9.00 am

Labour was progressing well (according to Simon), slowly (according to the person it was progressing on), and interestingly (according to River, timing each contraction).

There had been a point around four-thirty, just as the birds were starting to think of singing, when the pains appeared to stop, and Kaylee didn’t have a contraction for well over an hour. She’d even managed to doze off.

“Braxton Hicks?” Mal asked, sounding as if he knew what he was talking about, and to some degree he did, since Freya had been afflicted with false labour pains with Jesse, before the real ones kicked in.

“No, I don’t think so.”

They were standing outside the back door in the cold pre-dawn, each needing a breath of the fresh air that crystallised in front of them as they exhaled.

“Then what?”

Simon pushed his hands through his hair. “It might just be a quiet spell. It happens. Or labour may have stopped.”

“That happen too?”

“On occasion.” Simon shook his head. “You’ve got to realise, I’m not an obstetrician, and no matter what I read on the Cortex, it isn’t the same as doing it for real.”

“You’ve delivered a number of kids now, doc. Two of ‘em mine. And if you need help, there’s that hospital we knocked over just a ways off.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Hey, I got every confidence in you, Simon. Else I’d never let you anywhere near me or anyone else on my crew. It’s you who seem to be lacking.”

Simon raised an eyebrow. “This from the man who panicked when Petaline started.”

Mal felt his lips trying to curve. “Now, that ain’t true.” At Simon’s look, he grinned, the action taking the years off him. “Okay. Maybe I did. But I’ve had a bit more practice now, and I’ve kinda come to the conclusion that babies come along, in their own time, no matter what you do.”

“I just ... it’s different when it’s your own.”

Mal put his arm around Simon’s shoulders. “And River’s still sitting inside the door with that gorram stopwatch, so I think everythi