Ham Tyler surfaced from the dream in a hazy, half-awake state, rolled over and discovered that his wife was missing.  He grunted unintelligibly and struggled to focus his eyes on the luminescent digital readout -- 1:15am.  Tyler rolled back with a sigh.  He might even have gone to sleep if he sense of morbid curiosity hadn't insisted he find out what Alex was up to this time.  Could it be dill pickles and ice cream again?  No, that was last week.  For some reason, favourites ran in weekly cycles, and something told him that dill pickles were 'out' this week.  Maybe it was the Weeties and avocado -- now THAT had cost a fortune a few months back.  Or even...?  No, he had to find out.

With a grunt, Tyler threw back the covers and lumbered sleepily out into the hallway.  He had almost reached the kitchen, from which a soft glow and kitchen-y noises were issuing, when a sudden frenzy of explosions made him freeze in his tracks.  Then with a strangled cry and one fluid, involuntary motion Tyler threw himself through the kitchen door, coming out of the shoulder-roll clutching for a non-existent M-16.

From the stove, his wife regarded him with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

"Did you want some popcorn too, dear?"

"Jesus Christ, Alex..."

"Mmmm??"  The no-longer-quite-so-petite vet was busy melting butter to go over the corn.

"Alex, when is this child going to arrive?" Tyler spread his hands from his position on the floor, "I don't think I can take much more of this."

She grinned, cheerfully emptying a huge stack of popcorn into a bowl.

"Taking his time, isn't he?"

"Or she."

Alex waddled over to the kitchen table and shrugged.  "So I'm sexist," she mumbled between handfuls of popcorn.  "Sue me."

The former mercenary got to his feet in time to prevent Kay-nine and Jay-nine from covering him from head to toe with saliva.

"Have we decided on David if he's a boy?" Alex wanted to know.

"And Christine if she's a girl," Tyler nodded, sounding well-drilled, even to her.

"It's important," she said defensively and shovelled more popcorn away.

"You'll get fat."

"You're telling me.  I don't think I'll ever be normal again."  She stared down.  "I can't see my toes," she observed in a tone of resignation, "Tell me -- do I actually have any?"

Tyler bent to look.  "Yep."

"Oh good."  She sounded so relieved that Tyler grinned.

"C'mon.  I wanna get some sleep tonight.  Just this once, OK?"

"OK," Alex relented with a grin.  She got to her feet -- a major accomplishment these days -- and allowed herself to be helped back to bed.  "But you ought to see yourself, Ham Tyler.  What ever happened to the macho, Tonka-tuff mercenary I fell in love with?  You remember -- the one who bled in my car 200km to Vancouver and insisted 'I'm fine!  I'm fine' until he passed out?"

"I'm fine," Tyler said shortly, but with a trace of wry humour in his voice, "I got married."

"Oh ho!  So this is all my fault is it?" she demanded, pointing downwards.  Tyler grinned wickedly.

"Bed!"

"Yes SIR!... Can I finish my popcorn...?"
 
 

"Ham!  Is anything...?"  She stopped, seeing nothing urgently wrong, only her rather bizarre husband in the process of unpacking bags and bags of groceries.

"I did the shopping," he said unnecessarily.

"Well, that's very nice, dear, but... " Alex poked about a couple of the bags, "Did we really need a bag-full of Cup-A-Soups?"

"Can't hurt," Tyler replied after a short consideration.

"Ham Tyler, I worry about you.  You're so... so vague these past few days."

"Hmmm?"

"See what I mean!"

Ham looked at her, regarded the sixty-odd packets of assorted instant soups, then smiled ruefully at her.

"Impending fatherhood," he admitted.

"Are you sure it's not your mid-life crisis?" Alex laughed at his offended expression.  "Well, it is your birthday next week, and you're...?"

"One hundred and eighty-three," he insisted, deadpan.

"Is that all?  My, you're holding your age well."

"Yeah, well I found three new grey hairs this morning..."

"Where?"

"And if your passion for popcorn continues all week I'll be looking my age."

"Never," Alex assured him, patting his cheek affectionately.  Smiling, he bent his head to kiss her.  Responding cheerfully, Alex stretched up on tip-toes and Ham had to put his arms around her to keep her from falling over.

The embrace broke off suddenly as Alex gasped and rocked back on her heels.  Ham regarded her with amused perplexion.

"I've never had that effect on you before."

"Don't think you're entirely blameless," Alex warned him, steadying herself against the nearest object of furniture.  "I think I may be going into labour."

"Into...?  Are you sure?... Sit down..." he pulled out a chair and carefully manoeuvred his wife into it.

"Of course I'm not sure," she said disgustedly, "I've never been pregnant before."

"Well, is it a strong... twingey... spasm kind of feeling?"

"Yeah... sort of... how the hell would you know?  Oh, right, you've done this before, haven't you?"

"A long time ago," he agreed shortly.

"Should be getting easier then... oh!"  She gasped again, sucking air in through clenched teeth.  "I think," she said slowly, "You had better take me to hospital."

"Yeah... right..."  Galvanized into action, he took off for the master bedroom, reappearing scant moments later in his black-outs.  Alex smothered a giggle.

"Ham... I don't think we'll need that," she nodded at the M-16 he clutched in his right hand, "I'm sure they'll let us into the hospital."

Ham glanced down at the weapon, and put it on the table as though there was nothing at all unusual about the action.  "Ready?" he asked.

"Have you got the suitcase?"

"Suitcase... in the car."  He had put it there two days ago in preparation.  Alex breathed in sharply again.

"I'm ready," she told him, and put her hand out for his assistance.

They made it to the hospital without incident, despite Ham's breaking of every speed regulation in the book.  His sombre attire brought some curious glances from the nursing staff but he was oblivious to them as he accompanied Alex to the maternity ward.  The labour pains were coming at shorter and shorter intervals, and all Alex could think of was at least she might not be in labour for half a day or longer, like some women she'd heard of.

As Alex was transferred onto a gurney and wheeled into the labour ward a doctor asked Ham if 'the father would be present at the birth?'  Tyler thought about it, graciously declined, and escaped to make a phone call.

"Chris?  Alex has gone into labour.  Meet me here at the hospital."  After that tacit, business-like report, Tyler hung up and went in search of coffee.

At home, Chris stared at the buzzing receiver in his hand and cast a sardonic look at Tash Petersen.  "It's a good thing I know which hospital he means," he said.

"He's preoccupied," Tash explained, pitching a few empty beercans into the corner of the room that had been reserved for Chris' discarded shirts, empty chip packets and general mess since she moved in.

"No kiddin'."  Chris rang off and dialled again, calling through to the Seattle Carisse Hotel where Mike and Julie were staying.  They were in town for a brief holiday and to attend Ham's birthday celebration that was scheduled for this weekend.

"Hello Mike?"  Chris related the current situation to an increasingly amused Donovan, who could only seem to say 'No kiddin'? No kiddin'?', then hung up to dial Willie and Thelma.

"C'mon, Tash, we'd better get to the hospital."

Tash eyed her flatmate with a mixture of surprise and amusement.  He looked as toey as any prospective father-to-be.

"I've got a few things to finish up first.  You go ahead."

"Uh... OK.  But don't be long."

"Why?"

Chris went to answer and found no logical explanation forthcoming.  When he looked non-plussed, Tash put hands to hips.  "Should I be there to hold Ham's hand or yours?"

"Don't get smart," Chris growled, and snatched up his battle-worn fatigue jacket, his .44 Magnum and several spare clips, heading for the door.

"Will you need that?" she asked, startled.

"You never know."

Shaking her head, Tash watched the big man escape out the door.  What, she wondered, would he be like if it was his own child being born?
 
 

"Look at him," Mike Donovan said quietly to Julie, "Anyone'd think he hadn't even noticed Alex was having a baby."

"He doesn't look very concerned, does he?" agreed Julie dubiously.  They walked across the waiting room, apparently without Ham noticing them, and Mike tapped the absorbed man on the shoulder.

Tyler jumped as though a firecracker had gone off at his feet, swivelling and going for the gun he had in a shoulder holster under his black jacket.  The motion froze as he realized who it was, and resuming the stoney expression he sat down again.

"Why are you wearing black-outs?" asked Julie incredulously.

"And a gun?" added Mike, trying to suppress his laughter.

Tyler ignored both questions, and was saved any further drilling by Chris' arrival.

"How's it going?" asked Chris, all seriousness, as he nodded a greeting to Mike and Julie and sat down beside his partner.

"Fine."

"Good."  Chris leaned forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped, joining Ham in his vigil.

When Willie and Thelma arrived, Mike and Julie were doing all the pacing and Chris had started to pull apart his Magnum -- ostensibly to clean it.  Ham hadn't moved.

"What's happening?" asked Willie anxiously.

"She's still in the labour ward," Julie told him, "But everything seems to be going normally."

Willie nodded and turned to Ham.  "Thelma and I brought some rock salt and motor oil for the hatchling, Mr. Ham... I can bring it inside if you like."

"Hmmm.  Thanks."  Ham nodded, and seemed pleased enough, so, beaming, Thelma and Willie hurried outside to carry in their infant-necessities.

Three hours later, Tash arrived, having tended to her 'other matters'.  The scene in the waiting room as she entered was odd, to say the least.

Mike and Julie were stalking the room restlessly, stopping occasionally to peer anxiously at the doors leading to the labour ward before resuming their carpet-thinning exercise.  Thelma and Willie were busy with a large tub filled with a thick black liquid and disagreeing on what ratio of rock salt to motor oil would be most soothing.  On the floor to one side were two disassembled guns and Chris, inspecting each piece carefully.  Ham was making his way back from the coffee machine to the floor to tend to his own firearm.

Chris glanced at the coffee cup, distracted from his pointless task.  "Ham... you drink your coffee black."

Ham looked at the polystyrene cup of white coffee blankly.  "This is for you," he said, and promptly handed it over.  Chris took a grateful sip, and grimaced.

"How much sugar did you put in this?"

"I don't know... about ten cubes, I think."  Ham was busy putting his gun back together.

Tash watched with amusement as Chris nodded vaguely and went back to his own weapon, taking another pull at the coffee.  If she had any second thoughts about the birthday present she'd bought Ham before, she had none watching them now; he probably wouldn't even notice.

"Here," she strode across and dropped the gift nonchalantly into his lap, "Happy birthday.  Sorry I'm late Chris."

"Hmmm."  Chris smiled distractedly at her and went back to his gun.  Tash shook her head at him, and spared a wry glance for Tyler, who had unwrapped the gift and was absorbed in the introduction to Dr. Spock's Book of Child Care.  Suppressing a chuckle, she found a seat and waited for news -- and the baby -- to arrive.

They were still waiting three hours later.  Chris, having worn out the amusement of dismembering and rebuilding his gun, had fallen asleep against Tash's thigh and was snoring healthily.  Willie and Thelma had started to discuss how many children they were going to have and what their names would be.  Julie was seated on the chair closest to the labour ward, and Mike was deep in consultation with Ham over some point in Chapter Five of the childcare book.

"Never worked with Sean," Mike was assuring the father-to-be, and Ham nodded.

"Didn't figure it would."

"And any kid of yours and Alex's is going to be doubly stubborn, so I'd forget about that altogether.  But there's a bit in Chapter Seven you should look at..."

Although Julie was closest to the doors, Tyler was the first on his feet as a nurse came through with a huge smile.

"Mr. Tyler?"

"Yup?" Despite his rapid ascent, he looked very calm and controlled.

"Your wife and your new daughter would like to see you."

"Right," he said, very business-like, and he strode through the doors, the nurse hurrying ahead to guide the way.

Tash looked down at Chris, who was stirring from his slumber.

"Wh...??"

"Calm down, big guy," she patted his arm, "It's a girl."

A giant, silly grin spread across his face.  Tash laughed gently at him.

"I guess," said Willie, "They did not need the oil bath."  Thelma nodded, a little wistfully, but was soon grinning from ear-to-ear as a quiet murmur of celebration from the group gathered momentum.  Mike was backslapping and handing out cigars on behalf of the absent Tyler; Julie was hugging Willie; Tash was smiling -- a little cautiously, as if the unfamiliar action might damage something -- and Chris was still grinning stupidly.

"A girl," was all he kept repeating, "It's a girl..."
 
 

"How are you feeling?" he asked after a pensive interval.

"I've been in labour for six hours," Alex muttered, "And the man asks me how I'm feeling..."  Ham made no response, nor any move, and Alex smiled kindly, and with a rising chuckle.  "She won't explode," she promised.

Ham smiled, a little sheepishly, and approached the bed.  He peered at the tiny figure swathed in soft cloth, and very carefully brushed the baby's face with his fingertips.

Alex wished she had a camera to preserve that almost foreign look of gentleness on Ham's face.  A slight smile curved his lips as he mouthed a soft hello to his daughter, then he leaned across to kiss Alex's forehead.

"She's beautiful."

Alex regarded the tiny, red and wrinkly infant cradled in one arm, and despite all the discomfort she had caused her in the last nine months, she had to agree.  "Look," she said, her sense of humour bubbling to the surface, "She's got your hair."
 
 

"WELL??" Donovan finally asked.

Tyler stared blankly at him, then suddenly grinned.

"Her name is Christine."

The hospital staff heard the clamorous celebrations begin again, and gave up entirely on ever restoring peace to Seattle General.
 

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