Pirouette [h.s.]

extra - here comes the sun*

Harry's POV

**This takes place after Tatum is born, while Phoebe's around 7 months pregnant with Shane. Aurora's about 3.5 years old, Tatum is not quite 1.**

........

"Alright, girls, let's get ready to practice." Phoebe's voice is smooth and gentle as she rounds up the baby dancers, a small smile on her face despite the stress furrowing wrinkles into the creases by her eyes. Her hand blindly rubs her belly for comfort, "We've gotta get done so the older kids can do their dances, too."

Two little ones stay between Tate and I, pretending to help finish the backdrop with paintless brushes. I squat down beside them, taking the brushes from their tiny grasps, "Thank you so much for helping, ladies. It's time to go listen to Miss BeeBee now."

One of the girls' lips start to poke out in a pout and she's moments away from protesting when Phoebe calls for them again, "Nessa and Layla, it's time to dance. I'm sure Mister Harry and Mister Tate would love your help after we finish practicing. Right, guys?"

I nod, picking up a drill to fix the backdrop to its stand. "I would love helping hands after you're done."

The girls all chatter like a flock of hummingbirds while Bee mouths a quick 'thank you' in my direction before she turns to address her class. Tate continues to paint the giant flower pots, remnants of color tangled in his hair.

"But Mama," Aurora raises her hand, jumping in place as if Phoebe can't see her without the added dramatics. "Daddy's gotta help us!"

"I know, baby." She lifts her finger to her lips to coax quiet from our daughter in the second row. "Thank you for making sure I remember."

Ror smiles a glorious, disco ball smile, shimmering through the auditorium brighter than the spotlights hitting the stage, pride evident in the slight upward tilt of her chin. My little helper. Always on call to assist in any way in her power. While Phoebe was pregnant with Tatum, Rory was her shadow, making sure to toddle directly to me when Phoeb so much as mentioned something she was craving to demand that we go get it immediately. She insists every night on helping to feed Stitch, although her version of feeding him is giving him double his weight in treats. My sweet, sweet, raspberry baby.

The girls start their practice, Phoebe praising their every movement which elicits seas of innocent giggles. Tate and I continue our work, making sure the props and decorations are set for tomorrow's show. I've learned, over the last few years, that the spring recital is the most coveted at Golden Gate Ballet Company - one of two shows where every single dancer comes together to put on a performance. Phoebe's littles start the night, a routine beautifully crafted by my gorgeous honeybee, before the older kids get their moment to shine.

"How did we end up here?" Tate mutters, sprawled on his stomach to touch up the bottom of the flower pot.

I wrap my arms around my knees, watching, "What do you mean? Having a midlife crisis?"

Tate flicks leftover paint at me. "I'm serious, boss man. You've got a wife, and two kids, and a baby on the way. Lune and I are getting married. We're sitting on the dusty floor of a fuckin' stage painting props for little kids. When did this happen?"

I laugh with a shrug, "I ended up here, because I can't say no to that goddess over there. And you...well, you can't say no to me."

"I could absolutely say no to you." He argues. I'm a little surprised he doesn't cross his arms and pout like one of the four year olds, with the tone of his voice.