A squall woke the slumbering couple an hour later. Moaning in disbelief, Blair pushed himself up from the comfort of his Sentinel's lap and turned toward the crib.
"When will she start sleeping through the night?" Jim asked, watching as Blair plodded slowly across the room to where Laurene was putting up a fuss in her crib.
"Probably not until three or four months," Blair answered tiredly. "Once she starts eating solid foods, she'll have enough in her tummy to hold her several hours. Breast milk digests too quickly."
"Well, maybe considering the problems you're having nursing, we should at least consider formula. Don't babies sleep longer when they're formula-fed?"
"Yeah, but it's not the same. I started this; I'm gonna finish it." He checked the diaper, and finding it dry, lifted Laurene from her bed and carried her over to the couch. Settling down in one corner, Blair unbuttoned his shirt and positioned the baby over his heart. Latching on with the vengeance of the hungry, she began to nurse enthusiastically.
Jim watched Blair's face, sentinel sight catching every flicker of pain that crossed those expressive eyes as their daughter pulled at the sore nipple. Stoically, Blair endured what had become a painful experience for him. Jim sidled over, draping an arm around the younger man's shoulders and pulling his family against him. Blair snuggled his head under Jim's chin, and sighed.
Jim petted the soft curls tickling his chin and clucked soothing noises at the nursing father and baby. Blair slipped one finger between his nipple and the puckered lips of his infant daughter, breaking the suction so he could shift her to the other breast. A weary sigh escaped as he snuggled deeper into the Sentinel's protective embrace.
Jim pressed his lips into the soft hair under his chin, kissing Blair gently. "Hang in there, Hon. You're doing great," he whispered.
When Laurene had finally finished her feeding, Jim extricated her from the arms of her daddy and took her across the room to the changing table. Expertly stripping off the miniature newborn diaper, he quickly folded it and deposited it in the pail. Wiping down the tiny butt with a moist towelette and sprinkling it with cornstarch baby powder, he quickly replaced the wet diaper with a dry one.
A loud thud made him turn around to see Blair lying on the floor midway between the couch and the kitchen. He quickly positioned Laurene on her back in the center of the crib. Rushing to his partner's side, he knelt down in front of the rocking, shuddering figure.
"Blair, what's wrong?" At first, he got no response. Blair's eyes were tightly shut, tears glistening under his lashes. With arms wrapped tightly around himself, he was rocking in place. "Blair?" Jim reached a hand out to lay gently on his back.
"Oh, God, it hurts, Jim!" Blair hissed through clenched teeth. "What's happening? Why does it hurt?" He continued the rhythmic rocking motion.
Jim noted with alarm how pale the younger man had become. Without answering the rhetorical questions, he stood and lunged for the phone. "I'm calling 911," he said as he dialed.
"Make it stop, Jim," Blair cried before listing to the side and falling over.
The sudden quiet in the room panicked the usually stoic Sentinel. As he waited for the ambulance to arrive, he moved sensitive hands over his Guide, trying to determine what had caused the sudden collapse. The pasty white complexion and shallow breathing had all his alarm bells ringing. It took a major force of will to leave Blair's side when the doorbell rang. "Hang in there, Blair. It's going to be all right," he soothed before standing and making a rush for the door.
The paramedics hurried to the side of the stricken man, assessing his vital signs and asking questions. "Can you tell us what happened here?" the Asian medic asked, looking up at Jim.
"He'd just finished nursing and I was changing the baby. . . ."
"Whoa, back up here a minute," the older, senior medic said. "Nursing?"
"He just had a baby, dammit," Jim exploded. "We don't have time for this. He's dying!"
The medics looked up questioningly, while continuing to set up the IV line and getting Blair settled onto the backboard for transport to the gurney waiting by the door.
"We're part of Dr. Lynne Casey's male pregnancy program," he explained quickly. "Blair gave birth eight days ago. He's only been home from the hospital for five days." He watched as the men carried the backboard and its precious cargo over to the gurney. "He'd just finished nursing and I was taking care of the baby when I heard him fall. He had his arms wrapped around his stomach and was complaining about the pain. Then he passed out."
Liang Hu grabbed the portable phone that connected the medics to the hospital and called in with the statistics. "Make sure Dr. Casey is there when we get there. This is one of her male pregnancy patients," he added.
The medics hustled the gurney out into the hall and down to the elevator. Jim stood, temporarily rooted to the spot, watching them take Blair away. A traitorous thought flitted across his mind: would this be the last time he saw Blair alive? It's not fair, Chief. You can't leave me like this, not now. . . .
He stepped back inside, closing the door behind him. Mechanically, he walked over to the crib and scooped up his daughter, cuddling her against his breast. Whatever happened, he would always have a little piece of Blair here with him. But Blair wasn't going to die. He wouldn't dare.
He searched for the tiny coat, finally wrapping Laurene in several insulated blankets instead. Without putting her down, Jim managed to struggle into his own coat. Picking up his keys from the table by the door, he hurried out and down to the truck. Quickly strapping Laurene in her car seat, he slid into the driver's seat and gunned the engine. As he careened out of the parking lot, he grabbed for his portable light, turning it on along with his siren.
A few minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot opposite Cascade General's emergency room. Laurene tucked in the cradle of his left arm, he charged through the doors and straight to the nurses' desk.
"Blair Sandburg," he growled. "He was just brought in by ambulance a few minutes ago."
The nurse checked her records and looked up at the distraught man. "He's being prepped for surgery," she informed him.
"I need to see him," Jim insisted, heading for the double doors that led to the treatment area.
The petite nurse moved quickly from behind her desk to block his way. "I'm sorry, sir, but you can't see him right now. They're preparing him for emergency surgery."
"What kind?" Jim growled.
"I don't have that information," the nurse stated. "Now, if you'll just take a seat in the waiting area, I'll let you know as soon as there's any word from the surgeon."
"Like hell." Jim barged past the smaller woman and through the treatment room doors.
"Sir, you can't go back there," she called out, following him. "Doctor. . ." She snagged a passing physician and indicated the determined man with the baby striding down the hallway.
The doctor jogged to catch up, grabbing Jim's arm and pulling him around. "I'm sorry, sir, but this area is off limits to visitors. Who was it you were checking on?"
"Blair Sandburg." Jim cocked his head to one side and paused. "I don't hear him. Where is he?"
"If you'll please just wait outside," the doctor gestured back to the doors, "I promise I'll check immediately and come back with whatever news I can find out."
Jim visibly deflated, losing over an inch of his height as his shoulders drooped in defeat. Taking his daughter, he headed back toward the waiting room. "You'll check right away?" he asked, turning at the doors to nail the doctor with ice blue eyes.
"I promise I'll get right back to you," the doctor assured him.
Jim walked over to the bank of pay phones, dropped in his quarters, and dialed. "Simon? Yeah, it's me. I'm at Cascade General. Blair's in surgery. . . . I don't know, sir," he answered after a brief pause to listen. "He just collapsed at home, and I called 911. I'm waiting for someone to tell me what the hell's going on." He listened intently for a few seconds before responding again. "You don't have to do that, sir. We're fine," he lied. "Okay, Simon. Whatever you say. You're the boss." He hung up the phone and went back to settle in one of the hard plastic chairs. He looked down into the peacefully oblivious face of their sleeping daughter. "Your daddy's going to be okay, Sugar," he crooned. "He's got to be. . . ."
The sound of footsteps made the Sentinel look up from his musings. The doctor from the treatment rooms stood before him.
"I wasn't able to get too much information. It appears that the placenta is separating from the omentum, causing massive hemorrhage. He's in surgery now. Dr. Casey will come down and give you all the details once she's finished with the operation." The doctor appeared genuinely concerned, but couldn't be made to give out any more information. At this point, there was nothing more to know.
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