"You have to get out of bed."

She hadn't planned on going downstairs. Not until the hunger overruled the constant nausea that had encased her. She had barely eaten for well over two days, not able to keep even the smallest of crackers down. Which had left her feeling even sicker at first.

Ollie was her first concern, now four days past his due date. Not eating would affect him directly, especially now that he was so close to being born. Worrying made her feel even worse and no matter what she tried; the nausea remained. When she called Dr. Patel for answers to her questions, the woman had casually told her there was a stomach bug going around and that she had forgotten to mention it, to warn her beforehand. She said that as long as it passed within two to four days; it was supposedly harmless.

Luckily, the majority of the sickness seemed to have gone away. Her appetite had made its return and she felt as if she could eat an entire cow and still be hungry.

With the help of Harry, she was able to drag herself out of bed and pull on a bathrobe. He no longer batted an eye at seeing her in her pyjamas, which consisted of a tank-top and panties -just that. The first time he'd seen her in such little clothing was accidental and quite a wake-up call. He wasn't aware pregnant women could be so sexy, until then. From the moment he saw her, that faithful day in the local grocery store, he'd found her the epitome of beautiful, breathtaking even.

Long toned legs, a naturally tanned skin, full, medium sized breasts with perky nípples that poked into the fabric of her tank top and hair that flowed down her back, ending just above the firm ass that could make heads turn. He couldn't help but want to kiss every inch of exposed skin, to worship her body the way she deserved.

He had come to check on her after she'd failed to answer his phone calls, the day after they went to the doctor's office. Calling her name and entering her bedroom, they'd both frozen in place. Neither of them knowing what to do or say to make the situation less awkward. In the end, she had asked him to hand over her bathrobe in a very casual manner, as if him seeing her in such a vulnerable state didn't bother her. And since that morning, they'd fallen into a routine.

She felt too weak to stay out of bed. So Harry would wake her up, late morning/early afternoon and prepare her something to try to eat. The keyword being try. And him being the perfect gentleman he is, he'd hold her hair every time she was puking her guts out; to Moira's utter mortification.

Now downstairs for the first time in days, Moira felt a little less hopeless, being able to walk and all. The minute she entered the kitchen, she could smell the mouth-watering scent of bacon.

"I expect you to eat everything." He pointed at the steaming plate that was already waiting at the dinner table.

Moira pecked his cheek in thanks and sat down, eagerly taking in the sight of two egg-bacon sandwiches with a little mayonnaise on the side -her favorite. Without a care in the world she bit into it, amazed at how juicy the meat was in combination with the eggs. She was practically drooling as she bit into it again, consumed with the need to eat and eat and eat and her stomach was appreciative of it. The fact Harraël didn't stop staring at her was lost on Moira until she finished. Slowly, she began wiping her hands and corners of her mouth with a napkin, becoming anxious.

"Do you have to keep staring at me?"

"I'm not!" He answered, in a tone that she recognised as one she used to speak to her mom whenever she was being told she was doing something she couldn't be. "Can I ask you something?" He quickly changed the subject.

"Sure." Moira answered, taking a sip from the glass of fresh orange juice.

"What does Dr. Patel look like?"

She quirked an eyebrow, clearly confused. "Quite small, black hair that's always up in a bun, slender, with a charming smile, and uhh.. she's a beautiful woman in general really, very intelligent as well, and I think she has Indian blood but I'm not sure." She said. "Why?"

Not answering her question, he continued: "Is her first name Aanya?"

She finished her glass with a large gulp and abruptly slammed it back on the table, "Yeah! How did you know?"

"We have the same doctor."

"Seriously?" Her eyes widened. "That's kinda weird. I didn't know she was a regular doctor as well."

"I've been meaning to ask you but I kept forgetting." He explained. "What do you mean, regular doctor?"

"Don't mind me, I'm talking crap," she hurried out, realizing her mistake and quickly trying to cover it up. "Don't you feel uncomfortable with a female doctor touching your junk."

Harry threw his head back and let out a hard, genuine laugh. "Not really, she's very professional."

"If you say so," Moira shrugged. "And wow, I suppose miracles still exist."

*********

The very next day, Harry was rudely interrupted from his inner-monologues and whatnot by Moira, storming into his penthouse, blazing with fury.

"God damn it, Harraël!"

He shot up from where he'd previously been peacefully consuming his breakfast -a banana- and carefully approached her, holding his hands up in surrender. His face turning entirely solemn and serious when he saw the look in her eyes.

"I don't know what's going on but you have to calm down, stress isn't good for you." He instructed her gently. And even though Moira felt as if she could wring his neck at any given moment, his concern for her and the baby never failed to make the butterflies flutter in her tummy.

Walking over to his couch, she let herself drop on the seat. "Don't tell me to calm down, I am so angry with you right now!" She murmured, folding her arms and glaring at him to prove just how angry she was.

"What did I do?" He sat down next to her.

"It's your birthday and you didn't even tell me."

Letting out a husky chuckle and wasting no time in reaching for her, he tucked Moira against him, his rough fingers wiping away the tears she hadn't even noticed shedding.

"Please don't cry, baby," Harry murmured, his voice a little rough, "it's not a big deal."

He pulled her tightly into his chest, nearly crushing her with the ferocity of his grip, though still evidently cautious of the bump between them. She buried her face in his chest as he held her. He rocked back into the couch, and she moved with him, her entire body leaning into him. The arms that were holding her strong and powerful.

"You only turn 32 once," She uttered weakly. The tears were falling again, and she didn't bother to try and stop them. Moira and Harry been joined at the hip as of lately, spending every waking minute together and telling each other everything -or nearly everything. Something had switched between them that day at the doctor's office, and even though they hadn't talked about nor had a repeat of the kiss; they were closer than ever. Naturally, it was expected that something as simple as his upcoming birthday wasn't hard to mention. But as it turned out, it was. And Moira felt upset that he didn't find it important enough to tell.

"It's just like any other day," Harry told her. "don't worry about it."

It shocked her. How could one not pay mind to their own birthday? Everyone's brought into this world for a reason, and that's celebrate-worthy; year in, year out.

"It's fine," he added in a low whisper, "the guys, my mum, Lizzy, they all know I'm not a huge fan of my birthday and they accepted it a long time ago. Still refusing to refrain from buying me gifts but that's usually done through mail, without the whole hassle. I'm thankful for the way things are."

She finally managed to wrap her arms around Harry, and he hoisted her fully into his lap now that both of them were embracing one another. It wasn't a sexual-gesture; just a little more comfortable. She found herself fitting perfectly up against him, almost like they were puzzle pieces.

"I don't care," She croaked firmly, her voice muffled from the way she'd buried her face in Harraël's shirt. "I'm cooking you dinner tonight and that's final."

"What the princess wishes, the princess gets." He surrendered with a sigh, once again wiping her tears and letting his hand rest on her cheek

The strange thing was that now that Harry was holding her, she no longer felt angry. Not even his lousy explanation could ruin how relaxed she felt, at peace in his arms, like coming home after a long, tiresome day at work.

"I'm buying you a present too."

"You don't have to."

"I want to."

They stayed like this for a couple of minutes. She was listening to the unsteady sound of his heart beating, and he was simply holding her up against him.

He pulled away at some point and she found herself staring up at his emerald eyes. He closed the distance between them by pulling her closer with the hand that was still on her cheek. With such a gentle, tender kiss, that it instantly warmed up her stomach. She'd never, ever been kissed like that in her entire life, especially by Harry. He kissed her like she was some kind of doll, easy to be broken, and something that should be taken care of. This was so different from the previous kisses, that had been full of passion and desperation. This time, it was like he was trying to tell her something by showing her.

His lips were as plump and kissable as they looked, and she felt a little embarrassed to admit to herself that she had in fact; missed them.

"Harry," Moira's frantic tone cut through their kiss suddenly, and he flinched a little, shaken from the sudden intrusion. It was then that he felt a wet substance, soaking his trousers.

"I think my water just broke."