Your Baby is the Size of A...

39 Weeks - Your baby is the size of a pumpkin

A rather painful bout of cramps had made it impossible to sleep. As it was, Severus had already retched twice – once, whatever tea he had managed to choke down, and the other just foamy, bloody bile. Severus rubbed hard at Bump, the heels of his palms digging in around his ribs to try and quiet the nausea that swelled heavily in his guts, pressing against his ribs and hips incessantly – leaving his chest much too tight. A whimper choked itself out of his throat as a particularly hard cramp left him clutching at the back of the sofa, elbow locked but quivering – the only thing keeping him standing as his knees had loosened traitorously.

"Perhaps you should sit," Remus muttered sleepily from the edge of the sitting room, running a hand through his hair. Severus glanced over at the lighter man – who looked as though he had, and probably had, only just rolled out of bed – and resumed pacing.

"I didn't mean to wake you." He managed a handful of steps before stumbling; Remus's hand was quite suddenly on his bicep, keeping him upright.

"I rather like having you in bed. Of course I notice when you're missing." The werewolf steered him toward the sofa, urging Severus downward to sit. His weight, the pressure of the baby settled overly heavy against his pelvic bone, crushing a sharp whine from his chest – sending him scrambling once more to his feet.

"Severus," Remus bleated out, upset. "You're exhausted. Sit down, for Merlin's sake!"

He gave the other as much of a glare as he could manage as he resumed pacing, keeping close to the furniture, his fingers running along the edges just in case his knees gave out.

"I can't sit, Remus," Severus hissed out. His hand came up and rubbing broad, hard strokes over Bump, kneading the tender skin. "The brat is the size of a pumpkin." He drew up short, grimacing as the baby twisted over in his guts, kicking hard against already dreadfully bruised ribs. Severus sucked in as deep a breath as he was able before glaring once more at the werewolf. "The size of a fucking pumpkin," he spit out, almost desperate to be bundled under bitterness. "And we wouldn't even be in this mess if it weren't for you," he hissed pitifully.

Concern itched at the back of his skull, making him feel much too tight in his own skin. At least they had finally gotten over Remus crumpling like a wet bag every time Severus reminded him that the dreadful situation was the werewolf's fault – which had, admittedly, become more and more often as his due date approached.

"What do you want me to do, Severus. Put the kettle on? Make you some soup? Rub your back?"

Another hard cramp tightened along his guts, and Severus barely had time to turn his head, body bending sharply as he heaved. His entire chest cinched, quivered, ached as he coughed up what appeared to be some of the lining of his throat. Stomach acid left a gritty feeling in his mouth, along the backs of his teeth. His fingers splayed on his thighs, keeping him somewhat in place as he wordlessly cast scourgify, cleaning his mess up.

A broad hand smoothed along his back, fingers rubbing deeply against his spine. Severus allowed the touch for a moment, letting himself be lulled as heat seemed to leech out of the werewolf's palm and into the marrows of his weary bones. But then he remembered himself.

Twisting out from under Remus's touch, Severus recoiled like a feral creature, teeth bared. "Kindly don't touch me. We see where that got us last time."

The look on the werewolf's face, the emotions buzzing softly at the back of his thoughts were torn between mild amusement and concern.

"What if we head up to the Prefects' Bathroom. I'll fill the tub, maybe use some lavender oil." A soft expression overtook Remus's face as the werewolf reached for him. "I'll even carry you, if you'd like."