Paint It Black

Frank's POV

Toro and I were stuck in Liverpool for Valentines Day, and wanted nothing more than to get proper sleep and go home. I was really worried about Sunny; I hadn't talked to her in over a day or so, and I barely got my phone back, and she isn't answering. I had to shut my phone off for the interview we did, and when I turned it back on, there were a bunch of missed calls and messages.

I noticed none of them were from Sunny, so I decided to call back later. It wasn't until we were in the van that Toro, who was on his phone, looked over at me with surprise. His mouth was open, and he clenched his phone closely to his face.

"Frank, man," he started; his eyes bulging.

I furrowed my brows, "What?" I asked confused.

"Sunny went into labor," he told me.

It was like a bus had hit me, and I felt my stomach sink. I held myself for a moment; "Did she have him? Is she okay?"

He shrugged, still listening to his messages; "The message was from a an hour ago; it's got to be late there. Try calling them."

Everything seemed so rushed and unreal. My hands shook as I tried called Butcher, Jack, her mom, Gerard and Mikey. None of them answered; I figured they must've been with her.

Then Mikey answered, thank God; "Frank, finally! We've been calling you--"

I cut him off, "I know, I know. How is she? Is Sunny okay? Is the baby okay? I know he's early--"

He gave a short sigh, "I don't know. They won't let anyone but family see her, her mom is in there right now. She hasn't been out in a few hours; we're all waiting."

I sighed heavily, "Shit...Well...uh, call me if her mom comes out, I'm going to be on the next flight out."
-

I rushed straight from O'Hare to the hospital. I had Toro take my suitcases with him to the hotel and told him I'd call if anything came up. 

When I arrived, I went to the maternity ward; Mikey, Meghan, Gerard, Butcher, and Jack were in the waiting room. They all looked worried and then relieved when they saw me.

"What happened? Is Sunny okay?" I repeated all what I had asked hours before.

They all looked at each other and then Butcher stood up and pulled me aside. I was preparing for the worse. I swallowed the growing lump and stood to the side with him.

"Are they okay?" I asked again.

He nodded, "Sunny is unconscious right now...she was bleeding a lot when she gave birth. The baby is...stable. His lungs were filled with liquid and he isn't breathing right. They said it's pneumonia." 

I crossed my arms, letting this seep in; "Will he live?"

He rubbed his neck, "They didn't say."

I exasperated and ran a hand through my greasy hair. I shut my eyes for a moment; "Can I see her?"

"Her mom is still in there. They only let in one person at a time. I just left and she went back in."

"Where's the baby?" 

"In the recovery room. We can't see him until Sunny gives the OK."

The waiting was brutal; Sunny's mom didn't come out for a while. We all sat in the waiting room, watching the ground. You could hear a few women being rushed in, and worried husbands rushing beside them. A few of their family members waited in the waiting room, too.

Finally, after a few hours of continuous waiting, Sunny's mom emerged. She looked exhausted, her face was blotchy and a soft pink. I stood up immediately as she came in; she gave me a hard smile.

"She's awake and asking for you," she told me quietly.

"I can go in?" she nodded, "What room?"

"It's just down the hall. Room 11."

I thanked her and rushed down the hall. My hands shook as I looked at each number carefully, trying not to miss the number.

When I came to it, I turned the knob quickly and opened the door. Sunny was sobbing softly, her painful murmurs filled my ears, and another lump grew in my throat. I walked to her side; her head was buried into her pillow, and she was whimpering still.

"Sunny?" I called to her.

Her sobbing stopped for a moment, and she pulled the pillow from her face. Her eyes were filled with tears, her cheeks were red, and her lips were turned down. She sobbed again, and lent out her hand; I took it and climbed into the bed with her. I wrapped my right arm around her waist, held her left hand in mine, linking our fingers, and rested my head beside her's. She had stopped crying and was whimpering now, sniffling, too.

"I almost killed our baby," she mumbled softly, "I'm such a horrible person."

"Sunny, you aren't horrible," I kissed the back of her head, "it isn't your fault."

"Yes it is! He's a month early, and I stressed too much!" her voice was hoarse, "I could've killed him, Frank."

"He's okay now, he isn't going anywhere."

She shook her head, she sniffled again, "I'm so stupid. He was kicking so hard and I should've told my doctor..."

I closed my eyes, kissing her head again, "He's okay, Sunny, just remember that."

"I'm a horrible person." Sunny kept repeating that phrase until she fell asleep. I kept kissing her, holding her tight and consoling her. She wouldn't believe a word I said, no matter the toned I used to tell her.