"I'm telling you that's my girlfriend in there! You have to let me in!"

"Sir, you need to calm down. As I've already told you, only family is allowed in."

Loud, angry shouts and booming voices were coming from just outside your hospital room. The door was rattling in its hinges, although you weren't sure if that was because someone was pressing against it or from the sheer volume of the voice.

Peter was standing next to you, holding your hand and being very sure to not look anywhere in the direction of where your doctor was currently sitting on a backless, wheeled stool. Obviously he didn't want the same view that your doctor was currently getting but still stood beside you regardless. Even in your current state, you couldn't have been more grateful. You had tried to thank him numerous times already but each time you said the words he would tell you to shut up followed by something along the lines of dumbasses don't say thank you for getting help from other dumbasses. Pure poetry. You should make it into a sign and hang it in the baby's room as an inspirational quote. Or maybe not, probably not a good idea to have curse words on a nursery wall.

Before you could even begin to think about what was happening outside of your hospital room, your stomach was once again being brutally massacared. You were beginning to wonder if the sweet angel inside of you wasn't actually a little demon in disguise but that was probably just the drugs talking. Wait, you hadn't taken any drugs... or had you? You squeezed Peter's hand, trying to find some release for the tightness and the tension in your stomach. To his credit he didn't even wince. When the ache began to subside a little you unclenched your hand, seeing the red marks your fingers had left on his palm.

He was looking at you concerned. You were guessing whatever sound you had made during that particularly painful contraction had not been a pleasant one. You were about to apologize, hoping you hadn't hurt his hand too badly when more yelling came from the two male voices in the hall just outside.

"I can hear her screaming in there, I know that's her! Let me through!"

"Do you want me to call security?"

"Go right ahead! I'm sure they'll be able to help remove your abnormally large head from that door!"

"Sir! This is a hospital! Show some decorum!"

You closed your eyes, trying to make sense of what was happening. That voice, it sounded so familiar but you couldn't place it. Your head was a swirling mess of hazed pain and confusion. Damn drugs. Or no drugs? You still couldn't remember.

"Don't you understand what I'm saying? I've told you three times that I'm the father! Now get out of my way before I make you!"

"Sir, you have to check in at the desk! You haven't shown us any identification or proof that you know this woman!"

Suddenly it hit you. Your eyes shot to Peter's in a panic who had seemed too lost in making sure you were okay to have even noticed any of the yelling. Although maybe you had burst his eardrum after all of your own yelling and screaming. It had been pretty much non-stop. Yelling and screaming in the car on the way to the hospital, yelling and screaming in the wheelchair on the way to the hospital room, yelling and screaming as you had to change out of your clothes and into the ridiculous gown the hospital had forced on you. The frequent pains which you hoped would have subsided in time had only gotten worse, making the groans louder each time they came. And Peter had been by your side for every second of it, you wouldn't be surprised if he was hard of hearing.

His sight, however, apparently was functioning correctly because when your eyes met his he seemed to understand in an instant what you were asking him to do. He walked around the hospital bed, scooting around the doctor, all the while holding a hand to the side of his face. He was doing an excellent job at being very sure his view was blocked, preventing himself from seeing anything at the other end of the bed where your legs were uncomfortably splaid open for your doctor. If you hadn't been in such an intense physical state you would have been embarrassed but you were still a little bit preoccupied by the war raging on inside your body.

Peter opened the door open only for Steve to push his way past the male nurse who had been blocking his entrance. The doctor inbetween your legs hastily tried to pull the paper sheet over you so that you weren't fully exposed.

"It's okay, he's the reason I'm in this situation in the first place." You breathed out. "Nothing he hasn't seen before."

He smiled good-naturedly but kept the sheet in place. That's when you noticed Peter was still busy explaining to the flustered looking nurse that Steve was in fact the father of your baby and apologizing for whatever scene he had caused. Steve had raced over to your side, taking the spot Peter had been in moments before.

"I'm sorry but only one guest can be in here at a time. Safety Regulations." Your doctor instructed.

"I'll go wait outside." Peter offered quickly, one hand on the door handle, looking relieved. If there was anything he could have done that would have reaffirmed his place as your best friend after everything, it was this. He had helped to keep you calm, gotten you to where you needed to be, and called Steve in the process. He had stood by you, refusing to leave your side despite how uncomfortable it must have been for him to witness this. As far as you were concerned, that was going above and beyond in what constituted the terms of a normal friendship. It was best friend material. Godfather material.

"Is that alright? Can I do anything else?" Peter asked, directing his question straight to you.

"Yes." You were breathing heavily trying to get out the words out, desperately clinging to the last few moments of sanity before the next contraction would wipe you senseless. "Tony's office. Desk. Steve's health insurance." You gasped out, exhaling between each sentence. "And my mom. Call her."

Peter nodded in response, then left the room, closing the door behind him. Steve leaned over, grabbing your hand and kissing your forehead.

"I'm sorry sweetheart I got here as fast as I could but there was all of this traffic and then they wouldn't let me in." He said turning to face the doctor. "What's going on? She's going to be okay, right? And the baby?"

The doctor was busying himself, lifting the sheet back up now that the door had closed, pulling at his gloves to ensure that they were on properly.

"(Y/n) is experiencing what is known as premature or preterm labor." The doctor explained calmly, clearly sensing Steve's nervous state.

"I read about that in the book you gave me!" His head snapped back to you, eyes widened as he somehow managed to look frantic and deep in thought at the same time. "God! I can't remember what it said about what it means for the baby but I read it sweetheart, I swear I did!"

His voice was fearful, panicked. If you weren't in the middle of the most physically tolling experience of your life you would have been able to tell him you didn't care if he had read the damn baby book or not, you were just glad he was finally here. Any and all of the unanswered questions standing in between you both from before the pregnancy had completely vanished, becoming something less than an afterthought in the ensuing chaos.

"Preterm labor is when the cervix opens before the thirty-seventh week of pregnancy. (Y/n)'s contracting every two minutes, and it should only be a matter of hours before your baby will be born."

Your hand tightened around Steve's as the stabbing pain returned, trying to focus on breathing in and out.

"But she can't have the baby now! It's only been eight months! We have another month! The book said nine months, I know it did!" Steve exclaimed, using his free arm to run a hand through his hair.

"Premature labor happens often, the causes aren't fully known sometimes it's heriditary or because of multiple births close together or by heavy amounts of stress or anxiety." The doctor continued to explain.

Steve's face returned to yours, looking at you with sad and guilt-ridden eyes.

"I'm so sorry sweetheart, this is all my fault." He kissed your forehead again, then leaned his head down to rest on where your hand was still clutching his in a tight hold. You tried to squeeze it in comfort but you were already grasping onto it so tightly you didn't think you had quite managed it. This hand was your life raft and you were sure if you let go you'd be lost, permanently treading cold and harsh waters in a sea of pain.

"Not- your fault." You gasped out in between breaths, your abdomen crying out in agony. Even then you needed him to know you didn't place one single ounce of blame on him for this. You refused to believe that this had somehow been caused by him or other stressors in your life. You felt it in your soul that issues born of love and from the heart had not caused this. Instead you chose to believe that sometimes shit just happens and we just have to roll with the punches or else get swept up in the wave of soul-crushing "what-if"s and "if-only"s.

"Love- you." You breathed, struggling to get out the words.

He kissed the top of your hand, not being able to hide his watery eyes. Then he turned back towards the doctor.

"What happens now?" He asked, anxiously.

"Well," The doctor said, standing up from his stool and wheeling it out of the way. "Premature births are pretty much identical to births in the regular term. There can be some complications but in most cases similar to yours, both baby and mom go on to live perfectly normal and healthy lives. But I do feel it's important to tell you that there is risk involved. Depending on the birth weight of your baby and the development of it's organs there are certain health issues we may need to be concerned about and watch for, but we won't know until after the birth."

Steve sat there speechless, a pretty smiliar reaction to what yours had been upon the first time hearing this. Listening to it a second time hadn't made you feel any better.

"I know this must be hard to hear but in these situation I always find it better to be fully honest about potential outcomes and not give any false certainties." The doctor said, grabbing his clipboard and jotting down a few notes. "All warnings aside, I'd like to repeat that there is a very high likelihood of everything being perfectly normal. I just wanted to be perfectly candid with both of you."

Steve nodded, solemnly.

"I'll give you two a moment. I'm going to grab a nurse and an incubator and then I'll be back in a few minutes. If you need anything while I'm gone just press the red dot on that remote." He instructed, pointing to the controller attached to the side of your hospital bed.

"Thank you doctor." Steve said, as the man left the room, leaving the two of you alone.

The minute the door closed, Steve was back to looking at you.

"I'm sorry (Y/n), I'm so so-"

"Don't." You cut him off. "Don't be sorry."

You were grateful for the moments break in contractions, giving you a little air to speak.

"This baby is a fighter." You said, tapping your stomach lightly with your free hand. "Just like his or her dad."

A hint of a smile crossed his face as a tear rolled down his cheek.

"Everything's going to be okay." You told him confidently, wiping the wetness away with your thumb.

You could tell he was a little taken aback by your confidence. But you had to say it with confidence because you couldn't let yourself for a moment begin to feel otherwise. You couldn't let the idea that things weren't going to be okay enter your mind, or even exist. Otherwise things definetly would not be okay. You would never make it through this if you allowed yourself even for a moment to acknowledge an outcome in which your baby wouldn't come out perfectly healthy. Not for a single second.

This was happening. It was happening earlier than either of you had planned but it was still happening. In a few hours you were going to a mother, Steve was going to be a father. You were fearful but it was more so in anticipation then in concern and in eagerness to meet your unborn baby who was apparently also so eager to meet his or her parents that he or she had decided to come a little early.

Steve pressed his lips gently to your stomach, then quickly to your own lips. You savored the feeling, gratefully breathing in the comfort he brought to you just by being here. Just by being in the same room with you. Just by existing.

"I love you sweetheart."

You inhaled his words, knowing those were the ones you needed to be breathed into existence. Those were the words you wanted your baby to be surrounded by as the little bean was born. You wanted nothing but love, hope, and joy to engulf the sweet and precious little demon-angel. You prayed that if that's how he or she entered the world, that by some miracle those feelings would take hold, stolen from the very air of that first breath and absorbed into your baby's soul where it would remain permanently wrapped in a blanket of pure and unadulterated love.

Everything was going to be fine.

Everything was going to be perfectly fine.