William took a long sip of his coffee, then lifted the draft of the morning's edition for inspection. He was, by nature, not an evening person - he was very definitely one of the early-to-bed-early-to-rise types which, for his work, was a very good thing. Every morning he would get up early to read over the day's paper, correcting grammar and spelling and re-arranging everything so it fit nicely, and was usually finished by the time the dwarves arrived to start printing. Also, the early morning tended to be the time when people discovered the dramatic events that had taken place during the night, and so having someone handy with a notebook around sunrise was always a good idea.
Sacharissa, however, was an evening person, which was fortunate, because it meant that she was quite happy to stay up, working on an article and let him go to bed, provided that he would get up early and finish it. It also meant that she was usually the Times' representative at social functions, something that he most definitely was not complaining about.
It also meant that she normally slept in. William took another sip of his coffee and glanced at the clock over the top of the newspaper; quarter past five. He counted the seconds under his breath.
"Four…three…two…one…"
His wife staggered through the door, blonde corkscrew hair escaping from its bun, looking thoroughly wretched. After seeing this event take place every morning over the course of the week, however, he'd learnt to keep that observation to himself.
One side-effect of her pregnancy (the word still made his stomach lurch strangely) was the amazingly punctual morning sickness. They had, at first, just assumed that she was a bit ill, but after over a week of being woken up shortly after five o'clock every morning to rush to the sink, it was evident that it was more than just a winter tummy bug.
On the plus side, it meant that she was up in time to help him with the editing!
And he'd stopped mentioning that one pretty quickly too. Who knew that recently woken nauseous pregnant women were so grumpy and had such good aim? Well, he did, after, for the second time in his life, he wound up with a letter-shaped bruise on his forehead.
"Morning, dear." he ventured cautiously. She offered him something half way between a smile and a grimace.
"How…?"
"Bad." she responded, pulling up a chair and slumping in it.
"You didn't know what I was going to ask."
She gave him a look that told him she was utilising all of her considerable patience at this moment, "William, when you have been vomiting for ten minutes, everything is bad."
"Is coffee bad?" he held out the mug to her as a peace offering. The look on her face as she took it eagerly was well worth losing his drink.
"Thank you," she smiled at him over the rim after taking several gulps.
A little more relaxed as his wife appeared to be reverting back to her generally good-natured self, William smiled back. Then he chuckled, "After what happened last night, I think its pretty safe to assume that there are many women who are feeling just as bad as you are."
Nothing seemed to have changed, but all of a sudden William was acutely aware that he'd blown it.
He ventured a glance at her face; raised eyebrow, not-amused frown. He rifled through his inner-encyclopaedia of Sacharissa's expressions and found the particular heading -
Raised Eyebrow, Not-Amused Frown: You want a -ing bet, Mister?
Advice - retreat to a safe distance, apologise because You Clearly Don't Know What You're Talking About, then excuse yourself for the most plausible reason you can think of.
William stood up and offered Sacharissa his warmest smile, "Sorry, I clearly don't know what I'm about." he took the empty mug from her hands, "I'll go and get you another, shall I?"
-x-x-x-
Head hurts.
Susan rolled over, placed her hands over her face, opened her eyes then slowly parted her fingers.
Ye Gods, something blue and white and moving!
She smothered her scream and, instead, flung out a fist. Having only just woken, her aim was appalling and she missed. What she heard next made her wish she'd sat up and head-butted instead -
"Good morning, Susan."
Teatime.
She pressed her hands back over her face, pounding head trying to put everything in a vaguely rational order. She went to a gala last night. She made friends. And now she had a blinder of a headache and a sociopathic assassin leaning over her. Everything in between talking to Adora, Angua and Sacharissa and waking up was a blur, and probably in self-defence. And that only meant one thing.
Her groan was muffled by her palms, "Oh gods. We went to Biers, didn't we?"
She felt a shift of weight near her feet as Teatime sat on the end of the bed. In her mind's eye, she saw him sitting cross-legged, like a child on a classroom carpet.
"I assume you mean last night. You may have done, but we found you in TGIO."
Susan peered at him through the cracks in her fingers, "Tee-gee-what?"
"TGIO; Thank Gods Its Open." he cocked his head in a way that made Susan feel even more ill, "It was…enlightening, seeing you inebriated."
"Oh gods." she eased herself into a sitting position and squinted at the blond man sitting on the end of her bed, "I wasn't singing, was I?"
His grin widened even more, if that was possible, a grin that promised that innocence radiated from every pore, "A song about a promiscuous hedgehog seemed to be your favourite, Susan. You developed quite an original dancing style, too."
Susan lay back down with a louder groan and pulled the pillow over her face.
"I didn't mean to be impolite, but I made myself breakfast. You've slept in quite late." she opened one eye and saw Teatime gesture to the empty bowl sitting on her bedside table.
And, oh gods, lifting her head to follow him was a bad, bad idea. She felt the bile rise in her throat; she sat up, grabbed the bowl and shoved it into Teatime's hands in one smooth movement. And then she made use of it.
A few minutes later, he coughed awkwardly.
"Are you…finished, Susan?" he grimaced, pushing the bowl away from him. As an assassin, he'd become impervious to the disgust that most people felt for bodily fluids, although this…this was unfamiliar. But he was always happy to learn, yes?
Susan pushed her hair out of her eyes, and then caught the expression on Teatime's face; it was somewhere between bewilderment and revulsion as he held the bowl delicately at arms' length.
She felt her mouth twitch. A snort escaped her. And then a laugh, and then she was in hysterics until her stomach ached and her head began to pound again.
"Susan…" the blond assassin faltered, "Does this mean…we're friends?" he asked hopefully.
She lifted her head and, for the first time, smiled at him.
"Welcome to friendship, Tee-ah-tim-eh."
And then she threw up again.
-x-x-x-
"Urrrghhh…"
Moist grinned as Adora pulled the covers over her head. He pulled the curtain open a little wider.
"Wakey wakey."
"Pssorf, Msst."
"You have a meeting with Dorfl in an hour." he chided gently, pulling the duvet back off her. She swatted at him with a hand.
"I'll cheat, Adora."
"Nnnnng."
He left the room, and returned again a few moments later with a sleepy baby.
"Cheating!" he informed her cheerfully in a singsong voice, placing John down next to her, "Help me wake mum up, will you, John?"
At two months old, most children are good for little more than eating, excretion and crying. A fourth talent that most also possess is the ability to dribble excessively, and John von Lipwig was no exception. He wriggled and gurgled and dribbled onto his mother's face until she was forced to move.
Adora scowled at her husband, bleary-eyed, "That wasn't fair."
"I warned you." he said, grinning. "And after the meeting, we're taking John to see Vetinari, remember?"
"Vetinari?" Adora mumbled, pressing her fingers to her temples as pain pulsed through them.
"Yes. We made him godfather, remember? Because it would be highly entertaining and he wouldn't be allowed to get annoyed?"
She squinted at him, "You mean, because he would be able to look after John if anything happened to us?"
Moist grinned, "That too."