'We’re keeping a close eye on her, if her fever doesn’t break she might not make it through the night.'

His ears had blocked out all noise after that. Tim could hear his heartbeat in his head, but that was it; nothing else about his wife’s poor health was managing to get through to him. He couldn't make out what her parents were asking the healer or the words his mother was trying to soothe him with. His brother-in-law’s glares from the far end of the waiting room weren’t felt, and the sniffles of Adamina’s sister may as well have been a thousand miles away. Tim couldn’t hear a thing but his heartbeat and the words of the healer bouncing furiously in his head. She might not make it through the night.

And it was all his fault. It was all his fault.

Tim had known she had been ill a lot when she was younger; there had been times even at Hogwarts that Adamina had endured week-long visits to the hospital wing. She'd been doing fine though, healthy as ever, radiant, even. Tim had never seen her happier, she'd never seemed happier, and they had so many plans to just be happy. Weren’t they allowed that? They were good people, they were young, they did the right thing, they…they were married, and they had their own house, all they---all they wanted was to have this baby…

He shouldn’t have let her convince him it would be fine. When Adamina had first started talking babies, which had basically been when they’d gotten back from their honeymoon, Tim had brought up the concerns about her poor immune system, how it could cause problems, how…she’d shut his argument up with a kiss, which led to a snog, which led to the bedroom and they’d made a baby.

They’d made a baby, but now his wife was deathly ill because of the stress on her body and Tim might lose Adamina and the little girl inside of her. Oh God, he wasn’t even supposed to know it was a girl, but he’d let Ryan sneak the files for him and----

“Mr. Greengrass?” Tim slowly looked up, not sure how he’d heard the healer’s voice amid his thoughts. His mother’s hand on his back kept moving in calming manners, but Tim shrugged her off to stand. His entire body was shaking, but he managed to keep himself up on his feet, teeth clenched. “You can see her now.”

He nodded and followed the healer through the doors without looking anyone else in the eyes. Tim couldn’t look at them, because if he did he knew that he’d see the blame in their eyes, they would see the guilt in his. The healers had told them to be careful, and they had been, but---it----Tim had barely stepped foot into Adamina’s room before tears struck his eyes. He couldn’t remember actually touching the floor before he found himself in a chair by her bedside, and she looked so tired.

“Mina---” Tim choked out, grabbing her hand to press her fingers against his lips. Somehow, she managed to smile at him and even look slightly confused.

“Is someone dying?” she croaked. Tim gaped at her, floundering on his words; how could she say such a thing? His wife crinkled her nose, “I’m not dying,” her other hand moved up her side to rest on her small bump of a belly, “and neither is this baby.”

She was so optimistic even looking as terrible as she did. Though, Tim could never truly think his wife looked horrid…she was just tired, but her smile was still there, and her eyes still shone like they always did. Tim felt like a complete wreck, and looked it too, but he believed her when she said things would be okay.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he let out, obliging when she started to pull him toward her. Tim was careful when he joined her on the bed, his arms going protectively around her. He was willing to stay here all night with his girls if it would help, and he slid against the pillows to have Adamina wrapped as closely to him as possible.

She was definitely going to have to do some vulgar things to get her husband to stay home from work today. Izzie was frantically catching and picking up the vases and other fragile objects that Archie was knocking over with the sleeves of his cloak as he attempted to get dressed and walk out of the house at the same time. She had let him sleep through his alarm because her darling had been tossing and turning and sweating all night long, and hadn’t gotten a minute of sleep!

“Archie,” Izzie yelped, dropping all the items onto a soft cushioned bench so she could hurry after him. “You can miss one day---”

“Just thinking about everything that could go wrong if I’m just five minutes late sends me into a conniption, Isobel,” he said, stopping to bend over and cough a hacking cough, as if his lungs were attempting to come up his throat. “I’m---I’m not exagg…I’m not exagger….ACHOO!”

He sneezed loudly into his elbow and let out a frustrated sound. Izzie took this time to run in front of him and grab onto the front of his robes. Archie looked like death walking, to be frank. What had started out as a tickle in his throat in the beginning of the week had turned into a full-fledged cold. He’d been refusing potions because they made him drowsy, and how could he finish the paper work on the big case he was on if he was drowsy?

“You are very much so exaggerating, Arcturus,” she said sternly, using her grip on him to whirl him around and away from the front door. That was a poor decision on her part, as Archie wobbled on his feet to follow her. Izzie managed to keep him upright, and walked backwards to keep him heading back toward the bedroom. “The office is not going to fall apart without you, there are plenty of capable people who can work on your case, and your perfect attendance record had a very good, long run!”

Archie’s pout of distress at the mention of his broken record made Izzie’s heart ache, and for just a second considered letting him go if it would make him happy. A second later, however, a dizzy spell took over her husband and he dropped back down onto the cushioned bench, sending the items she’d saved bouncing to and breaking on the floor.

“Oh dear,” Archie let out, staring at the mess. Izzie let out a breath and put the back of her hand to his head. He was ready to melt, and her hand went to his chin, making him look up at her. “Do you really think I should stay home?”

Izzie nodded as she began to unbutton his cloak for him. Archie had slumped against the wall in defeat and exhaustion, and she kissed his forehead, her lips feeling the heat radiating off of him, “I promise, no one is ever going to beat your attendance record.”

“Ten years isn’t that long of a go,” he mumbled, almost getting teary eyed at the thought.

“Sorry.”

Elliot frowned at Elsie from across the bed, his head propped up by an extra fluffy pillow. His fingers twisted against hers, their hands locked. It had started off as a really good night, a really good night with dinner and a late night movie on the telly, but in the middle of a perfectly good couch snog, the wailing of his three-year-old son erupted.

Liam had crawled out of bed in a hot sweat and with how quickly his fever had risen Elliot had been panicked enough to almost floo to St. Mungo’s. It had been Elsie that had calmed him and his son down, taking the little boy in her arms. He was wrapped in his favorite blanket, and while Elsie rocked him back and forth, Elliot managed to slip some fever potions into a sippy cup. He was shocked to see how easily his son took the drink; normally Liam could taste the potion and threw the cup against a wall, but the boy seemed distracted by Elsie’s soft words and humming.

Soon they’d found themselves sitting in Elliot’s bed, as Liam had refused to lie down in his. With quiet words and slow movements Elsie had managed to lull him back into sleep. Liam took up the middle of the master bed, and the two adults were forced to stay with him. Any movement on the bed made the boy sit up and demand they stay.

Elliot knew he should be glad that Elsie was so good at handling his son, but it was rare that they got to have date nights, any more. It wasn’t exactly easy when he was sick so often now that he was…with the week leading up to the full moon his mind was never right, and then during was….after was no better because his body was recovering so….it was just hard to get used to, and he’d only been what he was for a few months now, how were they going to last through all of this?

Elsie frowned at his apology, “Why are you sorry?” she whispered, eyes going from him to dart down to Liam to make sure their voices didn’t wake him. “You didn’t get him sick.”

“Well---our date night’s ruined,” he said, trying not to sound as upset about it as he really was. He should have his son’s well-being first and foremost on his mind, but it was hard to when you knew that nights like the ones they almost had were few and far between.

“Nooo,” she let out, smiling widely, “we’re still in bed together, aren’t we?” Elsie giggled at her joke, using her other hand to cover Liam’s exposed ear, “Isn’t that where you wanted to end up?”

Elliot’s face flushed and he puckered his lips at her. Elsie laughed again, her grip on his hand tightening. She really was something, wasn’t she? Elliot had given her every chance to leave and get on with the real life she deserved after he’d been released from the hospital. How could he ask her to stay with him and deal with this curse of his when she had so much life ahead of her? It was unfair to ask that of her, to just be some---some werewolf’s girlfriend when she meant so, so much more to him.

They stared at each other for a few more moments in the darkness, but before long their eyes shut and their breathing grew light and constant. Elliot had nearly drifted off into sleep when he spoke,

“Elsie,” he whispered, trying hard not to fall asleep. Their fingers were still intertwined, resting on Liam’s back. Elsie let out a hum, letting him know that she’d heard but sleep was taking over. Elliot forced his eyes open and let out a breath, “Will you marry me?”

Her eyes fluttered open at his words, and Elliot felt his heart stop for a second as she looked him over. A small smile lifted on her face and she nodded once before closing her eyes again. Elliot couldn’t remember feeling as happy as that simple nod had made him in his life, and he let out a breath before allowing his body to succumb to sleep.

It had been very hard to mask his great desire to projectile vomit this evening. Chandler had been sitting through dinner, staring at his food and drink as if they were hypnotizing him. He had to focus on the dish, the fork, the spoon, the glass, anything to keep himself from getting sick as a dog. If he could make it until they went to bed, he’d be fine. They’d be fine.

“Love, you look ready to destroy our fine china!”

Chandler’s eyes shot up toward his wife, who was standing with her fork wavering between her fingers. He had really hoped that Wendy had been too into her storytelling to notice that he had not been paying attention at all, but she was a good wife, she was a wonderful wife, so of course she would notice that something was wrong with him.

He just prayed that she didn’t try to do something about it.

But, alas, before Chandler could protest that he was just trying to figure out if he should eat his string beans or carrots first, Wendy had shot up out of her chair and rounded the table. Her cheek was pressed against his forehead in an instant, and Chandler let out a low moan at being caught.

“You are burning up!” she nearly shrieked, dropping her fork into his mashed potatoes.

“I’m---“

Ooh, he couldn’t even finish that sentence, and shut his mouth again. Wendy let out a gasp and rushed away, to Chandler’s dismay. He loved his wife, he loved his wife, but she was so, so terrible at treating him when he was sick. It seemed that with all of Wendy’s enthusiasm, her attempts at playing healer always went awry and made things worse. Chandler of course could never tell her that he’d rather admit himself to the isolation ward at St. Mungo’s than deal with one of Wendy’s home remedies, and when she disappeared he stood up quickly to escape.

He didn’t make it far, however, as whatever bug he’d caught made him woozy and he rushed toward the sink to catch his quickly approaching vomit. Fortunately he managed to keep his stomach contents down so he could attempt to make it to the bathroom, but by the time he composed himself, Wendy was back with her first aid kit.

Oh, bother.

Wendy hurried over, going on and on about how her mother used to whip these potions up to make them feel better when they were younger. How well they worked, how quickly they did---Avis showed her precisely what to do in this case and so on and so on and so on. Chandler didn’t believe a word of it. Or, he believed Wendy, he just didn’t believe that she was actually producing the potions correctly and that’s why Chandler usually ended up worse for wear when he took them.

She sat him down and Chandler watched as her hands dug through the rather large medicine bag. He had no idea where she’d gotten it, but to Wendy it had all the cures one could think of. Who needed a healer when you had one of these bottomless bags? Chandler began to mentally prep himself for another night of rainbow colored hurling when Wendy procured from her bag a gigantic vial of…it was mud brown and it looked chunky and----when she popped open the cork, it gurgled.

This had to end now.

“I’m fine!” Chandler shouted, unsure how he managed to open his mouth for that long. Wendy gaped,

“You most certainly are not! You look as if someone injected you with slug slime extract!”

Chandler gagged at the description of his skin tone, but he had to remain strong, “I’m not---going to drink that! No! Never!”

“But it’s supposed to get rid of all the green!”

“I like being green!” he said stupidly, nearly sliding off his chair, “I will---be a---be a green man and get through this on my own!”

Wendy pouted, but Chandler was quite surprised at how easily she dropped the vial back into the bag.

“I’m not questioning your manliness, love,” she said tenderly, putting her hands on his cheeks, “Let’s get you to bed, all right? But if you’re not better by morning, you’re taking the remedies, okay?”

Chandler nodded, hoping that he actually managed to get rid of this illness himself with his own man-power before Wendy could force one of those ‘remedies’ down his throat. She helped him to his feet, laughing at how she thought he was quite the man all the time. Oh, boy, if she only knew how terrified he was of that first aid kit of hers.

He was whining, that’s how she knew he was feeling ill. Rachel’s eyebrow rose at her husband’s strange request, and her lips twisted. Gabriel let out a long groan from his position on the window seat, arms outstretched for her. He looked like one of their children requesting to be picked up, and Rachel almost told him so, had it not been for the sheen of sweat on his forehead. Gabriel had been complaining that there was a cold going around the offices, and while he’d taken the proper precautions, it seemed like even he could not fight against the bug.

“Why don’t you just come to bed and sleep?” she asked, starting toward him with the intention of pulling him up and putting him under the covers. Gabriel took hold of her hands first however, and tugged her down beside him, looking quite miserable and pathetic. Those were two words that Rachel had never thought to use to describe her husband.

“It’s too hot there,” he said, sounding wounded, “Just sit here with me, by the window.”

“It’s freezing, Gabriel,” she let out with a sigh, but it was of no use. Gabriel had already twisted himself to drop his head on Rachel’s lap and pull up his legs onto the seat. Rachel frowned down at him, wondering why he thought it was fine for her to freeze by the window while he got comfortable.

“But I’m hot,” he said with a pout. He took her hand and put it to his forehead, “See, I’m very hot.”

Rachel’s smirk was one she often saved for the people she was forced to amuse, like her mother, or his mother, or Bertram Aubrey. How she had ever managed to be a healer’s assistant, she’d never understand. She loved her husband, as hard as it had been to come to that conclusion, but Rachel had never been one to tolerate whining of any kind. Her children were the exception to this (most of the time---), and as Gabriel looked up at her with those wide, pitiful eyes of his, Rachel felt resigned to add him to that list as well.

“You are hot,” she said with a nod, running a soothing hand through his hair. He’d been letting it grow, as one day Amissa had told him it was quite handsome when it curled. Rachel would be inclined to agree with her daughter, and had been pleased to see that she had groomed the girl with proper taste. His eyes shut and as her other hand rested on his chest, Rachel could tell he was already drifting off to sleep, “Are you sure you don’t want to come to bed?”

“I like being here with you,” he mumbled, taking in a deep breath. Rachel felt her own flush of heat rush through her body and rest at her cheeks, and she let out a soft hum of defeat. Her wand quickly summoned over a blanket to drape around her shoulders and over Gabriel’s chest. A book also flew over to her for when he was sound asleep, but Rachel was finding that it was not as difficult as she had believed it to be, to allow someone to seek comfort in her.

Bess would never admit it out loud, but there was a fairly good chance that she’d lost her husband.

It had been a bit of a fight, trying to get Drystan to stay in bed today. He claimed he had not fallen ill since his third year at Hogwarts, and while Bess acted like she believed his stories, as a mother she knew better. Her husband was just too stubborn to let a silly virus take him down, and that had been his argument this morning when she was sentencing him to bed for the day.

She had been gone ten minutes, just to go down to the lobby to get the mail. Ten minutes! Ten minutes and Drystan had made his escape to Puddlemere. She was really going to rip him a new one, Bess thought angrily as she stalked down the cement corridors of the stadium. Right in front of his teammates, she was going to scold him like he was one of their children and she was not going to feel bad about it at all. If she could find him, that was.

The stadium was eerily quiet, and Bess was beginning to wonder if he’d already missed practice. That meant that she had waited too long to owl Finn about Drystan being sick, which she felt guilty about but it still didn’t mean that she thought her husband should be flying around a hundred feet in the air at high speeds with a raging fever! He was bound to get himself killed!

As she neared the locker room, Bess really began to question herself. He had been saying he was going to Puddlemere and---and the security guard! Yes, he’d stated that he had indeed seen Drystan, so where the hell was he? Where was everyone else? Bess held her breath as she opened the locker room door, ready to be blasted with the roaring of Finn McLaggen. He would be screaming that Drystan was late, but…silence, there was silence.

Wait, no. Bess shut the door behind her and listened for a moment. Water, there was a shower running. She made her way toward the back, blushing as she remembered the last time she’d seen the Puddlemere showers (she and Drystan were going to find themselves in such an awkward situation one day). Maybe he had made it to practice, and was simply the last one to shower.

“You’re kidding me, right?”

Well, she had been right. It was her husband in the shower, but Bess determined quite quickly that he did not particularly want to be there. It might have something to do with him sitting on a bench, getting drenched by the shower head, completely dressed in his practice gear. Drystan stared at her miserably through the stream of water, looking utterly defeated.

“I forgot Finn cancelled practice,” he muttered, glowering at her because Bess could not hold back her smirk. “And then---it got rather hot.”

“Oh, did it?” Bess said in an amused voice, though she knew she had to get him out of there before he drowned himself. She entered his stall with a sigh, letting the water hit her too as she pushed his damp hair out of his face. He was still warm, and she clucked her tongue. The things she did for this man. “This is why you should always listen to your wife.”

Drystan let out a harrumph of annoyance, but leaned forward to rest his head against her chest anyway. Bess shook her head and finally reached out to turn off the water, her other hand going around his shoulders to pull Drystan close. Stupid, stubborn man.