+: being led back to bed with patient whispers
A shrieking wail fills the air, piercing her eardrums like knives and Barbara wakes groggily and moans into her pillowcase. Waves of nausea hit her, looming in like storm clouds and hinting at the deluge that is to come.
She sits up a retches into her hand, then makes a mad dash to the bathroom, plunging into the toilet bowl just in time. For a few blissful seconds, she feels better, but then the baby is wailing again. She doesn’t know where James is—probably off with his motorcycle buddies, cutting up at some bar. Another wave of nausea hits, another round of bile and sick, and this time she’s tearing up at the sound of Jim in the other room.
“I’m coming sweetheart,” she says, clutching her forehead in her hands as she tries to catch her breath. “I’m coming.”
The wailing stops as she cleans herself up at the sink, but before she can get one foot out the door, she’s kissing the toilet bowl again. And it’s just as she’s tearing up that she feels a cold cloth pressing against her forehead, wiping gently before dipping down to clean her chin.
This isn’t James, she thinks, drifting through a haze of confusion. He’s never been this. This is kind, and attentive, and...God she must be sick if she thought she was that far back. She can feel the fever coursing through her body, hot magma chilling to the bone. It’s even harder to deal with now that she’s older.
“I’m sorry the baby woke you, love.” His voice is calm, and soothing, an utterly welcome in this rotten mess. “They didn’t have ginger ale at the first store, so I had to pop into a second. And the pharmacy after was a bit of a wait.”
She bites her lip and curls a shaking limb around her stomach, the tears falling hotter and harder now. “Thank God it’s you,” she sobs as he carefully rolls her shirt up before tugging it off, tossing both it and the soiled cloth into the bathtub for later attentions. “I was half asleep and I thought--”
“You thought that was Jim...” he finishes for her, sunset-eyes alight with understanding.
Sniffling she nods, and then leans in to wrap her arms around his neck, burying her face into cool and familiar green stone.
Maybe this is pitiful, she thinks, but she hasn’t felt this sick in a while and needs this, needs him, after years and years of having no net to catch her if she fell.
“Is the baby okay?” Her meek voice asks, wavering as he picks her up bridal-style and tucks her half-clad form against his chest.
“Yes, it was my namesake, I’m afraid he seemed to know I was gone.”
“Good.” Blue eyes close as she tucks her head into his shoulder, trying to steady her breath.
“You’re not alone Barbara,” his voice hushes into her ear, followed by a soft and tusk-filled kiss against her temple as he walks her into their bedroom, eyes lighting the way. “You never will be again.”
The sheets melt around her as he folds her into them, and it’s moments before her head is fuzzy and she fades once more into dreams.
“Not while I draw breath,” he whispers, brushing a thumb against her cheek. Turning, he leaves and begins to shut door as quietly as possible. The relief on her face highlighted in the sliver of light from the hall prompts a secret smile, and the door clicks as softly as the beat of his heart.