Hello all! I'm in quite the Esmeralda/Phoebus mood again (: This story will be various episodes and events of their time together. I hope you enjoy! Let me know if I'm getting their personalities right.

Awake

Phoebus produced a frustrated growl as he closed his eyes in hopelessness, having been unable to fall asleep at all since he tucked into bed. This damn cold, or the flu, or whatever the hell it was, had kept him awake the past two nights. His nose felt like it was packed with cement, and his fever had him layering blankets until you couldn't even tell there was a person underneath.

He'd been quarantined in the guest bedroom on Esmeralda's demand, having been admonished by their impending midwife that, being eight months with child, it'd be best to steer clear of any ill persons, even if she happened to live with one of those persons. She nurtured him anyway, insisting that out of the handful of other candidates obtainable to play the role of caretaker, she knew the best remedies and strategy. The many objections of her husband had no effect on her, instead inducing her preach to him on who he was dealing with, who he'd married, leaving Phoebus questioning himself why he even said anything in the first place.

With much effort, the man relocated to across the room to the side table next to a bulky armchair, where he'd primed a tin pitcher with water to soothe his intolerably sore throat when desired. Guzzling two consecutive glassfuls and successively rinsing his face at the washbasin, he contemplated how to pass the time—as long as he was up—until his wife awakened in some hours.

He could get some work done, but he'd vowed to Esmeralda he wouldn't so much as unfurl one piece of parchment until his illness had fully passed. He could read, but he wasn't in a state where he could focus as much as he'd prefer. He could bathe, but he didn't want to disturb his spouse with the noise he'd generate with the preparation.

For now, he selected meditating and reflecting as he observed the humdrum nightlife of his neighborhood through the lone, broad window the guest room comprised. One of his guards tautly crossed the cobblestone intersection on the far left, chimneys discharged smoky columns only to have them vanish promptly in the winter atmosphere, an unlatched gate swayed in the detestable January wind. The captain raised his blonde eyebrows at the fresh coat of snow acquired from an earlier tempest, sending a brief prayer of gratitude that he was house-ridden during its happening.

Beginning to shudder, having deserted the coverage of the heap of coverlets a significant time ago, he surveyed the room for his robe. Not identifying anything—although the lack of daylight partially to blame—provoked Phoebus to rummage around, blindly slapping at any furniture in his path and swearing through clenched teeth when his shin collided with something solid. It wasn't until he had almost finished reconnoitering the perimeter that he recalled previously discarding it in his usual bedroom.

Allowing himself one final snort with his congested nose before nearing the other, insentient denizen of the house, he exited his assigned quarters, soundlessly made his way down the hall, and entered his destination. Though able to retrieve the needed article without visibly disrupting his wife, he couldn't abstain from visiting her at their bed, where she lay positioned on her side, to deliver a tender kiss to her temple. He then departed as surreptitiously as he arrived.

The fatigued man donned the robe, thankful for the instant warmth it provided and reassumed his place at the window. The quiet of the approaching dawn continued for several minutes until discontinued by the thick wooden door of the guest room squeaking open.

Knowing who it was and though her presence never unwanted, Phoebus frowned as Esmeralda made her way to him, mutely presenting a steaming mug of presumably herbal tea. It was likely his fault she was up. Damn. I wasn't as quiet as I thought, he concluded.

He took the mug from her and set it on the adjacent side table after sampling it and discovering it wasn't ready for consumption.

His right arm encircled her shoulders to steer her to nestle into him, her inflated stomach pressing into his side, making him grin. His heart fluttered.

"You should be sleeping, ma chérie. You have a passenger that needs you to, even if you don't want to." He advised with his currently hoarse voice, lazily massaging her back.

Esmeralda grouchily replied, "Well, this 'passenger' makes it very difficult to find a decent sleeping position. Besides, I'm up every hour anyway-you know that. My organs are all being poked at and sat on and Heaven knows what else." The expectant mother cupped the bottom of her belly.

Her husband chuckled; it was always comical to see this rare grumbling from his wife. He ensured, "Not long now, Esme. It's almost time." He gently laid a hand on her middle as he dipped his head to kiss her hair.

They stayed for a short while watching the dawn break and the outskirts of Paris begin to come to life again, delighting in each other's heat; too somnolent to compel themselves to follow through with the "stay away from each other as much as you can" caveat. His fingers fondly rubbed where he received a movement from their future child.

Then, Phoebus remembered his throat and the generosity of his spouse to fix him the tea.

"Thank you for this," he clutched the cup and gulped down a third of it, "although, I should be taking care of you."

"Nonsense, I'm fine. I'm no worse than I have been these past eight months. You, however, are a different story." Esmeralda corrected, sweeping his hair away to feel his forehead and cheeks with the back of her fingers. "Even in this light, I can see how miserable you are."

"Even in this light, I can see how utterly stunning you are." He countered.

She snorted, yet couldn't hold back a smile as she told him, "You are just unbelievable. Ill and sleep-deprived as you are, and you're still able to come up with stuff like that."

"I can come up with a thousand things to say about your beauty, my love, and still none would be fitting enough." Phoebus said sincerely, stroking her disorderly onyx hair, then pecking her cheek once, twice. She rested her head on his bicep.

Momentarily, the man finished his tea as his wife periodically yawned. One last look at her exhausted expression and he ushered her out and into the hallway, his hand on the small of her back as he ushered her back to their bedroom. Esmeralda peering up at him in query, he elucidated in an affectionate tone, "Try to get a little more sleep. I think I can manage a few more hours without you."

"There you go, giving orders. I'm not one of your soldiers, you know." She said pointedly, pausing to look him in the eye after taking a step into their room.

Phoebus put a finger up and reminded her, "But you are my roommate, my wife, my life-long companion, and the carrier of my child." He prepared the covers for her and assisted her to sit, then recline and adjust. "And for the sake of the latter, I'm merely advising you to get the rest you need." He finished, disregarding the scowl she put on.

The man attempted to exit and reinhabit the guest room when a yank on his arm disallowed him. He rotated to see a smirking Esmeralda turning down the sheets on his side of the bed and indicating to it. Quizzical expressions were given by her husband until he obliged, concluding smugly that she just couldn't get enough of him; couldn't part with him.

Her arm reached and settled across his torso and he grasped her hand as he laughed lightly and asked, "I thought you had a restraining order of sorts to adhere to."

She picked up her head to raise an eyebrow at him, wondering—again—if he realized who he was talking to.

"When have I ever gone by the rules?"

Note: I don't know too much about the do's and don'ts of pregnancies, but I figured in this time period, with their lack of medical knowledge (well, knowledge in general), expectant women would keep their distance from sick people, in fear of catching it and perhaps causing complications.