Work Text:
Holy shit were you pregnant.
From being a petite thing, your baby made you look like a troll. Your hair is in constant buns, you're always wearing a dress with visible shorts underneath and clogs (Crocs when it comes to errands) were a must.
"How long til that thing's out?" Gus asks when you start holding your belly wherever you go. It was just too large to hang off your body without severe back pain.
"Three weeks until this fucker's out," you proclaim, patting your belly harshly.
Your darling husband who's the cause of this strolls into your and Gus' shared office, carrying takeout.
"Hey Gus!" Michael greets. "Wife." He kisses your cheek, setting the Taco Bell bag on your desk.
"Did you get my cinnabon's?" You rummage through the bag without waiting for an answer anyway.
"Shit, I knew I forgot something," Michael says a minute later when you can't locate the cinnamon treats.
Suddenly you feel a sharp pang flare up your leg and straight to your uterus. You clutch the underside of your stomach, feeling a trickle of liquid run down your bare leg. "Geez, it's not that serious, Y/N," Gus says. You let out a pitiful moan, bowing your head. "No."
"Holy. Fucking. Shit." Michael steps back like he'd been burned. "What is that on your leg?"
You couldn't muster a reply but you didn't have to.
"Dude, I think she's in labor," Gus exclaims, jumping from his seat with alarming speed. "Look, her water broke!"
"FUCKING SHIT." Michael cries, tugging at his hair.
This causes Burnie from next door to enter the office. "What going o-OH MY GOD WHY IS THERE A STAIN UNDER Y/N?"
"My water broke, dip shits," you grit through your teeth. "Michael, help me," you whimper. Your legs were not working with you and neither is the spawn of Satan, kicking around like a soccer player. Michael pushes Burnie aside who tried to wheel your chair away from your desk.
"Put your arms around my neck," Michael orders. You comply and your husband goes complete Terminator mode, picking you up bridal style and hurrying you out of the room.
"What should I be doing?" Burnie calls after the slowly moving couple.
"Get my bag!"
"Call 911!"
Your bag only had extra snacks in case you didn't feel like getting up but this was super important to you matter of factly. "Really Y/N?" Michael asks, knowing damn well what's in your bag.
"I could really use a Snickers," you reply, muffled into Michael's shirt.
He gets you guys at the entrance of Rooster Teeth, sitting you in the waiting room chair. At this point, the whole office is buzzing. Kerry, Meg, Ryan and Barbara are standing at a good distance away from you, just seeing the spectacle upfront. Blaine has a camera, claiming it's for a RT Life. "Aren't you due in like three weeks?" Barbara asks, surprised.
After all, it was only 10 AM so this was the earliest entertainment Rooster Teeth has experienced.
Michael is standing in front of you, making sure no one got too close. You're just trying not to breathe too heavily with everyone and a camera staring at you. "Where the fuck is this ambulance?" Michael demands. You and him were both ignoring the questions everyone is throwing around.
"They're on their way," Gus says. He hands you your bag where you immediately fish out sour gummy worms.
"How can you eat?" Michael wonders. His hands are on his hips and he keeps staring out the door, murder in his eyes.
"Want some?"
You offer the bag to him and he reluctantly takes a few out. The candy keeps you guys at bay just as the ambulance arrives a few minutes later. You guys get a lot of 'good lucks' as you're escorted out.
"Two hundred bucks says it's a girl!" Gavin yells after his boi.
"Three hundred says it's a boy, you fuck," Michael calls back before slamming the door behind him.
The ride to the hospital is filled with notifications because Blaine was fucking quick with uploading the RT Life. Michael and Gavin's bet made it into the video (along with your sweaty, whale self draped across the couch eating candy) so everyone was excited to see Gavin lose, as always.
"If it's a girl, you're changing her for an entire month," you warn Michael because three hundred dollars could buy a shit load of diapers.
"Hey, we still have a baby shower," Michael reminds you, which doesn't ease your annoyance.
~ ~ ~
Excruciating hours later, Michael is off the hook - it's a nine pound baby boy.
When Michael can stop crying and you stop looking so shitty after pushing such a heavy baby out, you guys snap a family photo and post it on the Rooster Teeth site and Twitter.
@AH_Michael: Guess who's $300 richer? Also we still expect a gift at our baby shower from you @GavinFree