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With Love *SJ*

You'd been in denial about it, I mean it's Summer for Christ's sakes, who the hell gets a cold in the Summer...?

You'd woken up at five this morning—the first of many red flags really—with a pounding head, and a touch of congestion in your chest. The only thing to bring you comfort was the beauty beside you—Scarlett, was peacefully sleeping, perfect pouty lips smushed against her pillow, adorable snores filling the space between you.

The peace was short lived as your stomach began to turn and you gently exited the bed before running off to the restroom where you spent the next almost hour sat down with the tiny wastebasket in arms reach whenever a wave of nausea rolled through, the threat of vomiting imminent, but fortunately for you they never amount to more than the occasional surge of bile in your throat that you manage to choke back down.

Maybe it was the takeout from last night, but seeing as how Scarlett wasn't hot on your tails you'd known better than to truly believe it. You're stubborn though, so you'll live in the fantasy for as long as the approaching illness takes to fully claim your body.

After an uncomfortably long time sat atop the toilet you quietly left the room, time now reading 6:30AM, and you knew your lover would be up soon so you made your way downstairs to fix her food to go since she'd received a call rather late last night, something about a scene reshoot on the film she'd just wrapped on.

Even though you "weren't" sick you still took every precaution possible anyways, you wore a disposable mask from the pack that now naturally sits in your house, telling yourself it was to keep the 'food poisoning' induced nausea at bay, but who were you fooling...

You'd also used a pair of gloves while cooking up some chicken to add to the salad you'd just prepared for your lover, because deep down you'd refused to risk getting her sick if your other hunch was off the mark. Then as a true New Yorker would you added a thick layer of schmear to her bagel, nearly vomiting at the normally delectable food, and settled it in a paper towel beside her to go flask of coffee and the lunchbox full of snacks and her salad.

In order to ensure Scarlett stays none the wiser to your increasingly sickly state you kept your back to the staircase, and upon hearing her descending you took a sizable gulp of your warm tea, strategically gargling it over your vocal chords to help mask your scratchy throat for the fleeting moment you'd engage with her.

"Good morning honey." Scarlett aimlessly greets your back while rushing to collect her clutch and keys from their designated zones.

"Morning my love, breakfast and lunch are ready for you on the counter." You cheerily greet back in a level tone, internally cheering because in her distracted state she'd failed to hear the unusual rasp forcefully slipping in between your words.

"Ooh, thank you so much baby! You always take such good care of me, I'll be home by four and then we can have our day together as promised, I love you!" She enthusiastically states, you catch her bright smile as she runs out of the front door like she was being chased.

You lightly shake your head at her rush, holding back a pained groan as to not give yourself away. It was just funny, you wife always left in a rush, even when leaving hours before she was expected—much like today. She wasn't even due to be there until 10am, but you know she enjoys her time to decompress in her trailer before jumping into the mindset of her character of that day.

"I love you too..." You shouted back at her retreating form, somewhat grateful that the crack was easily explainable as your voice was being elevated.

It's not that you didn't want Scarlett here, because if anything that was all you found yourself wanting. However much you needed her here, you knew she was needed elsewhere. You knew that if you'd asked her she would have dropped everything for you in a heartbeat, but you didn't feel it was fair to ask of her.