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“Fitz,” Jemma moaned, clawing at the sheets beneath her in white-knuckled desperation. She writhed against the mattress, her entire body covered in a light sheen of sweat. “I need it. Give it to me. Please.”
Fitz smoothed his palm down her side and pressed a kiss to her damp forehead. “Shhh...” he soothed. “Just relax, Jem, I’ve got you, I promise...”
She groaned and arched up against his chest. “It – it’s in the top drawer,” she gasped, stretching an arm as far as she could in the direction of her bedside table. “I can’t reach it myself, please Fitz, please -”
Fitz caught her wrist in midair and brought her hand to his chest. “Jemma,” he murmured, lacing his fingers through hers and squeezing gently. “Look at me.”
“It - it should be fully charged, I just need you to - to -”
“Jemma,” he repeated firmly. He cupped her chin with his free hand and tilted her face until she was forced to meet his gaze. “I am not going to shoot you with the night-night gun,” he said as evenly as possible.
Jemma looked at him as if she were torn between bursting into tears and ripping his throat out. “Yes you are,” she choked out, tightening her grip on his fingers until he swore he heard bones cracking. “You can do this. You have to. Please. ”
Fitz took a deep breath as he stared into her pleading eyes, using every ounce of self-control he possessed to remain calm and steady. “Jem, I know you’re in pain baby girl, but I need you to think logically about this for a second-”
The moment the words left his mouth he knew he had fucked up. Royally.
Right on cue, Jemma’s eyes flashed with fury. “Oh, I’m SORRY! Am I being too illogical for you, Mr. Spock?” she spat, pushing him away with more force than he was expecting.
He let out a surprised oomph as his back hit the mattress while Jemma rolled gracelessly onto her side and began to slither toward the edge of the bed. “And for the record, you don’t get to baby girl me and then tell me I’m being illogical! I’ll just do it myselfffff- f - FUCCKKKK!! -”
Jemma abruptly curled into a ball and clutched her pregnant belly as her facial features contorted in agony. “I can’t! I can’t do this!” she shrieked, her entire body shaking with the force of her latest contraction. “J-just knock me out, oh my god, please. Just - just until we get to the clinic. Then just wake me up when the baby is out- oh SHIT -” She buried her face in the bedding and let out a muffled wail as another spasm wracked her body.
“Enoch?” Fitz called out frantically, shoving himself back into a sitting position and immediately reaching for his wife. “How are we doing on those coordinates?” He pressed the heel of his hand against the small of her back and rubbed in tight circles, feeling utterly useless and completely helpless.
This wasn’t supposed to be happening. Not yet, at least.
Jemma’s due date was still two weeks away, and she hadn’t been showing any signs of impending labor up until a few hours prior. If she had, they would have never made the decision to go on a supply run so far away from the planet they had selected for the birth. Parva-Simia was strikingly similar to Earth in nearly every way, barring the inhabitants that resembled extras from Planet of the Apes (although the idea of having a monkey-doctor deliver his daughter delighted Fitz to no end, for obvious reasons).
Enoch appeared in the doorway of their quarters within seconds. “The nearest jump point to Parva-Simia is approximately 16.72 hours from our current location.” As he spoke, his eyes quickly scanned Jemma’s trembling form with a faint expression that Fitz had come to recognize as the Chronicom version of concern.
“I do hate to be the proverbial bearer of lamentable information,” Enoch continued carefully, “but given the accelerated frequency and increased force of Agent Simmons’ contractions, the odds of us reaching the jump point prior to the birth of the child are nearly 1.2 million to one.”
“No!” Jemma exclaimed roughly, snapping her head off the bed. “That’s not…just stay the course, I can – I can hold it! I have- ahhh - I have a strong pelvic floor and SUPERIOR control over my bodily functions!”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “I held my bladder for over a day and a half during that mission in Peru, and that was under extreme duress and threat of death!” she managed to grind out, gazing back and forth between Fitz and Enoch with a somewhat unhinged look of determination in her eyes. “Therefore, it stands to reason I can hold a baby in for sixteen hours as long as I’m not being shot at or being held hostage in a crashing airplane!”
Before Fitz had time to object to… well… everything that had just come out of Jemma’s mouth, she was on the move. She pushed herself up into a shaky sitting position and dangled her legs over the edge of the bed, glaring at them from beneath a curtain of sweat-drenched hair. “Don’t even think about contradicting me,” she hissed through gritted teeth, her face red and straining with effort. “I’ve been doing Kegels every day for over twenty years. My vagina is a steel trap.”
Fitz squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yup, okay,” he said tightly. ”I think we need a new plan.”
Enoch nodded. “Understood. I have already taken the liberty of researching planetary systems that are accessible in under two hours with breathable air, modern healthcare infrastructure, and inhabitants who are biosimilar to humans,” he explained calmly. “And I am happy to report that there is one planet that meets all of the necessary requirements. We can be there in 26 minutes and 37 seconds if you are both agreeable to this course of action.”
“Enoch, you’re a genius,” Fitz breathed in relief. “Yeah, we’re agreeable, definitely. Right, Jem?”
Jemma grunted.
Good enough.
Enoch puffed his chest slightly. “I am technically not a genius, as that is a designation reserved for beings with organic brain matter, but I do appreciate the sentiment, Bestie,” he said, looking beyond pleased with the compliment. “Now if you will excuse me, I must return to the bridge to reset our course for Kitson.”
Fitz barely had time to react before Jemma was leaping to her feet with an actual growl tearing from her throat. “That. Is. IT!” she snarled, looking positively feral. “Out of my way! I’m the pilot now.”
Jemma lunged toward the door and abruptly stopped as another contraction began its assent. Fitz quickly caught her from behind and circled his arms around her waist, hauling her upright against his chest as she cried out and shook her way through the pain.
“Are you insane?” he hissed at Enoch over Jemma’s shoulder. “KITSON? The planet where you almost sold me into slavery? Where the two of us were almost beheaded? What the HELL is the matter with you??”
“Well, I did take that data into consideration when performing the risk-benefit analysis,” the Chronicom countered. “However, it is important to note that the birthing center in Kitson City is surprisingly robust.”
Fitz stared at him in incredulous silence.
Enoch tilted his head thoughtfully. “Though...one could posit that the impressive breadth of birthing services are merely a product of necessity rather than a true dedication to quality patient care, given the preponderance of sexual activity and a general disregard for the use of prophylactics amongst the denizens of Kitson-”
“Be- head - DED!” Fitz shouted, tightening his grip around Jemma’s waist as she moaned and began to sway from side-to-side. “I don’t CARE if the blasted hospital delivers thousands of babies every damn day! The risk of decapitation cancels out ANY AND ALL BENEFITS!”
“Your objection is noted,” Enoch replied. “Then I propose that we begin immediate preparations for the remaining option, in which I will deliver the child.”
There was a split-second of stunned silence before an unearthly sound began to echo through Zephyr One. It took Fitz a moment to realize that the noise was coming from Jemma.
She was laughing.
Either that, or she was channeling a demonic entity.
(Having never borne witness to either a live birth or an exorcism, Fitz mentally conceded that didn’t have enough data to rule out the latter possibility.)
“You…you can’t be serious,” Jemma gasped. “That’s just completely out of the question! I think even Fitz is more qualified to deliver a baby than you are, and I’m fairly certain he’s going to pass out before I even start crowning!”
“Hey!”
“Oh Fitz, please,” Jemma groaned. “Now is not the time to act like you aren’t going hit the deck the second you lay eyes on the placenta, which, I might add, is roughly twenty times the size of a cat’s liver –“
“Okay, okay, point taken,” he interrupted, squeezing his eyes shut. ”You can stop now.”
“Rest assured, Agent Simmons, I have been preparing myself for this very scenario for months,” Enoch interjected. He pulled a tablet from his pocket and began swiping his finger across the screen. “I have been studying countless recordings on modern day home-birthing practices,” he continued. “For instance – here is an extremely informative film on the topic of water birth.”
Enoch pressed play and flipped the tablet around for Fitz and Jemma to see, and within seconds they were both staring at the screen in abject horror.
“What…the hell…is that? ” Fitz finally managed to squeak out as his brain tried to frantically process what his eyes were seeing.
“It is an A'askvarii female giving birth in a natural o’erlanii hot spring,” Enoch replied, raising his voice over the blood curdling shrieks and screams emanating from the video. “Aside from the tentacles and facial gills, A’askavariian biology is surprisingly similar to that of humans. As a matter of fact – “
“Dear lord. How many doctors does it take to deliver an A’askavariian baby?” Jemma gasped, her pain clearly forgotten for the time being as she too gaped at the video. “There must be five…no six of them in there – “
Enoch furrowed his brow and quickly turned the tablet back towards him, examining the screen with curiosity. “Please excuse my error,” he said after a moment. ”It would appear that this film does not depict a water birth, but rather some kind of A’askavarian group-mating ritual.”
Fitz blinked. “So…we just watched alien porn,” he said flatly. “My wife is in labor and you forced us to watch alien porn. That’s…that’s just fantastic, Enoch. Brilliant, really. Thanks for that.”
“In my defense, at least two of the A'askvarii males were partially underwater for the first fourteen seconds of the recording,” Enoch countered. “Had their hectocotyli been visible from the start, I would have been able to discern the content of the film immediately.”
“Their hectoco- what ?” Fitz asked, closing his eyes as his head started to pound in earnest, and he couldn’t help but ponder the series of life choices that led him to this very moment. How he went from being a smart kid from Scotland who just wanted to build things to an expectant father standing in the middle of deep space, asking a sentient life form to clarify the details of an alien gangbang he had just watched with his laboring wife, was truly beyond his comprehension.
“Their hectocotyli,” Enoch repeated. “The plural form of hectocotylus, a word of both Latin and Greek origins meaning ‘a hollow cup’. It was coined in the mid-19th century by the late zoologist Georges Cuvier- “
“Oh for the love of GOD, cut to the chase Enoch!” Jemma snapped. “It’s an octopus dick! A hectocotylus is a goddamn octopus dick, okay?!”
She turned her head and glared over her shoulder at Fitz. “You had to ask, didn’t you? Are you happy now? Are you happy thinking about octopus dicks? ARE YOU?”
“No. No, I can’t say that I am,” Fitz replied wearily, already yearning for the simpler times of thirty seconds prior, when the phrase octopus dick had yet to enter his consciousness. He rubbed his hand in circles over Jemma’s belly as she stiffened in his arms and cried out, another contraction rippled through her body.
“Well, I for one am pleased we were able to clear up the confusion and come to a consensus,” Enoch said warmly. “I will now take my leave to begin filling the bathtub.”
Jemma suddenly reached out and slapped the tablet out of Enoch’s hand. “Excuse me, there is no consensus,” she yelled. ”You can’t even tell the difference between a birthing video and a tentacle orgy, and you expect me to let you deliver my daughter? Are you fucking kidding me?”
Enoch looked down at the broken tablet on the ground, and then back up at Jemma with confused eyes. “Jemma Simmons, there is no chance I will mistake the birth of your daughter for a tentacle orgy,” he said, sounding genuinely perplexed. “To begin with, neither humans nor Chronicoms are equipped with tentacles –“
“Enoch,” Fitz hissed warningly as Jemma began to tense up in his arms.
“-and it is my understanding that an orgy requires four or more participants. There are only three of us present, and I am an asexual sentient being who lacks external genitalia. Therefore, the prospect of an orgy is simply not mathematically achievable.”
Jemma turned her head slowly toward Fitz. “How do I kill him?” she asked, her voice calm and serene and a thousand-times more terrifying than all of the previous shouting combined. “There must be a way, right?”
“I should also note that during my 30,000 years on Earth, I was personally involved in 348 human births,” Enoch added. “Twenty-three of those deliveries I performed single-handedly against most perilous odds.”
All Fitz could do was stare at him in disbelief.
“Why…for the love of … why wouldn’t you just lead off with that?” he asked incredulously. “Jesus Christ, Enoch!”
The Chronicom tilted his head and pondered the question for a moment. “Well, since I have never delivered a child outside the confines of the Earth’s atmosphere, I thought it best to reassure you both that I had indeed been keeping myself informed on current best practices throughout the galaxy.” He paused. “In hindsight, I can see why disclosing my previous experiences in midwifery may have been a more beneficial way to –“
Enoch suddenly cut himself off. “Bestie,” he said, staring at Fitz with a hint of urgency in his eyes that was more than a little discomfiting. “I think it is time to assist Agent Simmons into the bath. Now.”
“Wait, what now, why – what’s happening?” Fitz stammered, staring back at him in confusion. “We haven’t even agreed to let you do this yet, let alone a water birth–“
“It would appear that the labor has progressed more rapidly than my earlier calculations had suggested,” Enoch cut in quickly. He turned his eyes downward and pointedly fixed his gaze on Fitz’s pant leg.
“How the hell can you possibly know …” Fitz began, following Enoch’s gaze in bewilderment and trailing off as he registered a warm wetness against his thigh. “…oh.”
Oh shit .
“Um, Jemma?” Fitz said carefully, tightening his arms against her belly. “I think your water just broke.”
Jemma shook her head vigorously, damp strands of her hair whipping around and striking the side of his face. “Nope,” she replied through clenched teeth. “Not possible. Because I’m not having this baby until we get to the clinic. So in conclusion, my water couldn’t have broken. Because we aren’t at the clinic yet.”
Fitz briefly wondered if Jemma would be interested in conducting a qualitative study about the effects of childbirth on logic and reasoning once this was all over, and quickly decided that he was too young to die.
“Jem, either your water broke or you pissed my pants,” he countered, doing his level best to keep the weariness out of his voice. “Those are really the only two options here.”
He winced as Jemma dug her fingernails into his hand. “Maybe you pissed your own pants! Ever think of that ?!” she growled.
Fitz gazed up at the ceiling and summoned all of the patience he was mentally capable of. “Jemma. Sweetheart. I think…I think we need to listen to Enoch on this one.”
“Indeed, the flowrate and dispersal pattern of the liquid indicates it is most certainly amniotic fluid, Agent Simmons,” Enoch added. “Those factors, coupled with the earlier pronouncement of your superior bladder control, most certainly eliminates urination as the source of wetness.”
“Oh, don’t you dare lecture me on bodily fluids!” she hissed. “I practically have a PhD in bodily fluids! Do you have a PhD in bodily fluids, Enoch? Hmmm? DO YOU?”
Fitz made frantic eye contact with the Chronicom and shook his head.
“No, Dr. Simmons, I do not,” Enoch replied, thankfully taking the hint. “I do, however, believe you will be much more comfortable in the bathtub, and given the subtle atmospheric pressure changes that occur during spaceflight, my calculations inform me that the barometric pressures of water will provide a stable environment much more conducive to childbirth.”
Jemma stared at him for a moment before nodding slightly.
“Fine,” she said through clenched teeth, and Fitz could feel her abdomen begin to contract again beneath his palm. “Ow, ow ow ow ow OW! Fuck!” she cried. “Okay, fine! Just hurry up and throw me in the fucking bathtub, please!”
“Certainly,” Enoch replied, stepping aside as Fitz started to guide Jemma toward the bathroom. “Fitz, set the water temperature to 37.7 degrees Celsius and assist Agent Simmons with her clothing. I will gather the necessary equipment and join you momentarily.”
“Hey, Enoch?”
“Yes, Fitz?”
“When was the last time you delivered a baby?”
Fitz and Enoch stood at the small vanity in the bathroom, using the basin to carefully sterilize the instruments in Jemma’s surgical kit. Behind them, Jemma was groaning softly in the bath, though thankfully with much less intensity than before, the warm water seeming to have a soothing effect. .
“September 7, 1939,” Enoch answered without hesitation. “A male infant, just outside of Vladivostok, Russia. Breech presentation – very tricky, if I may add. I was able to perform a successful external cephalic version and delivered the child on the floor of the family vannaya in a span of seven minutes and forty-two seconds.”
“Nineteen... thirty-nine?” Fitz repeated flatly. His headache began to take on a much sharper quality. “As in eighty-one years ago?”
Enoch nodded. “Yes, that’s correct. Eighty years, five months, and twenty-seven days, to be precise.” He tilted his head and gave Fitz an assured smile. “ Seven minutes and forty-two seconds,” he emphasized, eyebrows raised. “I typically refrain from touting my own achievements, but as far as triumphs go, that one is simply too impressive not to accentuate.”
Fitz could feel the knot in his stomach tighten ever-so-slightly. “Ah…right, yeah, very impressive, definitely,” he said tautly. “It’s just...eighty-one years seems like a long time ago…”
Enoch hummed. “To you, I imagine it would. After all, the likelihood of you even surviving to the age of eighty-one is marginal at best.”
“Thanks, Enoch. That’s very comforting.”
“I simply mean that eighty-one years is a lifetime for most humans, and your perception of time is directly proportional to your anticipated lifespan. As for myself, however, I remember the event as clearly today as I did in 1939.”
Fitz chewed his lip. “Yeah, okay.” He exhaled slowly and nodded. “Okay. Right”
The two worked in relative silence for the next several seconds, before Fitz cleared his throat again.
“Hey, Enoch?”
“Yes, Fitz?
“I thought Chronicoms weren’t supposed to interfere unless they’re preventing an extinction-level event,” he asked curiously. “Doesn’t delivering babies qualify as, um, interfering?”
Enoch blinked. “Well, the demise of any one of those children would have resulted in extinction-level events,” he replied simply. “While it does not happen often, I must acknowledge that, on occasion, the fate of humanity does hinge on the continued existence of a solitary individual.”
Fitz raised his brows. “Real life Chosen Ones, huh? Anyone notable?”
“A few. But more often than not, their contributions go unnoticed. Some become footnotes in the annals of history. Most are not noted at all.”
“Yeah...I suppose I can relate to that,” Fitz said with a quiet chuckle. “And your Russian baby? Who was he?”
Enoch smiled. “That child went on to become a lieutenant colonel for the Soviet Air Defence Forces during the Cold War,” he began, the proud glint in his eye unmistakable. “On September 26, 1983, he was on duty at the Serpukhov-15 bunker near Moscow when their early warning system reported the launch of five intercontinental ballistic missiles from the United States, heading for the Soviet Union. He made the unilateral determination that the alert was a computer error and thusly, prevented the nuclear holocaust that would have ensued under the military doctrine of mutually-assured destruction.”
Fitz did a double-take. “You...you’re talking about Stanislav Petrov,” he marveled,slack-jawed and wide-eyed. “You delivered Stanislav Petrov?”
“Yes, that is correct,” Enoch replied, looking mildly surprised. “I’m pleased you are aware of his existence. Many are not.”
“Yeah, well. I spent my entire adulthood engineering weapons for the United States government,” Fitz said, rubbing the back of his neck wearily. “His name had a tendency to come up a lot.”
Enoch nodded. “I, for one, was hoping his mother would select Enoch for his moniker, but I cannot argue with the fact that Stanislav is a truly fitting name. It is Slavic for ‘one who achieves glory or fame’, though ironically he achieved very little of those things for his actions that day until much later in his life.”
“Huh,” Fitz replied, a crooked smile toying at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll be damned.”
Enoch paused for a moment, and then placed the surgical scissors he was holding back in the basin.
“Hey, Fitz?”
“Yes, Enoch?”
He turned his body until he was facing FItz square-on. “While your child may not be a so-called ‘chosen one’,” he began, “I want to reassure you that I can and will deliver her safely into this world. I can think of no greater responsibility and no greater honor.” He paused. “Also, while perhaps unorthodox, I daresay that Enoch would make a lovely name for a female child.”
Fitz reached out and clapped Enoch’s shoulder. “Thank you, Enoch,” he said simply, his eyes shining with emotion. “I trust you with our lives.” He squeezed the Chronicom's arm and smiled. “And there’s no way in hell we’re naming the baby after you.”
“Thank you , Fitz,” Enoch replied with a meaningful nod. “I swear to you I will not let you down. And while I do understand that it is a moniker typically reserved for male children, I encourage you to think of Enoch as a bisexual name.”
Fitz closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. “I think you mean a unisex name there, buddy.”
Enoch tipped his head in confusion. “Well, yes… I suppose unisex is an appropriate synonym, though I fail to see the reasoning behind choosing one over the other –“
“Hiiii , HELLO, yeah, remember me?” Jemma called out, water sloshing over the side of the tub as she waved her arms frantically. “It feels like I’m about to shit out a bowling ball, I could use a little help!”
Enoch’s eyes lit up. “Ah, it sounds like it may be time to push, Agent Simmons!” he said cheerfully.
Fitz could feel the color draining from his face. “Oh god, now? Already?” he said quietly, his heart hammering away in his chest. “Are you positive?”
“Oh, yes,” Enoch replied earnestly. “Though the phrasing may be slightly different, nearly every woman I have ever assisted through childbirth has loudly announced feeling a similar sensation.”
“Right...okay. Right.”
Enoch smiled and clapped Fitz on the back with more force than was probably necessary. “Come on, Bestie, it is time to have a baby.” He turned to Jemma. “And never fear, Jemma Simmons,” he continued warmly. “I can assure you that the diameter of your baby’s head is closer in size to the ball used in candlepin bowling rather than the traditional ten-pin bowling ball…”
Just as Jemma began telling Enoch (in explicit detail) exactly where in his body she would store a ten-pin bowling ball should the opportunity ever present itself, Fitz took a moment to close his eyes and take a deep, steadying breath.
He was about to become a dad. His lab partner, a mum. And a sentient Chronicom from a planet which revolved around a star in the constellation he knew as Cygnus was going to be their midwife.
Life was wild sometimes.
“She’s just... perfect,” Jemma sighed happily.
Fitz simply nodded, unable to tear his eyes away from the tiny, sleepy little bundle laying between them on the bed.
Jemma traced the tip of her pinky down the bridge of the baby’s nose, and giggled as the little girl screwed up her face and frowned against the light touch. “Oh look, Fitz, she makes the same grumpy face you do when someone is disturbing your sleep!”
Fitz scoffed. “I do not make that face,” he said, but the broad smile he was wearing negated any and all protestations.
(He totally made that face and he knew it.)
“You were amazing today, by the way,” Jemma said suddenly, looking up at him with exhausted yet sparkling eyes. “I don’t think I’ve told you that yet.”
He gawked at her. “I was amazing? Jemma, I literally did nothing.”
She sat up straighter. “That is so untrue!” she insisted. “You were just...lovely and kind and so supportive , even when I was yelling all of those monstrous things at you.”
“Oh, god, Jem, please don’t worry about that -”
“I’m sorry I said that Manchester United was a shitty soccer team,” she interrupted, reaching out and cradling his face with her palm. She paused and chewed her lip. “I’m also sorry I called football soccer.”
“Jemma, seriously, you were giving birth to an eight-pound baby, you really don’t need to -”
“And I’m so sorry for threatening to rip your hectocotylus off. That didn’t even make any sense- “
“Jem-“
“-never mind that most hectocotyli are actually detachable so the male can avoid being cannibalized during copulation-“
“Jemma- “
“- which of course I would never dream of. Sexual cannibalism, that is. Not detaching your penis. Which, for the record, I also would never dream of-“
“Simmons!” Fitz exclaimed, and Jemma finally shut her mouth.
He grinned at her. “It’s okay. You were perfect. What you did today... amazing doesn’t even begin to cover it.” He leaned over and gave her a soft kiss. “And look how it all turned out,” he said, glancing down at the baby. “Look at what we made.”
She smiled. “I know. Almost as good as the D.W.A.R.F.S.”
Fitz chuckled. “Almost,” he agreed.
The baby chose that moment to start squirming, emanating tiny little squeaks and grunts as her eyes began to blink open.
“I think she took offense to that,”Jemma said as she scooped up the wriggling bundle. “I’m sorry, Alya Skye,” she cooed softly, holding the infant to her shoulder and patting her back. “Mummy and Daddy were just joking. You’re definitely our favorite D.W.A.R.F.”
Alya opened her eyes fully and responded with a noise that was a cross between a kitten’s growl and a pterodactyl’s scream. She flailed her arms frantically as she started rooting her mouth against Jemma’s collarbone.
“Dear Lord, Sweet Girl,” Jemma sighed, lowering her nursing tank and guiding the baby to her breast. “You’ve done nothing but grump and eat since you got here.” She looked up at Fitz and smiled. “Sounds like someone else I know.”
“Grumpy and hungry? I have no idea who you could possibly be talking about.”
Jemma giggled and then promptly winced. “Yeowwww,” she hissed as the baby latched to her breast and began suckling with an impressive amount of ferocity. “I suppose I’ll get used to this, right?”
Fitz leaned over and kissed her forehead. “I suppose you will.” He pulled back and gave her a wicked grin.”Though, if you want, I can go get Enoch and see if he can give you any more of those breastfeeding pointers he was offering up earlier -”
“Don’t you dare! ” she groaned. “I really don’t need to hear any more about how Korbinite babies are born with a full set of teeth, thank you very much!”
“Yeah, good point,” he said with a shudder. “Same.”
“Why don’t you go give him his gift, though?” she said with a soft smile. She nodded down at Alya, who was greedily gulping away with no signs of slowing. “Bottomless Pit Jr. and I will be occupied for a while, I think.”
Enoch was tinkering away in the lab when Fitz shuffled in, holding his hands behind his back.
“Hey, Enoch,” he said with a tired grin. “You got a minute?”
“Of course,” Enoch replied, placing the tool in his hand on the workbench. “Do you wish for me to demonstrate the proper newborn swaddling technique again?”
“Ah, no. No, we’re good on that, thanks,” Fitz said. “Jemma’s feeding her again, so she should be set for another hour or so.”
Enoch nodded knowingly. “I daresay the child eats almost as often as you do.”
“Yeah, that’s what I keep hearing,” Fitz replied with a crooked grin. He cleared his throat. “I, ah, we - Jemma and I, and um, Alya too- we have a gift for you.”
Enoch crooked his eyebrow in surprise. “A gift? Leopold Fitz, while I appreciate the sentiment, that is not necessary. My gift was delivering Miss Alya safely into this world.”
“Yeah, I know, but ah... we want you to have this too,” Fitz replied, pulling the gift from behind his back and holding it up.
“It’s a new tablet,” he explained as Enoch carefully reached for the device and plucked it from his fingers. “I’ve been working on the prototype for awhile, and Jemma feels really bad about smashing your old one so…yeah. It’s all yours.”
“It is perfect, Fitz. I appreciate this very much,” Enoch replied, his smile genuine. “Thank you.”
Fitz cleared his throat and gestured at the tablet. “It’s actually brand-new technology,” he continued. “Much sturdier, with the clearest resolution mathematically possible, and it operates off of CMBR frequencies, so no connection protocols are required.”
Enoch raised an eyebrow. “That sounds extremely desirable in a portable electronic device.”
“It is,” Fitz agreed. “I call it electroluminescent neo-optical connectionless hardware .”
Enoch smiled. “I am truly touched, Fitz,” he said sincerely. “Thank you.”
Fitz cleared his throat again. “And what do you think of the name?”
“Well, it’s a bit cumbersome, but it definitely captures the device's full range of capabilities, so I agree that it is a fitting moniker.”
“Electroluminescent. Neo-Optical. Connectionless. Hardware,” Fitz repeated, emphasizing the first letter of each word carefully.
“Yes, it is a very impressive name indeed,” Enoch said pleasantly.
Fitz sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “The initials spell out your name, Enoch.”
Enoch stared at him in silence for such a long moment that Fitz was beginning to wonder if maybe he had been remotely deactivated again.
“Enoch?” Fitz said carefully, waving his hand in front of the Chronicom’s face, and breathed a sigh of relief when Enoch finally blinked and met his eyes.
“You...did not name your child after me,” Enoch said slowly, “so as a gift, you created a new piece of technology and used my name as an acronym? Am I understanding this correctly?”
Fitz rubbed the back of his neck and nodded. “Uh, yeah, that’s the long and short of it.” He sighed. “Look, Enoch, I know it’s not much, but Jemma and I didn’t know how else to - oomph!”
The rest of his statement was abruptly halted as Enoch lurched forward and gathered him into the tightest hug he had ever experienced.
“If I had lacrimal glands, they would be secreting copious amounts of fluid at this moment,” Enoch declared, squeezing him even harder than before.
Fitz winced as he felt his back crack. “That’s great, buddy,” he replied in a strangled voice. “Can’t breathe, though -”
“Oh, of course, my apologies,” Enoch replied, immediately releasing his hold. “You will have to forgive me, I often forget my own strength when I allow myself to be overcome by human emotions.”
Fitz bent over at the waist and pressed his hand to his chest as he gulped for air. “Yeah, I can see that,” he wheezed. “So it’s a good present, then?”
“It is, without a doubt, the supreme, absolute best gift I have ever received,” Enoch enthused. “It is also the only gift I have ever received,” he continued with a thoughtful hum, “but even if I had others to compare it to, I am confident that it would still be the best.”
“Well,” Fitz replied, finally catching his breath. “I guess I set the bar pretty high.” He shook his head. “Christmas shopping for you is going to be a nightmare.”
Enoch tilted his head thoughtfully. “Now that you mention it, I did always wish to purchase a red stocking hat to wear during the holiday season, but I did not want children to confuse me with Father Christmas.”
Fitz raised his eyebrows. “Oh yeah, I can see where that would happen.The resemblance would have been uncanny.”
“Indeed,” Enoch replied with a serious nod. “But... perhaps I will ask for a red stocking hat this year. Miss Alya will likely be too young to experience any true bewilderment in regards to my identity, and I daresay it would bring a dash of holiday cheer to our family celebration.”
Fitz felt his heart skip a beat. “Our family celebration,” he repeated quietly. He looked around the hull of Zephyr One and allowed himself to picture the scene: Jemma sitting cross-legged on the floor next to a sparkling Christmas tree, laughing and bouncing Alya in her lap as Enoch handed out presents whilst wearing a ridiculous-looking Santa hat.
Warmth bloomed in his chest. “Yeah. I think you’re right,” he agreed, giving Enoch a small smile. “A red stocking hat it will be, then.”
At that moment, he couldn’t think of a more perfect gift.