After staying up late songwriting, jerking off multiple times, and thinking over and over about my earlier exchange with London, I finally fall into a fitful and shallow slumber. I can’t shake the weird sense of uneasiness that washes over me every time I reach a certain level of unconsciousness, snapping me awake before I slip down again under the thinnest veil of much-needed sleep.

I stir again when my bedroom door swishes quietly open, bathing the room in bright light from the hall. I prop myself up on one elbow, squinting toward the door in confusion. “Tog?”

I didn’t envisage being out of the doghouse so soon, but there she is standing at the threshold of my room, loose hair spiraling around her shoulders and down her back, lit from behind like an angelic vision. It could almost be a tableau from one the great impressionists. Holding her stomach, she steps toward me. My dick needs no more invitation to stand at attention than that. Hello.

Wait. She’s not holding her belly as she walks, she’s clutching it as she staggers toward me.

“London?”

This is not a booty call. Suddenly I’m more awake than I’ve ever been. I spring out of bed and sprint across the room, closing the distance between us in a few hasty strides. As I reach her, she looks down at her hands, and so do I. We notice the blood at the same time, and as I wrap my arms around her, she finally speaks.

“I need you.” Three words I’ve been desperate to hear from her lips, but as of today will gladly never hear again. That’s all she says before passing out in my arms.

I thought I’d been scared at various points in my life before now, but nothing, and I mean nothing even vaguely compares to the fear that I could lose London for good. I feel like someone has sucked all the oxygen, blood, bones, and flesh from my body, and all that’s left is an impossibly fragile hollow shell that could break and shatter at any moment. I see everything clearly one moment, and then my vision is clouded by darkness the next. My thoughts are pinpoint sharp initially, fuzzy and foggy seconds later.

Somehow I kick my ass into gear, carrying London over to the bed in a blind panic, sitting on the edge and cradling her in my arms as I call 911. I tell them everything I know, which isn’t much. The dispatcher sends an ambulance immediately and advises me to put London on the floor in the recovery position in the meantime. She talks me through the correct way to do so, taking London’s heavily pregnant condition into consideration.

Next I call London’s doctor, recounting recent events to him also. He confirms he’ll be at the hospital to meet us when we arrive. I’m thankful that London agreed to switch her care to a specialist who delivers at a hospital closer than Brooklyn. He’s also the best in the area, so I know she’s in good hands.

I make another call immediately.

“Hi.” The voice on the other end is tired but clear.

“I need you.” The first time I’ve ever admitted it, but right now, it’s never been truer. I need my brother. Badly. I quickly update him on the situation and ask him to meet me at St. Mark’s Hospital. He doesn’t hesitate, hanging up the phone swiftly.

The next minutes huddled on the floor stroking London, talking to her, and willing her and our babies to be okay are the longest and most agonizing of my life. I’m not sure exactly how long we wait, but I know that in real terms it isn’t as long as it feels—like a thousand forevers, every second longer than the last.

When the paramedics arrive and scoop London onto a gurney, they fire questions at me. Mostly the same ones the dispatcher has already asked—What happened? How far pregnant is she? Have there been any complications with the pregnancy, either for London or for the babies? High blood pressure, gestational diabetes? Pre… something? Is she taking any medication? How long has she been unconscious? I answer them all, but feel like I’m outside myself looking in. My voice sounds foreign and unfamiliar, scratchy and hoarse, as though I’m out of practice using it.

As they load the gurney into the ambulance, I make to step into it also—no way am I following behind in my car, or on my bike, even.

“I’m sorry, sir, but only next of kin can ride in the ambulance with the patient. You are…?” She takes in my disheveled, half-dressed appearance. I don’t know what her problem is. It’s the middle of the fucking night and the woman I love more than I thought it was possible to love another person needs me. Yeah, I’m shirtless and covered in smears of London’s blood, but she should be fucking grateful that I even thought to drag on some sweats and shove my feet into a pair of kicks instead of walking out into the street butt naked and barefoot.

“I’m her fiancé,” I growl with probably more force than is strictly necessary, but I don’t have time to wait on formalities when everything I care about in the world is hanging in the balance. London, our babies, everything. The paramedic shrinks back as though tasered, but allows me into the ambulance. On the agonizing journey to the hospital, I grip London’s limp hand in mine, willing her to wake up. To just open her eyes and look at me. My Tog, my hummingbird. She looks so tiny and helpless. So… gray. Even though the ambulance is driving at breakneck speed, it doesn’t feel fast enough, and I struggle to contain my impatience.

When we arrive at the hospital, the whole process starts again. More questions—I’m glad to have accompanied her on the vast majority of her doctor appointments since she got back, so I at least know the answers to most of them. More than that, I’m glad she came back at all. I shudder at the thought of all of this happening on the other side of the world, me left with only her parents to inform me of what was going down.

Her parents. Shit. I need to let them know, in case…. I shake my head, unwilling to even consider the possibility, but understanding that her parents do need to know.

As I stand at the ER reception desk, dutifully responding to the questions being fired my way, I feel a shift in the air. I turn and see Luke standing a little apart from me and the hospital staff flitting around me.

“Hi,” I mouth.

“Hi,” he returns.

“I….” I don’t know what to say.

He shakes his head. No need to explain anything, I read in his expression. I return my focus to the nurse, who informs me that London is being taken upstairs to ICU. I make a move toward the direction she’s pointing, but she stops me gently, placing a hand on the center of my naked chest.

“Sir, I’m afraid visitors to ICU are restricted to immediate family members only.”

Fuck, I’m getting sick of this shit.

“I’m London’s fiancé, and the father of her babies.” I hear Luke shift behind me but don’t turn around to see why.

“She’s an only child. Her parents live in Australia. Me and our babies are all the family she has right now.” More to the point, in so many ways, she’s all I have. All I want. All I’ve ever wanted, even before I knew I wanted it. All I’ll ever want.

The nurse’s expression softens and she moves aside, pointing at the bank of elevators in front of us.

“Third floor.”

I turn to Luke before entering the elevator. Thanks. I love you. Words unsaid but understood. He nods.

I thought I knew loneliness during the years I’d spent on the road since I was nothing more than a kid, and in the agonizing weeks of the break London instigated between us following the Heartless Few’s last world tour. I was wrong. I’ve never felt more alone than sitting in the chair in the corner of London’s ICU room while doctors, including London’s own OB, and nurses fight to keep her and our babies alive. I’m in the way, underfoot, surplus to requirements.

I want to bulldoze everyone and everything in sight, cause a huge ruckus, anything to be doing something. I have the good sense to do none of the above. For once there’s no grand gesture I can perform to fix this. I just have to accept the feeling of impotence that comes with doing nothing. I shrink back into the uncomfortable chair, trying to make myself small and unobtrusive and let people do their jobs, let them work to save my hummingbird and our squirts

I cry for the first time since my father died. Overlooked and alone in that small room, I cry for London, for our babies, for me, for us. I cry for the life I never thought I’d want, but now fear I may never have. I cry until I’m empty, and then I cry some more. The release feels good, even if the reasons are unbearable.

What feels like hours later, Dr. Margolis, London’s doctor, takes me aside, voice lowered, to explain the events of the last few hours.

“Hi, Arlo. How are you holding up?”

“Hi, Doc. I’ve been better.” Much better, in fact.

“That’s understandable. I just wanted to take a moment to update you on London’s progress.”

I nod mutely.

“Now that we’ve had some time to understand her symptoms, we’ve been able to stabilize her condition and that of the babies, for now at least.”

Wait, what? The chair comes rushing up to meet me as I collapse into it.

The doctor pushes my head between my knees and holds it there for a little while. “Deep breaths. In—” He demonstrates with his own breathing. “—and out.” He repeats the routine a few more times before removing his hand from my neck. He crouches down to my level. “Now sit up slowly, head coming up last.” When I’m fully upright, he stands again.

“Sorry.” I’m sheepish.

“Don’t be. It’s a perfectly natural reaction to an incredibly difficult and stressful situation. If it makes you feel better, you should know that I’ve seen far worse reactions in my time. Now, as I was saying, both London and the babies are currently stable, and we’re working to ensure that they remain that way. London has suffered a partial placental abruption, a condition where the placenta detaches from the wall of the womb, hence the blood loss she presented with. It’s a fairly rare condition, affecting about 1 percent of pregnancies overall, though the incidence is a little higher in multiple pregnancies.

“As you know, the placenta is the baby’s life support system, and if it is compromised, it can have very dire consequences for the fetus, or in this case fetuses. As London has suffered a partial rather than full abruption, the placenta hasn’t been compromised at this stage, and as I said before, both babies are doing well. We’re monitoring them regularly, and if we detect any signs of fetal distress in either of them, we will need to perform an emergency caesarian section for both.

“But they’re….”

“Yes, I know, they’re at only twenty-four weeks gestation. Obviously this is not the ideal situation, but should it become necessary, it is far preferable to the alternate outcomes. As scary as it seems, it’s worth keeping in mind that due to advances in medical science, at twenty-four weeks babies have a good chance of not just surviving, but thriving and going on to live happy and healthy lives. The NICU here at St. Mark’s is world-class, so should it come to that, the babies couldn’t be in better hands.”

“So London…?”

“London is doing a lot better than she was a couple of hours ago. When she came in, her body had gone into mild shock, something that can be very dangerous for both the mother and the babies. To get her vitals back to acceptable levels, she’s been administered steroid shots and oxygen, and given replacement fluids through an IV. She has lost a significant amount of blood, though fortunately not enough to require a transfusion at this time.”

I know what he’s saying is good news, but I can’t quite get my head together to take it in properly.

“She’s sedated at the moment to allow us to effectively monitor both her and the babies; however, we will be looking to reduce the level of sedation over the course of the next few hours, and moving her to the maternity ward for recovery. Though nothing is certain in situations like this, and we will be keeping mother and babies under constant observation, I would cautiously predict the best outcome for all.”

Relief floods my body in powerful waves, along with a myriad of other emotions, stronger than any artificial high I’ve ever had. It’s just as well that I’m already sitting, or it would have knocked me off my feet. As it is, I slump uneasily against the back of the chair.

“As bad as this has been, it could have been worse. From what we can tell, in London’s case, things escalated quickly. Were you not there to call an ambulance, this may have ended very differently.”

I don’t even want to think about that, and I silently vow to have her and our babies close by from here on in. We’ve wasted enough time trying to get our shit together. It stops right now.

“They’re going to be okay?” My voice cracks with emotion, but I manage a weak smile through my tears. I brush them away angrily with the back of my hand.