#holygatesweek

Peter had been through a lot in his life. Martyrdom, sainthood, centuries of guiding souls through Heaven’s gates. He thought he had experienced every kind of hardship and every kind of joy.

Then he married Abel. And now, he was in labor.

"You’re doing great, love," Abel whispered, holding Peter’s hand with both of his own, rubbing soothing circles on his knuckles. "Just keep breathing."

Peter groaned, squeezing Abel’s fingers hard enough to make any lesser man cry. "Breathing? I am breathing, Abel! That’s all I can do!"

The hospital room was a blur of white and gold, Heaven’s medical staff moving efficiently around them.

Peter had been lying in pain for several hours, with only an epidural to numb the sharpness of the contractions. Though it may have slowed his progress a bit.

Abel was being as attentive as any partner should be while their spouse was in such misery. He fed Peter ice chips, rubbed his back, held his hand, brushed strains of hair from his brow, and gave words of encouragement.

“Oh, my dear songbird. I wish I could take the pain away and give it to myself so you don’t have to suffer,” Abel muttered.

But then, he felt it — a sharp pain stabbing his lower back and abdomen.

"Ugh—" Abel winced, pressing his free hand to his stomach. "That’s weird. My stomach’s cramping up…"

Peter raised an eyebrow, “Did…you actually take away some of the pain?!”

“I don’t think so,” Abel said. “I mean, I would if I — ahhh!” Abel knelt forward and groaned, squeezing Peter’s hand and making the laboring saint cry out in pain.

“Oh, I’m sorry my beloved! I never meant to hurt you!” Abel said worriedly.

One of the nurses shot him a look. "Sir, are you alright?"

"Fine, fine!" Abel waved them off, trying to focus on Peter, but a fresh wave of pain had him lurching forward with a strangled wheeze. "Okay, ow. That one was new—"

Another contraction wracked Peter’s body, making him arch off the bed with a groan. "Abel, focus!"

"I’m trying but—" Abel let out a small yelp, clutching his belly as something shifted inside him.

A doctor frowned. "We should check you out as well, sir."

"No! I need to stay with my husband!"

"Sir," another nurse interjected, firm but polite, "you are actively sweating and holding your stomach in a labor ward. We need to check if something is wrong."

Peter struggled to push himself upright, reaching for Abel even as the nurses started pulling him away. The look of sheer panic on Abel’s face mirrored his own.

"Don’t take him!" Peter gasped, his breathing ragged from both the pain and the anxiety of being separated from his husband. "Please, just—just check him here!"

Abel tried to dig his heels into the floor, but another sharp cramp stole his strength, making him double over with a strangled groan. "I’m not leaving Peter!" he protested. "We need to stay together!"

The medical staff exchanged uncertain glances before the lead doctor—an older angel with soft golden wings—sighed. "Fine. Bring a second bed. We’ll check him here."

Peter sagged with relief, and Abel gave a weak thumbs-up before another contraction hit him square in the gut.

It didn’t take long for the nurses to wheel over a second hospital bed and help Abel onto it. His belly, which had always been soft and round, now looked even fuller than before, shifting in a way that made his eyes widen in disbelief.

"I—oh no," Abel mumbled, hands trembling as he pressed them against the curve of his stomach. "Oh no no no—"

The doctor finished his examination, his expression unreadable. Then, he straightened with a small, knowing smile.

"Congratulations, Abel," he said. "You are, without a doubt, pregnant. And in active labor."

Silence.

Peter gawked at him. Abel blinked rapidly, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. The surrounding medical staff waited patiently for either of them to respond.

Finally, Abel managed a weak laugh. "Okay, no offense, but… what?!"

Peter groaned, covering his face with both hands. "Abel, how did you not notice you were pregnant?!"

"I don’t know!" Abel wailed, throwing his arms up. "I thought I was just—just fat! And you know, I am fat, but apparently, I was also secretly carrying a baby?!"

A contraction rippled through him, cutting off his rant as he gasped in pain. Peter reached out immediately, his fingers lacing tightly with Abel’s.

One of the nurses placed a reassuring hand on Abel’s shoulder. "You’re already progressing quickly. We need to move you to delivery."

Abel’s breath hitched, his grip on Peter tightening. "No! I told you, I’m not leaving him!"

Peter nodded in agreement, his heart hammering. "Please, let him stay with me. We—" He exhaled shakily, voice softening. "We need each other."

The medical staff hesitated before the head doctor gave a small nod. "Alright. We’ll move his bed next to yours so you can go through this together."

Abel let out a choked, relieved laugh. "Thank you."

Within moments, the nurses repositioned Abel’s bed beside Peter’s, their hands never breaking apart.

Peter turned his head to look at Abel, who was still panting through the pain but managed to give him a teary-eyed smile.

"So," Abel rasped, squeezing his hand. "Guess we’re both about to have babies today, huh?"

Peter huffed a weak laugh. "Yeah. Guess so…but you can do this love.”

Abel gave Peter a weary smile, “That’s supposed to be my line.”

——————

Several hours passed, the pain growing sharper, the contractions coming in sync. It was almost eerie—how their bodies seemed to mirror each other, tightening and trembling in unison as if they were bound by something greater than mere coincidence.

Peter and Abel clung to each other through it all. Every time Peter groaned, Abel squeezed his hand and whispered reassurances. Every time Abel whimpered, Peter forced himself to breathe through his own pain and offer comfort.

“You’re both fully dilated now,” the doctor announced, standing between them. “It’s time to push.”

Peter exhaled sharply. “Oh, finally.”

Abel, however, paled. “Oh… Oh no.”

Peter turned his head with a weak glare. “Abel.”

Abel swallowed thickly. “What if I can’t do it?”

Peter let out a breathless chuckle. “Oh, you can. Trust me, you’re more stubborn than me—if I can do this, you can do this.”

Abel let out a soft, teary laugh. “Okay. Okay, we’ve got this.”

Peter nodded, squeezing his hand as another contraction hit. “Yeah. Together.”

The next few minutes were a blur of pain, effort, and encouragement from the medical team. Peter gritted his teeth and pushed, his nails digging into Abel’s palm. Abel cried out, pushing through his own agony, never once letting go of Peter’s hand.

The doctors coached them both through the process, their voices steady and soothing. "You’re doing great. Just a little more—one more big push—"

With a final, desperate effort, Peter gasped as relief washed over him. A sharp, newborn wail filled the room.

Peter slumped back, chest heaving, his vision blurring as a soft, wriggling bundle was placed in his arms. A baby boy, crying and kicking, his tiny face scrunched up in displeasure.

Tears welled in Peter’s eyes. “Oh… hello, little one.”

But Abel didn’t get a chance to admire their son just yet. He was still pushing, his cries mixing with the baby’s.

“You’re almost there, Abel,” the doctor urged. “One more!”

Abel, exhausted and trembling, turned his head slightly to look at Peter. He could barely breathe, barely think, but seeing Peter’s expression—overwhelmed, joyous, so full of love—gave him the strength he needed.

With one last, agonizing push, Abel let out a strangled cry as the pressure finally eased.

Another newborn cry echoed through the room.

“A girl,” a nurse announced warmly, gently placing a tiny, wailing baby in Abel’s trembling arms.

Abel could barely see through his tears. “Oh, sweetheart,” he breathed, his voice cracking as he cradled his daughter close. “You’re… you’re perfect.”

Peter, despite his exhaustion, turned his head and smiled at him. "Told you we could do it."

Abel let out a breathless laugh, turning his teary gaze to Peter. "Yeah. Together."

The two of them lay side by side, holding their newborns, their hands still entwined between them. Two miracles, born in perfect harmony.

——————

The hospital room had quieted, save for the soft cooing of their newborns. Peter and Abel lay side by side, exhausted but content, their fingers still entwined between them.

Peter cradled their son against his chest, brushing his thumb over the baby’s soft cheek. His heart ached with a love so deep he could barely breathe. Abel, equally mesmerized, stroked his daughter's tiny fingers as she grasped his thumb, her little hand barely wrapping around it.

“So,” Peter murmured, his voice hoarse from labor. “We need names.”

Abel chuckled tiredly, resting his head against the pillow. “Yeah… something fitting.”

Peter gazed down at their son, his heart swelling. "Simon," he whispered. "He looks like a Simon."

Abel turned to look at him, blinking sleepily. “Simon…” He tilted his head in thought before smiling. “Yeah. That’s perfect.”

Peter beamed, pressing a soft kiss to Simon’s forehead. "Hello, my little Simon."

Abel sighed, looking back at their daughter, who was still gripping his thumb. "And for her?"

Peter turned his head slightly, watching Abel with a soft expression. "What do you think, love?"

Abel traced his daughter's tiny cheek, his eyes misty with emotion. “Simmina,” he said suddenly, the name falling from his lips like a song. “It just… feels right.”

Peter smiled warmly. "Simon and Simmina."

“They match,” Abel noted with a soft laugh.

Peter hummed. “They’re twins in spirit, if not in birth.”

Abel nodded, his eyes drifting shut as exhaustion finally pulled at him. “Simon and Simmina,” he whispered again, the names lingering on his tongue like a prayer.

Peter squeezed his hand gently. “A double miracle.”

Abel sighed happily. “The best miracle.”

And as their newborns nestled against them, safe and warm, Peter and Abel drifted into a peaceful rest, their family now whole.