Safe With You

Morning Routine

~Alyssa~

Six weeks.

Six whole weeks since everything finally settled — or at least as settled as my chaotic life ever gets.

Six weeks of school runs and breakfast chatter, of Greyson’s half-burnt toast and Poppy and Quinn arguing over which cartoon to watch before school.

Six weeks of peace.

And now, here we are — another Friday morning, another whirlwind start to the day.

I pad barefoot into the kitchen, rubbing my eyes and smiling at the sight before me.

Greyson’s at the stove in joggers and one of my oversized hoodies, flipping pancakes like he’s hosting a cooking show. The girls are at the table in matching pyjamas, singing some ridiculous made-up song about syrup.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” he says when he notices me, voice warm and teasing. “We were about to send a search party.”

“You’d miss me if I left you alone with them,” I reply, leaning against the counter.

“True,” he admits, handing me a mug of tea. “How’s my girl this morning?”

“Tired,” I say honestly, taking a sip. “Didn’t sleep much. Bit of a headache.”

He gives me that look — the one halfway between concern and amusement. “You’ve been running yourself ragged again.”

“I’m fine, Grey,” I insist, waving him off. “Just need caffeine.”

The girls chime in together, “Mummy’s grumpy before tea!” and collapse into giggles.

“See?” Greyson says, smirking. “Even they know.”

I roll my eyes and sip my tea, but halfway through the cup, something twists in my stomach — sharp and sudden.

It’s like being punched from the inside.

The room tilts slightly, and I grab the counter to steady myself.

“Alyssa?” Greyson’s voice cuts through the noise, instantly serious. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” I manage weakly, forcing a smile. “Just… dizzy.”

But the second I move, it hits again — a rolling nausea that has me bolting from the kitchen.

~Greyson~

One moment she’s teasing me about pancakes, the next she’s gone pale as chalk and sprinting for the bathroom.

“Alyssa?”

The girls go silent, forks mid-air.

“Stay there,” I tell them quickly, already moving.

By the time I reach the bathroom, the sound of retching hits me like a punch to the chest. I push the door open just enough to see her kneeling over the toilet, one hand clutching the basin, the other pressed to her stomach.

“Alyssa…” I kneel beside her, gathering her hair away from her face. She’s drenched in sweat, skin clammy, trembling like she’s freezing even though the room is warm.

She tries to speak but can’t. Instead, she gasps — a choked breath that makes my heart twist.

“It’s okay,” I murmur, rubbing small circles on her back. “Breathe, love. Just breathe.”

When it finally eases, she slumps against the wall, eyes half-closed, still shaking.

“Jesus, Alyssa. You’re burning up,” I say, pressing my hand to her forehead.

She laughs weakly, but it comes out cracked. “Déjà vu. You and hospitals seem to go hand in hand.”

“Not funny,” I say softly.

“Wasn’t meant to be.”

Her lips are pale, her pulse fluttering under her skin. Whatever this is, it’s not a simple stomach bug.

I grab a flannel, run it under cool water, and press it gently to her forehead. “Stay with me, okay?”

She nods, barely. “Grey… I feel awful.”

“I know, sweetheart. We’ll figure it out.”

~Alyssa~

Everything feels wrong.

My head’s pounding, the light hurts my eyes, and my whole body shakes like I’ve run a marathon.

Greyson’s voice is low beside me, calm but tight — the kind of tone he only uses when he’s worried.

I hate that tone.

“I’m fine,” I whisper again, because maybe if I say it enough, it’ll be true.

But even as I try to stand, my legs give way.

Greyson catches me instantly, holding me against his chest.

“Right,” he mutters. “That’s it. You’re not fine.”

“Don’t fuss,” I mumble, embarrassed and dizzy.

“Too late for that.”

He carries me to the sofa, still trembling under his steady grip. I can feel the damp from my sweat through my pyjama top, and it makes me shiver harder.

He grabs a blanket, wraps it around me, and kneels in front of me, his hand cupping my cheek. “You’re freezing. But you’re burning up. That’s not good.”

I try to smile but can’t quite manage it. “You’re very bossy when you’re worried.”

“And you’re very stubborn when you’re sick.”

“Perfect match, then.”

He doesn’t laugh. His eyes are all worry now — the same look he had when I collapsed before.

“Grey,” I whisper. “Please don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m about to fall apart.”

He brushes his thumb across my cheek. “Because I think you are.”

The room spins again, and before I can answer, another wave of nausea hits. I barely make it to the bathroom this time before I’m sick again.

~Greyson~

By the time I get her settled back on the sofa, she’s shaking so hard I can see the tremors in her fingers.

The girls hover at the edge of the living room, worried eyes peeking over the back of the sofa.

“Is Mummy okay?” Quinn asks in a small voice.

“She’s just a bit poorly, darling,” I say, forcing calm into my voice. “Why don’t you two go get dressed for school, yeah? Uncle Tray’s coming to take you.”

Poppy nods, but her little brow furrows. “Can I give her a hug first?”

Alyssa hears her and opens her arm weakly. “Come here, baby.”

Poppy pads over and climbs onto the sofa, resting her head against Alyssa’s shoulder. Quinn joins her a second later, wrapping her tiny hand around her mum’s.

Alyssa whispers something I can’t quite catch, but both girls nod solemnly, kiss her cheek, and disappear upstairs.

The second they’re gone, she slumps against the cushions again, utterly spent.

I crouch beside her, brushing damp hair from her face. “You’re scaring me, love.”

“Didn’t mean to,” she whispers, eyes half-closed.

“I know. Just stay still, yeah? I’ll call Markus.”

~Alyssa~

Markus. Of course. The logical choice.

I want to argue, but my body won’t let me. Everything aches — even breathing feels like effort.

Through the fog, I hear Greyson’s low voice on the phone, quick and clipped.

“…yes, she’s feverish again — high temp, shaking, dizzy, vomiting. No, she hasn’t eaten anything unusual. No, she’s not pregnant, Markus, for God’s sake—”

I manage a weak laugh at that, which turns into a cough.

When he hangs up, he kneels beside me again. “He’s coming. He said not to move you.”

“Wonderful,” I mumble. “I love being told what to do in my own house.”

Greyson leans closer, pressing a kiss to my temple. “You’ll live to boss me around another day.”

“I hope so.”

He goes quiet at that, just staring at me with that soft, aching expression — the one that makes me feel seen and safe all at once.

“Don’t you dare cry,” I whisper. “If anyone gets to be dramatic, it’s me.”

He lets out a shaky laugh, but there’s no hiding the fear in his eyes.

~Greyson~

Markus arrives less than twenty minutes later, still in scrubs, medical bag slung over his shoulder.

He takes one look at Alyssa and swears softly under his breath. “Bloody hell, she looks rough.”

“Markus,” I warn.

He holds up his hands. “Alright, alright. Let me check her over.”

He moves efficiently — thermometer, blood pressure, light across her eyes — all while asking questions she can barely answer.

When he’s done, he exhales, running a hand through his hair. “High fever, low blood pressure. You’re dehydrated again, Alyssa.”

“Brilliant,” she mutters weakly. “I do love a repeat performance.”

He gives her a small smile. “You’ve got that same stubborn streak, I see.”

Greyson frowns. “How bad is it?”

“Bad enough that she needs fluids again,” Markus says, pulling out a syringe kit. “We can do it here if she prefers.”

Alyssa groans. “Please. I can’t do hospitals today.”

“Alright.” Markus nods. “Grey, grab a pillow and help me get her arm sorted.”

We work in silence for a few minutes until the IV’s in place and the colour starts to slowly return to her cheeks.

Markus packs up, giving me a meaningful look. “You know she’s been running herself into the ground again, right? Long hours, barely eating, no rest.”

I nod grimly. “I’ll handle it.”

He claps a hand on my shoulder. “You’re doing a good job, Grey. She trusts you. Just… keep her still this time.”

~Alyssa~

When Markus leaves, the house feels quiet again — too quiet.

Greyson sits beside me, his arm stretched along the back of the sofa, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from him.

“Markus says you’re exhausted,” he says softly.

“Markus says too much,” I reply, eyes closed.

“Maybe, but he’s right.”

“Don’t start.”

“I’m not. I’m just saying, you don’t have to do everything alone anymore.”

That makes me open my eyes. He’s watching me — calm, patient, unflinching.

“I know,” I whisper. “It’s just… hard to stop.”

He leans in, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Then I’ll help you stop.”

My throat tightens. “You already do.”

He smiles faintly. “Try and sleep, yeah? I’ll stay here.”

And he does.

Even as my body finally gives in and sleep drags me under, I feel his hand on mine — steady, grounding, there.

Always there.