Two Friends: Labor Day

2: Two Friends: Delivery Day

Clark/Chloe futurefic
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
Idea suggested by Sarah (her proposed title was "Two Friends, One Delivery")

"Owwwww."

"Take it easy, sweetheart. You knew this was going to hurt."

"Yeah, I knew it was going to hurt. I didn't realize it was going to hurt like red-hot iron stakes swarming with fire ants being stuck through my middle."

"Even when you're in pain, you still have a way with words. That sounds pretty bad. You sure you don't want an epidural?"

"I told you already, I'm doing this the natural way. Owwww."

"Okay, Chlo. If you're sure. But I feel kind of guilty about this. I mean, it's sort of my fault."

"Sure, farmboy. Because I held you off and screamed, No, spare me, spare me, you vile despoiler of women!"

"Well, okay, you were a reasonably willing participant..."

"Reasonably? I seem to remember being more than reasonably willing."

"Um, yeah. Still. If it weren't for me, you wouldn't be in this predicament."

"Farmboy, if it hadn't been you, it would be somebody else."

"Say what??"

"Come on, Clark. If you hadn't finally manned up and asked me to marry you, do you really think I would have sat around for the rest of my life, moping over you?"

"Well, actually..."

"Please. There are other fish in the sea, you know. It's a good thing you found a backbone and proposed when you did, or I might just have moved on."

"I didn't have a lot of choice in the matter, Chlo. See, I have this little problem. I can't live without you."

"Awww. That's... ow... sweet."

"Steady there, sweetheart. Breathe."

"I am breathing, you big alien moron. Breathing is automatic, you know."

"Chill, Chlo. I meant your breathing exercises. Remember those?"

"I've been trying. Guess what? They don't help with the pain. The pain is still highly excruciating."

"I'm sorry, Chloe."

"Yeah, you should be. You vile despoiler, you. Ow."

"If it helps, the doctor says you'll probably be fully dilated before long, and then you can have the baby."

"Excuse me? I am having the baby! I... am... in... labor!"

"Yeah, I noticed. But before long, you'll be holding a baby in your arms. Try to focus on that."

"You know what? I don't think it's a baby. I think it's a bowling ball. A really heavy one."

"That's not what the ultrasound showed."

"Still. Just think about the birth announcements we can send out. Born to Clark and Chloe Kent, 9-1-14, one bowling ball. Twelve pounds, two ounces. The proud parents have been unable to determine the gender."

"You're rambling, sweetheart."

"It beats lying here, counting ceiling tiles and thinking about iron spikes."

"Yeah, I guess maybe it does. Speaking of gender..."

"Ow."

"Speaking of gender, maybe we should have gone ahead and found out what the baby's going to be."

"Owwww. I don't think so, Clark. If I have to go through all this, I want a little surprise at the end of it."

"Still, it would have been a lot easier to decorate the nursery."

"And that's a good reason for us not to find out in advance. If the doctor had told us it was going to be a girl, you would have gone straight home and decked out the nursery in pink frills."

"What's wrong with pink frills?"

"Oh, please. If it's a girl, I'm not raising her to be a little pink princess. For that matter, if it's a boy, I'm not putting footballs all over the nursery walls, either. I want to raise this child with a minimum of sexual stereotyping."

"In that case, you'd better keep the baby away from Grandma. If we have a girl, my mother is going to be buying pink dresses like you wouldn't believe."

"I guess she's rooting for a girl, huh?"

"Totally."

"Well, I don't much care, as long as we have a healthy baby... Owwwwww. Ooooof. Why is this taking so long?"

"It's a natural process, Chlo. You can't rush it."

"Sex only takes like five minutes! Why does the result have to drag on for hours?"

"Hey. Except for our wedding day, I've always spent more than five minutes on sex."

"Well, I mean you can get it over with in five minutes, if you're in a hurry to get back to CNN or whatever."

"Excuse me?"

"Um... changing topics now..."

"Hmmmphh."

"My point is, it ought to work in the opposite direction. Sex ought to go on for twelve or fifteen hours, and labor should be over with in five minutes."

"Hmmm. Yeah. I think I could live with that."

"Also, men should have to have babies."

"No, thanks. I think I'll pass on that one."

"Owwwww. Clark. When is it going to stop?"

"Soon, baby. Soon. Take it easy."

"I just... I didn't know it was going to hurt this much. Maybe... maybe something's wrong... because the baby's two different species..."

"No. Stop stressing, Chlo. The doctor says everything's fine. This is perfectly normal, and you're doing great. And before long, you're going to have a beautiful baby to keep you awake at night. I hope it's a girl with blonde hair who just looks like you."

"Awww, that's sweet."

"I just hope she doesn't inherit your smartass mouth."

"Hmmph. Well, if it's a boy, I hope he doesn't inherit your mope gene. Ohhhh... God. Right now, all I really want is for it to come soon."

"It won't be too much longer, sweetheart. Hang in there. Hang onto me."

"I am, farmboy. I always do."

-The End-

Read the sequel, Two Friends: Delivery Day.