"Yeah, see y'all soon. And hurry. Walsh, out." he adds, putting the radio down.

"Relax, relax.." he whispers, sweat dripping down his forehead from anxiety, more to himself than to you, sat down on a stool next to you in the bathroom, as you're breathing hard in the empty tub.

"They'll be here soon.. Lori, Carol, Maggie.. they know how to.. how ta do this stuff, y'know.. uh, birthin'.. yeah, no worries.." he reiterates, in fight-or-flight mode right now, drumming his fingers against his thigh.

You're a few days more than eight months along, but dammit, it still feels too early. It was planned that the group — the Grimeses, the Greenes, Carol and Andrea— would visit the two of you soon to stay and help with the delivery process, but that was scheduled for a week from now. Now? Now, they're all still at the farm, currently packing everything you'd need into their RV, and making their way over here. But they're a hundred miles out, it's likely they won't get here until after the birth.

Shane's as supportive as could be, thank god. Holding your hand, brimming with adrenaline, ready to hop up and get you whatever you need, though he's already got every towel and rag in the house piled up next to him, and a water bottle for you.