperceptibly (Yuri only noticed because he'd known the man for 13 years and had a PhD in Otaspeak), and he began to shake his head.

"Nevermind," he said quickly, "it doesn't--"

"Okay," Yuri cut him off, nodding tiredly and trying not to yawn again; he didn't want Otabek to retreat back into his shell, not when he'd just started to come out. Otabek visibly perked up before schooling his expression back to neutrality: stoic if he ever was; Yuri was struck with the insane urge to laugh.

With Otabek hovering slightly awkwardly in the doorway, obviously unsure if he should stay and wait for Yuri, or go before him, Yuri shifted his weight, leaning back on his hands as he turned carefully and swung his legs over the bed. The baby wiggled and Yuri pet his abdomen absentmindedly.

Painstakingly getting to his feet, completely ignoring Otabek's jerk forward to help before he managed to check himself, Yuri, clad in a previously too-large but now almost too-small sweater, leggings, and fuzzy socks, waddled across the room and to the door.

(It was almost amusing to watch as Otabek struggled with himself, steadfastly not putting a hand on Yuri's back to help him down the stairs, but very obviously wanting to.)

Yuri plopped down on the couch when they reached the living room, uninterested in doing 'something else' on the hard, kitchen chairs, and situated himself comfortably before turning to Otabek, expectant.

Otabek shifted under Yuri's gaze. "The website said it works best if you do something that holds your focus but doesn't require too much brain power to wake you up. Like watching TV or reading something easy."

Yuri nodded and cast his gaze to the remote, sitting a few feet away on the coffee table. Otabek moved forward and handed it to him.

"I'll order dinner," he said, "once you've eaten, it'll be easier to sleep, too." Yuri nodded again, and, with one last, lingering glance, Otabek left the room, moving to the kitchen to put in the order.

As he put his phone to his ear, peering into the fridge and making a mental note to go grocery shopping soon -- they were nearly out of lettuce --, Otabek's attention was captured, faint noise coming from the living room. Yuri had found something to watch, then.

Six minutes later, dinner ordered and credit card details exchanged, Otabek made his way back to the living room, unsure if he was planning on simply telling Yuri that the wait time would be longer than usual (apparently the restaurant had had a bachelor party come in and were now swamped with customers): 75 minutes instead of 45; or if he was going to stay to watch whatever Yuri was. When he registered the music coming from the television, though, he stopped dead.

In the middle of the hallway, the unmistakable, haunting melody of "Think of Me" floated, otherworldly in its familiarity and strangeness, from the living room. Thoughts of restaurants and wait times fell from Otabek's head as he moved to the doorway, a man spellbound.

Yuri sat on the couch, his head pillowed on his hand where it was supported on the armrest, his feet up on the ottoman and the throw blanket from the back of the couch strewn across his lap. His eyelids drooped, betraying his tiredness, but otherwise, his gaze was fixed on the TV, and he barely glanced away as Otabek appeared in the doorway.

"Are you," Otabek was struggling to breathe. Was this normal? Was one supposed to be able to breathe when confronted with their soon-to-be ex-husband who they were still desperately in love with but had resigned themself to never having, watching the movie that was, for all intents and purposes, the soundtrack to their love story? "Watching that?" He didn't choke on his tongue. Good for him.

"It was on," Yuri murmured through a wide yawn.

As if pulled by an invisible thread, the siren's song of hope, Otabek walked across the room, and sat down on the other side of the couch. Yuri didn't bat an eye.

***

Together, they sat and watched the movie for long enough that dinner came and went, but, honestly, Otabek didn't register a second of it. The entire movie he'd had to force himself to keep his eyes on the screen, barely catching himself when they strayed to watch Yuri, instead.

Like now: and, as "Don Juan" played on screen, Otabek allowed himself a quick, fleeting glance at his soon-to-be ex-husband, just to tide himself over.

Yuri's eyes were half-lidded, as Otabek looked, dulled slightly with sleep, but, still, there was the tiniest, faintest glimmer in them as the music crescendoed. As Otabek watched him, though, Yuri's hand moved to rub his abdomen and his gaze fell to it, a tiny, exasperated smile curling his lips as the baby kicked.

Ah; of course, Otabek thought: the brightness in Yuri's eye had been brought on by the baby kicking. What else could it have been?

His brief glance allotment over, Otabek forced his gaze back to the movie and managed to lose himself in "The Point of No Return", before, at the movie's end, he looked up again, and found that his was the only attention on the TV.

Yuri's eyes were shut, eyelashes fluttering imperceptibly; he was not asleep, but very close to it, and his head slumped forward, resting in his hand, elbow still raised on the arm of the couch. On his abdomen, Potya slept, apparently having joined the couple without Otabek noticing, and was curled in a white, fluffy ball, her tiny head tucked up and resting just beneath Yuri's breast.

Unable to contain a tiny smile at the soft, domestic sight (a smile that faded slightly once Otabek reminded himself that there was nothing truly domestic about this), Otabek got up from his side of the couch, walking over to gently remove Potya.

The cat squirmed upon her relocation to the couch cushion beside Yuri, but after a moment of petting, she was pacified and curled up once more, tail poofed and silky. As he had picked her up, though, Otabek had just barely brushed the back of his hand against the top of Yuri's abdomen. It had been warm through his sweater, and Otabek had smiled softly at the tiny trail of movement from within in response to his touch, as though the baby was dragging her arm down Yuri's abdomen. He kept his hand there for a few moments too long before he removed it.

"Yuri," he called, reaching out to shake Yuri's shoulder lightly. Just to wake him up-- then he'd refrain from touching him anymore. "Yuri, you need to wake up: the movie's over."

Yuri stirred weakly, his eyelashes fluttering and his nose scrunching slightly in that adorable way it did whenever he was discontent. Seeing that Yuri was sufficiently roused, Otabek was about to remove his hand when Yuri's eyes opened, and he was pinned in place by a sleepy, green stare. Yuri made a confused, little noise, still very much sleep's victim, and blinked hazily. He didn't draw away, though.

"Yuri," Otabek tried again, remembering so many times like these and feeling very soft, even if he knew that the moment was about to end. "You need to get to bed; you can't sleep here: you'll kill your back."

Yuri blinked again, not quite grasping Otabek's words, but nodded slightly when Otabek carefully moved his hand from Yuri's shoulder to the small of his back (taking the initiative he would normally try hard not to, but now couldn't help himself; he blamed the movie).

Bracing his hand on the arm of the couch and planting his feet, Yuri allowed Otabek to help him stand, taking his right hand when it was offered and eventually regaining his footing. It was in that moment that Otabek realized how very close they were; his hand was still at the small of Yuri's back, Yuri's hand in his left, and Yuri's right on Otabek's bicep, where he had accepted help to stand. Had Yuri not been 9/10's asleep, and had it not been for their... situation, the position would be an affectionate one, even intimate. As it was, Otabek had to fight himself not to kiss him; it felt so natural.

Otabek wasn't given time, though, to either A) jerk back as if burned, the epitome of awkwardness, or B) he had absolutely no idea, but he knew that there was an option B, for his attention was caught almost immediately by Yuri's soft gasp, his head bowing as he looked down. Yuri's black leggings were suddenly a shade or two darker.

He raised his head with wide, frightened, now-very-awake eyes, staring desperately at Otabek. Otabek stared back, just as shocked as Yuri evidently was.

There was still five days before the baby was due; while he knew that babies, especially firstborns, often came a week or two early, he wasn't mentally prepared for their baby to do that!

Yuri, apparently, followed the same vein, for he let out a shaky breath at that moment, wild-eyed. "No," he breathed, voice soft, face turning white. "Not yet, not now. It's not-- there's still five days--" He interrupted himself with a grimace, face pinching as what Otabek was sure was a contraction sent waves of pain through his body. "No," he groaned, shaking his head slowly as his fingers tensed where his hands still rested on Otabek's arms.

Still in shock, but realizing that Yuri probably didn't want to be touched right now, Otabek gently tried to disengage; Yuri's grip tightened.

In hindsight, Yuri was in pain: he probably needed something to hold on to, Otabek considered, and refrained from giving him his space until his grip slackened, and only then did Otabek feel Yuri's hands shaking.

"Not yet," Yuri moaned quietly, likely to himself. "I'm not ready. Please not yet. I can't--" his breath caught, and a tear fell.

"It's okay," Otabek managed, and apparently seeing Yuri cry was what it took to bring his mind back. Not so surprising, considering. "It'll be okay."

Incredulous, tearful, green eyes met his. "I can't--" Yuri shook his head, "I can't do this. I'm not ready." He was breathing quickly; Otabek wasn't sure if it was because he was in pain or because he was so upset.

"You can," Otabek said firmly, checking the impulse to reach out and give him the hug he so obviously needed right now. "I know you can; it'll be okay."

"But she's too small," Yuri's eyes were scared, terror reflected in his irises. "She's early-- she's not--"

"She'll be fine," Otabek said, in a way he deeply hoped was soothing, "it's only five days. Babies come early all of the time; she's perfectly healthy." He locked eyes with Yuri. "She will be fine," he said firmly, taking care to enunciate, "I promise."

Slowly, breathing heavily, Yuri nodded. A few more tears fell.

"Now," Otabek continued, an excellent imitation of calm. "We need to get to the hospital. Do you have a bag packed?" He should've thought of this. Fuck. Why hadn't he checked with Yuri earlier if he was packed?

Yuri nodded again, a little stronger. "Closet." He murmured and Otabek nodded.

"I'll be right back."

Otabek tore up the stairs, his anxiety releasing in the form of narrowly avoiding crashing headfirst into the banister. (Thankfully, this happened out of Yuri's line of sight, but the thud as Otabek skidded into the wall was likely audible all throughout the house.)

***

After all of this time, it felt weird to go into the master bedroom. Otabek hadn't slept in here since... 217 days ago, and just walking in felt wrong.

Still.

Otabek opened the closet door, firmly hoping that if he ignored the shaking in his hands it would go away, and breathed an immense sigh of relief when he saw a yellow, medium-sized suitcase sitting there, waiting-- Yuri's carry-on for competitions. Snatching it up, Otabek hurried back downstairs, finding Yuri slipping on shoes, one hand braced against the wall for balance. Quickly, they donned their coats (Yuri less quickly; the zipper was temperamental) and left, Otabek feeling supremely guilty when Potya meowed at his ankles just as he was walking out the door, and he had to rush back into the house to feed her.

As he did his best not to drive like the nervous-wreck and/or maniac he felt himself to be, Otabek glanced repeatedly out of the corner of his eye to Yuri in the passenger seat; his head practically snapped in Yuri's direction when the latter hissed, lines forming on his face as he rubbed his side with his palm, before encircling his abdomen with his arms and holding it, his temple pressed against the window.

***

When they reached the hospital, Yuri was ushered into a wheelchair (which, for once in his lifetime of hospital visits, he actually accepted without a fight) and they were brought to a room (Yuri seemed as relieved as Otabek was when they were told it was a private one) where Yuri was instructed to put on a hospital gown behind a blue curtain.

In lieu of staring blankly at the curtain while Yuri changed, feeling significantly like a lost duckling without Yuri in his line of sight, Otabek forced himself to compose a text to Yuuri, typing out 'Yuri's in labor. At the hospital' with shaking fingers. It took him multiple tries to write hospital: he kept misclicking 'k' instead of 'l.'

The distraction worked better than Otabek had anticipated, though, and moments after the text had delivered, he got one in return.

'ON THE WAY!!!!!' Ah, so Victor had stolen his husband's phone, again.

The ensuing argument (Otabek had said he would ask Yuri; Victor seemed enraged that Otabek wasn't immediately telling him the room number) was swift but discourteous, Victor apparently disregarding his newfound civility towards Otabek when said man stood between himself and Yuri.

Otabek had just started replying to Victor's seventh demand to see Yuri at once, when the object of their conversation emerged from behind the curtain, and slowly waddled his way across the room, pausing when he got to the bed and letting out a low groan.

Immediately, Otabek disregarded his phone and the furious text conversation, and hurried to Yuri's side, hovering next to him as he gritted his teeth-- like a hen whose feathers had been ruffled.

"Hello, loves!" Both Yuri and Otabek looked up, completely having missed someone entering, and were met with the sight of a round nurse striding across the room, close-cut auburn hair almost certainly dyed, and glinting brown eyes maternal and confident.

She reached Yuri, and, to Otabek's surprise and discomfort (he tried not to bristle visibly) pushed Otabek aside to wrap a hand around Yuri's arm and start moving him into bed. Yuri whimpered, and Otabek had to wonder if this was really necessary while he was in the middle of a contraction-- couldn't they wait a second?

"There you go, dear," she said, easing Yuri down against the pillows, "up you get, that's it." Yuri just looked at her, an expression of pure irritation that Otabek knew well settled on his otherwise pained features. "Now," she said, whipping out a clipboard from God only knew where "time for check-in information."

What.

Apparently Otabek's expression communicated his thoughts, because the nurse (Rhonda, apparently, going by her nametag) turned to him and said "It helps if he's distracted, eases the pain," conspiratorially to him.

Yuri did not look happy to be spoken of instead of to, but glared at Rhonda in between contractions, answering her questions through gritted teeth. It was only when she asked if Otabek was his husband (did their marital status matter? It was obvious that Otabek was Yuri's support person... unless he didn't want him to be) that Yuri let out a cry of pain, eyes squeezing shut as an apparently stronger contraction started up.

"Are you his husband?" Rhonda turned to Otabek when Yuri didn't answer, and apparently Yuri was annoyed enough to snap,

"Yes!" Through the pain, glaring daggers at her through teary eyes.

Huh, Otabek couldn't help but think; Yuri must've really been pissed off to lie like that. He was normally so firm about them being separated.

The nurse's eyes narrowed and a distinctly judgemental look crossed her face when Otabek hesitated to affirm Yuri's claim, but he nodded hastily, and she scribbled something on her clipboard, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

By the time Rhonda left, both Otabek and Yuri (especially Yuri; Otabek hadn't seen him so irritated in quite some time) were about ready to request another nurse, and Otabek was half sure that the only thing stopping Yuri from doing so was the fact that his contractions were coming so close together-- he didn't have enough time to catch his breath and call for a replacement nurse before another had started up again. Indeed, when Rhonda (Otabek was quickly becoming convinced that her maternal quality was actually condescension manifesting in a patronizing way vaguely reminiscent to a mother speaking to a dim toddler) had examined Yuri, she had said that things were progressing quickly, and that there would likely be only an hour or two to wait. Yuri hadn't seemed thrilled with the proclamation, but Rhonda had left shortly after, so he hadn't complained.

For the next 45 minutes, Yuri remained in bed, whimpers and groans gradually growing louder as the contractions became worse, Otabek sitting awkwardly in a chair beside him, hands clasped around its arms to keep himself from reaching out and taking Yuri's hand, smoothing his sweat-drenched, blond hair away from his face. Yuri, too, never made any motion to request Otabek's hand to hold, and gripped the sheets in white-knuckled fists, strain etched into every feature.

When next Yuri was checked up on, Rhonda raised a skeptical eyebrow at the state of his hair: loose, tangled, and sticking to his face with sweat.

"You might want to put that up," she said to Yuri, gesturing vaguely to his head, "it's better in the long run. Believe me, I know." Yuri seemed tempted to ask her how many times she had done this, but was stopped by another contraction, and let out a long, high groan. Rhonda continued on as if he hadn't made a noise; "I think a braid would be best: they last longer than buns and ponytails, and stop the hair from tangling... more than it already has." She amended, and Otabek wanted to roll his eyes. "What do you think?" She asked Yuri, though Otabek wondered briefly if he was really comprehending what she said. "Do you want a braid?"

She spoke as if to a child, and Otabek couldn't decide if it was just another of her (apparently multitudinous) negative qualities, or if she was just an old hand at dealing with laboring parents, aware that excess formality was lost on them.

Otabek's first question was answered when Yuri nodded weakly, body going limp against the cushions behind him as the pain receded. Otabek blinked; obviously, Yuri wasn't aware of what he'd just agreed to, but at a, frankly terrifying, look from Rhonda, he moved forward slightly, prepared for Yuri to reject and rebuke him once he realized what he was trying to do. Instead, Yuri just lifted his head weakly from the pillow, giving Otabek better access.

Otabek blinked. Slowly, carefully, giving Yuri plenty of time to pull away from him, he began to run his fingers through Yuri's hair, finger brushing it in lieu of an actual comb. Ten minutes later, Yuri's hair was secured in a neat Dutch braid, trailing over his shoulder. Otabek hadn't realized how much he'd missed doing it, just the simple action of plaiting Yuri's hair, and felt almost bereft when he had to eventually tie it off and back away.

Throughout the entire ordeal, Yuri had been pliable, obviously making an effort to be still while he was in pain, and he blinked away tears when Otabek was done. The effort of immobility obviously hurt, Otabek thought, as he retreated to his seat.

From then on, time started to blend together. Otabek got Yuri ice chips, got himself coffee from the vending machine, and was relieved that neither Victor nor Yuuri had burst in yet, demanding access to Yuri. When Otabek eventually looked at his phone again, finally remembering to ask Yuuri to feed Potya in the morning, he found that it was one am; they'd been at the hospital for four hours.

Yuri certainly looked it, too: his face was simultaneously pale and flushed, stray wisps of hair stuck to his temples, and he looked tired enough that Otabek was starting to worry that he'd exhausted his supply of energy, and that he wouldn't be able to hold out much longer. Yuri had almost cried when the nurse had come in an hour ago and told them that there would be at least another two hours, yet, and Otabek had grimaced in sympathy.

When a nurse finally appeared again (Rhonda's shift was now over, thank God), checking Yuri over, she squeezed his knee gently. "Eight centimeters," she said, sympathetic, "not long, now."

Yuri, coming down from a particularly vicious contraction, just nodded, eyes shut and breath labored.

***

It was 3:19 am when Yuri was declared to be fully dilated, and, as several nurses and a doctor moved around him, Otabek realized that he'd forgotten how to breathe. Which, as it seemed, was nothing to Yuri's state, who apparently couldn't breathe.

Ever since about 2:40, any semblance of dignity Yuri had stubbornly been clinging to had gone, leaving him high, dry, in pain, and breathless. The pain was near-constant, now, judging by Yuri's demeanor, and his hands gripped and flexed on the air and the sheets. More than once he had reached an arm out before jerking and changing course to grab a hold of the side of the mattress. Each time it became harder for Otabek to refrain from taking his hand.

Otabek's entire body spasmed with the need to help as a nurse guided Yuri into the stirrups, another taking his hand and asking him to scoot down the bed for her. The request came at the wrong time, it seemed, and Yuri just shook his head, crying inconsolably; Otabek gripped his knees hard, itching to move and comfort him.

"Come on, Yuri," the nurse said, wrapping an arm around him and helping him to sit up. "You can do it, just a little further,"

Yuri cried out in pain, tears rolling down his cheeks. "I can't," he cried, "I need-- I need--" He gasped and choked, cutting himself off, and threw his head back into a silent scream as the nurse supported him.

She glanced over to Otabek, raising her eyebrows and smiling slightly, "I think it's time for you to step in, Dad." She said, gesturing with her free hand to the space beside Yuri on the bed. "You heard him, he needs you!" Otabek highly doubted that Yuri had meant that he needed him, more likely that he needed the pain to stop or he needed help or even a break, but at that moment Yuri let out a heart-breaking, gut-wrenching wail, and that made the decision for him.

"Beka!" He screamed, eyes screwed shut, and that was all Otabek needed to practically vault from his chair, pressing Yuri into his side on the bed and supporting him with an arm around his back as he eased him down the mattress.

Yuri's hands firmly gripping his own, his left arm snaked around his back and supporting him as he sat just behind and beside him, Otabek watched as his daughter was born into the world. Seeing her, a mess of chocolate brown hair on her head, bawling her eyes out with the strongest, tiniest voice he had ever heard, holding Yuri in his arms, who was already reaching weakly for the baby, Otabek couldn't even begin to describe how he felt.

The tiny baby was placed in Yuri's arms, cleaned off by a nurse, and swaddled in a white blanket with a too-big white hat on; Yuri was still crying, but for the best reasons.

Otabek realized that there were tears in his eyes, too, as he looked on, gazing at the two people he cared about most in the world: at his husband, at his tiny, baby girl who he had just met but was already overflowing with love for. Otabek felt warmth bubble up through his chest; it was like he couldn't breathe, he loved them so much.

Quietly, a tear dripped down Otabek's cheek; it would kill him to let them go.

***

Otabek refused to go that night, even when all of the hospital staff told him that he should get some sleep in his own bed, and eventually was stubborn enough that they relented and forced him to sleep in an on-call room, in lieu of sleeping in the chair next to Yuri's bed-- next to the glass box their daughter slept in. She was so beautiful; Otabek felt like he was suffocating with how much he loved her.

Otabek woke around 8:15 the next morning, ridiculously early for having gone to bed around 5:30 (his daughter had been born at 4:27 that morning, and both he and Yuri had been instructed to get some sleep while a nurse sequestered the infant away to the nursery for an hour or so to be weighed and such), but he was unable to stay asleep any longer, the adrenaline from last night still rushing through him. Determined not to bother Yuri, (God knew he needed to sleep) Otabek wandered aimlessly through the hospital for a few hours, eventually finding himself in the cafeteria and buying a coffee and a muffin for himself and a coffee (he could have a small one, the nurse had said) and a less gross-looking pastry for Yuri. When he examined his purchases more extensively, though, Otabek decided that it would be better to just run out to a cafe and pick up something better -- something with coconut in it, he thought -- for Yuri.

By the time Otabek got back to the hospital, it was almost lunchtime, and when he looked through the window in Yuri's door, he found him awake, the baby in his arms, and a soft smile on his face. His expression was so open and loving, Otabek felt bad for intruding on what was clearly a private moment.

He gave Yuri three minutes (he was physically vibrating to get into the room to see his family again: three was really all he could manage) before knocking, and tried to enter at a normal speed.

Otabek gave Yuri the coffee and pastry (he'd decided on a slice of the almond coconut braid from the cafe's display case-- Yuri had loved the one he'd tried in France) wordlessly, and stood at his shoulder to look at the baby.

She was awake, light blue eyes blinking curiously up at them, and a tiny hand grasped at the edge of the blanket she was wrapped in, evidently having Houdini'd its way out of the swaddle. Otabek looked at her over Yuri's shoulder, and sucked in a little breath when her gaze swiveled to land on him, even though he logically knew that she couldn't see anything further than a foot away from her face. Yuri ran a gentle finger over her chubby, baby cheek and she made a cooing sound. Otabek's heart squeezed.

Neither of them moved for a long time, save for Yuri's slow caresses of the infant in his arms, and after what felt both like a century and no time at all, there was a knock at the door, and Victor and Yuuri came into the room.

Victor carried several shopping bags (Otabek was sure they were baby items from the gift shop downstairs) and Yuuri a few balloons and flowers. Otabek also noticed a card held between two fingers, "Congratulations, Yuri!!" written on it in pink glitter pen, balloons and bunny rabbits scrawled on the front. Otabek would bet anything (almost anything) that it was from Yuri's students at the dance studio.

Victor didn't even spare Otabek a glance, dumping the bags on a chair and coming right up to Yuri's side, opposite from where Otabek stood. He wore a heart-shaped smile, and there were tears in Yuuri's eyes as he gazed down at the baby from next to his husband. Otabek averted his gaze; he pulled himself away from them and muttered something about a cup of coffee, ignoring the fact that he'd already had two, that morning. Yuri should have privacy to show off his new baby: Otabek wouldn't intrude.

Another cup of coffee and a banana later, Otabek had wasted 45 minutes and was officially out of patience. He wanted to hold his little girl: he needed to experience the sensation of holding his child for the first time. The yearning for it was like a physical urge, pulling him through the corridors and back to Yuri's room, where he met Victor and Yuuri, just leaving.

The door closed behind them and Victor kept his gaze firmly on the floor as he passed. Yuuri looked Otabek in the eye.

Words weren't necessary: that one look was all Otabek needed to know exactly what had happened.

Something small and cold slipped down Otabek's throat, and as Yuuri got on the elevator, he stood there, staring at the closed doors behind which every chance of salvation had disappeared.

Something drained from Otabek's chest, any small spark of hope flickering and dying, leaving only cold, bleak resignation to grow in its wake. Slowly, as he opened the door to Yuri's room, Otabek wondered if he'd ever get to hold his daughter. He doubted it.

***

Quietly, Otabek entered the room, not wanting to disturb the baby should she be asleep. Yuri made no move to acknowledge him as he entered, and his gaze remained firmly fixed on his daughter's sleeping face as Otabek came to stand beside him, looking over his shoulder at the baby in his arms.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Yuri's voice was soft, subdued; hushed and calm as though he, too, didn't want to disturb anything.

"Victor?" Otabek asked quietly. His gaze didn't stray from the infant asleep in his ex-husband's arms.

"Yuuri," Yuri corrected, his eyes still not lifting from the infant's face.

Otabek nodded, all of his energy leaching away. "Yuri, I--" Otabek broke off. He didn't know what to say. So he settled for what he hadn't been allowed to. "I'm sorry."

"Why?"

Otabek wanted to cry, and he shook his head; lost, defeated. Broken. "I never meant--" he tried, "I never wanted any of this to happen."

"So why did it?" Unlike so often, Yuri's voice held no heat, no challenge or accusation. It was just soft; quiet. "Why didn't you tell me?" And there it was again.

"It was too late," Otabek shook his head, exhausted. "I couldn't fix it. Nothing I could've done could make it right."

"All these months," Yuri murmured, running a gentle finger along the baby's soft cheek. "You never said anything. You just let it happen. You let me push you into a divorce you don't want."

"It's better for you," Otabek's voice was low. He gazed over Yuri's shoulder at the tiny, pink, sleeping baby. She was so beautiful. "That's what matters."

"But you don't want it." It wasn't a question.

Otabek knew it, now: all was lost. They had reached the point of no return.

"No," he said quietly, sadly. "I don't."

"Beka?" And at last, at last, Yuri turned from the baby, looking Otabek in the eye. "I don't want to get divorced."

***

Do we have any ideas for what the baby's name is? Comment and let me know! Her name is really pretty!

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