Jimercury oneshots! ❤️

Rough days - Fluff

He wasn't gonna lie, Freddie was getting tired of pretending he felt okay all the time. He was used to people gushing over him, congratulating him on carrying his second child, making a fuss of his delicate condition. He didn't want to come across as rude but he was sick of being petted. He felt like shit, to be frank. Morning sickness had been a bitch, his back hurt like hell, he couldn't keep any food or water down and he felt so tired all the time.

The only person who truly understood was Jim. He knew his partner like the back of his hand, and the looks that Freddie gave him during the day clearly spelled out "I feel so terrible right now. I wanna go home."

As soon as that look flashed across Freddie's face, Jim had conjured up an excuse as to why they were leaving early; Freddie's mother had called them round for tea, Mary had to go somewhere so they had to go back to Sophie etc, bundling Freddie up snugly in the car and holding his hand as the singer dozed during the ride home, carrying him out of the car and tucking him up in bed after helping him out of his clothes.

Luckily today they didn't have to go anywhere. There were no interviews, no parties, no appointments. Freddie could finally have some peace and quiet. Of course, that didn't stop him feeling like he'd gotten run over by 17 buses. He didn't even wake up until 11am, and it took him another thirty minutes to find the motivation to get out of bed.

Jim wasn't home, but Joe and Phoebe were. They were very kindly watching over Sophie for him, but at the sight of Freddie Joe whisked away to make him some breakfast after asking what he wanted. Freddie didn't know why, but recently he'd been having this really strong craving of tinned tomatoes. Not any normal tomatoes; they were mushy and skinned, and if he wasn't pregnant he would gag at them, but pregnant him seemed to fall head over heels in love with them.

He'd very shyly asked if he could have some on some toast (of course pregnant him had to have a specific toast, with a specific butter - Joe must be dying inside, bless him) with some bacon on the side. Joe being the angel that he was just nodded and kissed him on the head before bustling about in the kitchen.

Phoebe, ever the mother, gently smiled at him as he slowly flopped on the sofa, breathing out painfully as he felt his back twinge and his hips grind. He'd rubbed Freddie's shoulder and put a hand on his head to check his temperature. Of course it was normal. His body was determined to make out that Freddie was fine. Sophie stopped watching the television and nibbling at her toast, and waved at her daddy.

Freddie gently waved back, smiling a little. His hand dropped back down onto his tummy, and he kept it there as he closed his eyes and just breathed. He felt Phoebe's arm snake around his shoulders, and his head rolled to the side, resting on Phoebe's neck. Joe gave him his breakfast (well, lunch)  in the next twenty minutes, and Freddie thanked him, not being bothered to move, and so ate it on the couch in Phoebe's gentle arms.

It was about ten minutes after he'd eaten that the sickness started. He'd gotten to the bathroom just in time, because his hips had been absolute pisslords and locked, so he couldn't get up. It had been close to half an hour and he hadn't stopped vomiting. His head hurt so bad, and he suddenly had an urge to throw that too damn loud television out of the upstairs window.

Phoebe eventually came in and rubbed his back, and asked if he wanted a paracetamol. Freddie quickly shook his head. He refused to take any medication throughout both of his pregnancies, out of fear that it would hurt the baby. He just had to grin and bear it. You've gone through this before... his head told him, and he knew this, but it felt so much worse this time. "Is there something wrong with her?" He choked out. It had never been this bad with Sophie.

"The baby's completely healthy love, that's what the doctor told you at your appointment on Monday. You just feel a little rough right now sugar. I'm afraid there's nothing that can be done." Phoebe stroked Freddie's hair when the Persian collapsed on him. "Oh, pet. You go on upstairs lovie, and rest. I'll come draw the blinds and turn on the fan for you. You just relax." Freddie, not wanting to take control anymore, just nodded pitifully.

With help from Phoebe (and eventually Joe) Freddie got off the floor and slowly made his way upstairs. He'd never had child-bearing hips, but this was ridiculous. They were literally on the verge of snapping. He'd pulled off the sheets and flopped down on the bed, cuddling a pillow. Phoebe drew the blinds, putting the room in darkness; turned on the fan and tucked Freddie up in bed, kissing his temple gently and leaving the door ajar.

He'd been alone for around twenty minutes when he heard the bedroom door creak, but thought it was one of the cats, and so didn't stir. He cracked open an eye on instinct when he heard a little voice. "Daddy?"

Sophie stood next to him, looking at her daddy in an almost scared manner. "What's up, baby?" Freddie whispered, voice hoarse.

"Daddy not feeling well, so I made a picture for you." She handed him a pice of paper with an admittedly very creepy looking man, with spaghetti hands, a stick body and legs that could reach France if he was laid on the floor. He wished he looked that skinny right now. Next to the drawing was some scrawled writing. Freddie squinted to read it. My Daddy. Love you Daddy! I hope you get better soon. Love from Sophie ❤️"

Freddie smiled, placed the drawing on the bedside table, and reached for his baby. She gently climbed into bed with him, careful not to jostle him, and curled into his chest. He held her tight and thanked her for the picture, kissing her head. He felt his eyes getting heavy, so he rested his chin on Sophie's head and surrendered to sleep. Sophie just smiled against her daddy's shirt and whispered,

"Sweet dreams Daddy."