Pirouette [h.s.]

epilogue 2

// Is there something greater in the skies above?

A beautiful coincidence that causes love. //

"Aurora Borealis" -Bohnes

Harry's POV

March 4, 2021

--------

The gentle squeak of the mattress shakes me from sleep, my eyes blinking against the dark bedroom. I watch as Phoebe's frame disappears through the bathroom doorway, the light outlining her gorgeous fucking body in a hazy silhouette. Flipping onto my side, I squint at the clock shining red through the room, 5:48 am.

The toilet seat rattling roughly makes me squeeze my eyes shut, bracing for the muffled sounds of Bee getting sick. Sure enough, like clockwork, I hear her choked discomfort and it pulls me to my feet as I trudge in her direction.

"Honeybee?" my knuckles rap against the door before I'm slowly pushing it open. I pull Phoebe's hair back, holding it gently in my palm while she throws up into the toilet. My other hand traces paths across her shoulders and back as they shake, my heart nearly cracking in half at the sight of my wife getting sick.

Once she's finished, she looks up at me with sad, sleepy eyes. A guilty look sits somewhere deep behind the blue. Her stomach's been sensitive this past week, so we've found ourselves in this position almost every night, or first thing in the morning. Bee swore up and down that she got food poisoning from the shrimp in her Chinese food last weekend and she's been messed up ever since. That's what we get for not going to Peking, I guess.

"Sweet Bee," I coo, caressing her cheek with my thumb, "Feel any better?" She shakes her head and tears build up behind her eyes. "Hey, hey, hey, shh, none of that." My knees meet the bathroom tile as I try to comfort my sick angel. "How about we get a sick bucket so you can try to get some sleep in bed instead of sitting on the bathroom floor?"

"Okay." she croaks out, nuzzling into my palm. "I'm sorry."

I hush her before rummaging below the sink for the old bucket that used to sit in her apartment living room. Helping her to her feet, she cradles the bucket tightly against her chest. Phoebe's entire body screams exhaustion - the deep, dark circles under her eyes, mussed up hair, heavy eyelids. The way she shuffles back towards bed alone has me pulling out my phone to call Golden Gate to tell them she won't be at work.

Bee hears me leaving a message on the phone and immediately tries to wave me off, sitting up straight against the headboard. With the movement, her stomach must turn over because she quickly grasps at the bucket, holding it up under her chin while she takes a few slow breaths. When the rush of nausea passes, she wriggles down to lay against the pillows.

"There's no way you can go to work like this, sweetheart." I murmur, checking her forehead with the back of my hand.

"I'll feel fine in a couple hours, I'm sure." Phoebe mutters, nuzzling her cheek into the pillow with a sigh.

Littering a few kisses across her cheek, I tuck her back into bed, "Well, then go in later if you feel better. But for now, get some more sleep. I'll be here until 7:30, just call if you need me, okay?" She nods, already dozing off, "I love you, Bee."

Her hand peeks out from the blankets, shaped to say it back, and then disappears back below the material. Bee falls back asleep quickly once I turn off the light, and I'm grateful to hear her gentle breaths as I finish getting ready for the day. I hate seeing her so miserable.