Elira met Vincent outside of their daughter's room as he closed the door softly behind him. "You're telling her about us?"
"About everything." He ran a hand through his hair. "She has so many questions, I didn't get much past the day you hired me."
"That's not a surprise." As he dropped his hand back to his side, Elira's expression became intent and she moved a step closer to him. "Wait, do that again."
"Do what?"
"Your fingers through your hair."
Vincent raised an eyebrow but did as she asked. Elira watched him closely and then laughed in delight, raising a hand to her mouth. "Oh my God, you have a streak of white hair!"
"What?" In a moment, Vincent was in front of the bathroom mirror, sifting through his hair. Elira stood beside his elbow, grinning as she directed him. Finally, he was holding it between his thumb and forefinger. "Oh...my..."
Elira eyed it critically, still smiling at him. "They say having children can make your hair turn white. And now we have another one on the way who will probably be just as curious as Pegatha, liable to run away and pull things down on its head and get itself into trouble."
Vincent sighed. "I never want to have to repeat these last weeks," he confessed. And then he turned to look at Elira out of the corner of his eye. "Maybe we should give this one up for adoption."
"Vincent!" She stepped forward and started pinching and prodding his ribs viciously.
"I was just kidding!" Vincent chuckled, doing his best to ward her off. "Ouch! All right, I'm sorry! Stop it!"
Elira's fingers came across the bullet-sized hole in his shirt and she frowned. "Oh no, not again." She glanced up at him.
Vincent's expression sobered. "I'm all right," he told her. "I would've died if I'd had to, to rescue you and Pegatha. One more bruise and one more ruined shirt are no cost at all."
"Oh Vincent." Elira snuggled into his embrace. "I'm very, very glad it didn't come down to that."
Vincent kissed the top of her head and then rested his cheek in her curls. And they stayed that way, holding each other in the bathroom, for a long time.
Seven and a half months later...
Elira lay on the hospital bed whimpering and wheezing with her knees pulled up as far as she could make them go.
"Push!" the doctor, a large blond woman dressed in green scrubs, ordered.
Elira pushed with a groan of effort. Beside her, Vincent held her hand in his own, accepting without complaint the painful pressure of her fingers. Benita stood beside him, her teeth and fists clenched as if she could transfer her own strength to her friend for these last few minutes of labour.
"Push!" the doctor said again.
Elira gasped a breath and forced all of her muscles into the action. She just wanted this thing out of her after nearly thirteen hours of being in the same room, breathing and suffering through contractions, and now pushing until she thought she'd turn inside out. And although Vincent had been very attentive, feeding her soothing ice chips and giving her warm towels for her aching back, she now she swore to herself that she would never let him so much as touch her again. Why oh why had she thought she wanted another baby?
"All right, I can see the head. Push, Mrs. Valentine!"
"I am! I am!" Elira exclaimed breathlessly. Another few seconds of terrible pressure brought about final, blissful relief, and another few moments brought to her the sound of her baby's first cry. She lay back against the pillow with a weary sob of joy.
"It's a boy," the doctor told them with a smile. "A healthy, beautiful baby boy."
Vincent pulled his mask down and kissed her firmly on the forehead. Elira couldn't stop crying as she reached for her baby, impatient for the nurse to finish cleaning him off. Eventually, she was holding him in her arms. "Oh, my baby," Elira cooed, kissing his tiny, scrunched face. "My tiny Braydon. You're so beautiful." She held him up to Vincent. "This is your Daddy," she said.
Vincent's smile was shaky as he extended a finger to his weary son. The tiny fingers closed over it just as the puckered mouth opened in a yawn.
Benita wiped at her teary eyes in vain, coming closer to look at the newborn. "Oh, he's gonna look jus' like his daddy," she cooed.
"Except for his hair," Elira observed through her tears. "Look how pale it is."
"It will probably turn red as he grows," Vincent commented.
Elira sighed as her legs were taken out of the stirrups and a blanket was placed over her, up to her waist. She turned to the nurse, wiping at her face. "Bette, can our daughter come in now?"
Nurse Bette nodded with a smile went to fetch her. In a couple of minutes, Pegatha was standing by the bed. She stared at the bundle in her mother's arms with wide eyes and an open mouth. "He's so...red," she said.
Elira laughed. "This was you, once. It doesn't seem that long ago."
Pegatha couldn't tear her eyes from the squirming infant that was her baby brother. "Why does he look like that?" she asked. "All red, I mean."
"He's been through a lot. Maybe I should see if he's hungry." Carefully, she slipped out of the top of her hospital gown and brought Braydon to her breast. In a moment, he was suckling happily.
"I'm kinda hungry, too," Pegatha said suddenly.
"So'm I," Benita told her. "D'ya wanna go the cafeteria?"
"Sure! Is that okay, Mom?"
Elira nodded. "And Beni, could you take her home later if she wants to go? I'm not sure how long it'll be before they discharge me."
"O' course. See ya later!" She leveled a stern stare at Vincent. "Take care o' her!" And then she and Pegatha left.
Vincent pulled up a chair and sat down by the bed. "How are you feeling?"
"Tired. And a little sore. But happy. Very happy." She smiled and ghosted a hand over her son's head, pushing a few strands of blond-white hair from his forehead. "I don't think I ever liked being an only child. I'm glad that Braydon will have Pegatha to look out for him, and I'm sure Peg will love her role as big sister. Except for the baby-sitting, maybe."
"So, how long will Benita be staying?"
Elira grinned. "Why? Are you getting sick of the couch?"
"No, I just miss holding you." And so saying, he stood and put his arms around her, watching her nurse their son.
"Well, you didn't have to give Beni your side of the bed," Elira told him after a moment. "She would've gladly taken the couch."
"That wouldn't have been proper. And she always accuses me of...hogging you when she visits."
Elira laughed. "That's only because she hardly sees me. Don't take her seriously." They spent a few minutes in companionable silence. Elira switched Braydon to her other breast. "This one isn't going to be fussy the way Pegatha was, I can see that."
"Good. Then maybe he'll listen when we tell him he can't date until he's sixteen."
Elira scowled with a chuckle. "When are you going to let that go? Arick's a nice boy and Pegatha's a smart girl for fourteen. She won't let him get away with anything."
"I hope not, for his sake."
Elira laughed again. "Well, if I can't saying anything else stays the same, at least you don't change. My predictable Vincent." She tilted her head up for a kiss, to show she didn't mean any insult. Vincent rolled his eyes slightly before leaning down to her lips. When they parted, Elira noticed that Braydon had stopped feeding and was starting to make quiet little sounds of what almost seemed like discomfort. With a half smile, she unwrapped the tiny body from its blanket and handed it to Vincent. "I think you know what to do with this."
Vincent sighed. "I'd forgotten about this part." He placed the blanket over his shoulder and then leaned down to take Braydon in his arms. And proceeded to burp their son.
Thanks, everyone, for reading! This is the end! I can't believe it went this far; Does Fate Allow... started out as nothing more than a summer project! Who knows if I'll write anything else fanfic-wise, but the rest of Vincent and Elira's lives, like all of our own lives, are going to remain unwritten and completely up to the imagination. Thanks to Elicia and Bunny for their continued support and encouragement; thanks to my sister for listening as I droned for hours (I could drone for hours) about Vincent; and thanks especially to the one who was there from the beginning: my editor, my brainstorming buddy, my father. Thanks Dad. Even when I called it 'my silly little fanfic' you still treated it seriously. I don't think I can thank you enough. And thanks again to my readers! You kept me going! Hope you enjoyed the ride!