Nikolai.
“Fuck” I curse when the pan slips from my fingers, landing on the tiles with a loud clang. My daughter’s head snaps towards me instantly, fixing me with a look I know all too well.
“You said a bad word”
I sigh, running my fingers through my hair as I bend over to retrieve the now dented frying pan.
When I straighten, her tiny arms are crossed over her chest, her bottom lip jutted out and she’s pinning me with a stern look.
“That’s three swear words today”, she announces, looking every bit excited at my slip-ups.
I always try my best to avoid using ‘bad words’ as my daughter likes to call them around her, but making breakfast at the ass crack of dawn isn’t exactly something I’m built for, and it shows.
“Are you keeping count now printsessa?”
She nods, grinning ear to ear, “Mhm. And you owe the swear jar three dollars.”
Ah yes, how could I possibly have forgotten about the swear jar?
No wonder she looked so excited.
Kat introduced the swear jar shortly after I became Kira’s father. It was a preventive method, she said when she brought up the idea to me, one that ensured that my little girl did not pick up any of my nasty swearing habits. Kat’s words.
The money usually went, either towards Kira’s ever-growing collection of stuffed animals or donated to a charity of her choosing on her birthday.
The swear jar never actually stopped me from cursing, but it did make me more mindful around my daughter-especially since she never misses a chance to remind me to pay up.
Letting out a resigned sigh, I reach into my back pocket, pulling out three crumpled bills. Kira watches me closely, her lips twitching as I slap the money onto the counter.
“There. Happy?”
She studies the cash for a moment, all business-like as if there’s a chance the bills could be fake, before saying, “Good enough for me.” and snatching the cash from the counter. She hops off her stool and I smirk, shaking my head as I watch her disappear from the kitchen. Seconds later, she returns and with my help, climbs back onto her stool.
We’re the only two people awake at the moment. It was supposed to be just me, but Kira has always had a knack for knowing when I need company. So when she came downstairs just minutes after I did, clutching her trusted stuffed giraffe and asked if she could stay with me while I made breakfast, I said yes.
Kat’s been sleeping in lately, because of her pregnancy. She’s always been the designated breakfast maker for the last three years, simply because it’s something she enjoys doing but now the responsibility of breakfast making has shifted to everyone in the house.
Not that I mind. I do not hate the task of preparing my meals. If I’m being honest, I find it rather soothing. It’s something else that’s been weighing on me, causing me to lose focus.
Or rather someone else.
Ava.
The fucking bane of my existence and the one person I can’t stop thinking about is once again ignoring me, only this time I’m not exactly sure what I did to cause it.
Ever since the morning she went with Kat to the hospital, something changed. She’s been on edge lately, and somehow, that edge had washed into our already tense dynamic, making it even more unbearable.
I’ve tried asking her if something was wrong, if there was something I’d done to bring us back to where we began but she either ignores the subject or offers me some generic response about being tired.
She’s avoiding me not in the obvious way that lets me know that she’s keeping her distance but in the subtle ways that drive me crazy.
She still shows up at meals, still makes polite conversation when necessary, but that’s about it. When I come into a room, she finds a way to leave. Last night was the second time this week I felt her beside me and the only time she didn’t come in after I was already asleep.
It’s starting to piss me off. This bridge she’s trying to create between us.
I wanted her to talk to me again like she used to do. I don’t like it as she lets the silence creep into most of our conversation, and I especially don’t like it when I wake up and do not find her.
In Russia, when I made her breakfast, I saw how happy it made her. It was why I was up at the ass crack of dawn trying to make her something to eat.
I wanted to see that look again. I’d missed it.
If I did something to piss her off, I wanted to know. I’d much rather have her throw something at me, yell at me or even curse me out-anything would be better than this cold, polite indifference she has thrown my way because I have no idea what to do with it.
“Papa, the pancakes are burning.”
Kira’s voice jolts me out of my thoughts and I look down to see the bubbles on the top of the pancake already fully formed.
Fuck.
I curse under my breath, flipping the pancake over. It’s a little darker than I’d like, but still edible.
“That’s four bad words now,” Kira sing-songs, swinging her legs.
I toss her a dry look over my shoulder. “That one shouldn’t count.”
“Yes, it does.” she insists in a sing-song voice.
I shake my head, flipping another pancake onto her plate.
The pancakes take roughly twenty minutes to be ready and when I’m finished, I stack them neatly on a plate, topping them with syrup and a few berries.
I step back to admire my work, taking in the golden brown state of the stack and the liquid syrup dripping from each side.
Perfect.
“Are you taking Ava’s breakfast up to her?” Kira asks between bites.
“Da,” I reply, balancing the tray in my hand. “Stay here and finish your food, okay?” I tell Kira, ruffling her hair with my free hand.
She nods, too focused on her meal to argue, and I take that as my cue to leave.
Ava is still in bed when I get upstairs. Her back is turned to me and her brown curls cover the satin pillows, her breathing slow and steady.
For a moment I just stand there, watching her sleep like a fucking creep. She looks so peaceful, so relaxed when she’s asleep; it’s completely different from the tense look she’s had all week.
I set the tray on the nightstand, clearing my throat. “Ava.”
She shifts slightly but doesn’t turn around.
I sit on the edge of the bed “Malysh, I made you breakfast.”
Still nothing.
She’s not usually a heavy sleeper.
I lean over her, examining her closed eyes and drenched forehead.
My brows pull together. She’s sweating. It’s fucking thirty-two degrees outside; she shouldn’t be sweating.
“Ava?” Her name comes out sharper and I’m now partially draped over her, gripping her shoulder.
Her lashes twitch but don’t open, and a weak sound escapes her lips.
Something isn’t right.
I press the back of my hand to her forehead, and fuck; she’s burning up.
“Fuck,” I mutter, pushing back the damp curls from her face. How long has she been like this?
“Ava baby I’m going to need you to open your eyes for me”
Another sound leaves her, and slowly, ever so fucking slowly, her eyes open, her gaze focus.
“Nikolai?”
The sound of my name on her lips is a broken whisper.
I try to smile, “Yes, Malyshka, it’s me.”
She shifts again, mumbling something under her breath, but it’s too low for me to make out.
“How long have you been like this?”
She groans, “All night”
My fingers twitch. All night? Why didn’t she tell me? I was right beside her. My jaw clenches as I take in her fever-flushed face, her slightly parted lips, and the way her body trembles. My wife has always been beautiful, but right now, she looks nothing short of breakable.
Worry gnaws at my chest like a rabid animal, and I hate the idea that something could’ve happened to her while I was right beside her, and I wouldn’t have known.
I shake the thought away. Now isn’t the time. Right now, I needed to make sure that she was going to be okay.
“Can you move?”
She shakes her head.
“I’m going to call a doctor.”
“No,” she croaks immediately, hands snapping up to stop me, “No doctor”. Her eyes flutter closed again like she’s too weak to keep them open, and her body curls slightly as if even holding herself together is a struggle, and the sight makes something ugly twist in my chest.
Fuck that.
I grab my phone from my pocket, but before I can dial the doctor’s number, a weak hand circles my wrist, gripping me softly.
“Don’t.” Ava begs miserably, “It’s just a fever. I’ll be fine… eventually”
I exhale sharply, dragging my free hand down my face. She needs a doctor. Why won’t she let me help her?
“Ava…”
Seeing her like this feels terrible, not being able to help her is even worse.
“Tell me what I can do to help you.” She moans groggily and I slump down beside her. I’m going to need to get her fever down somehow.
“Stay here,” I mutter, brushing away the damp curls from her forehead before standing.
She lets out a weak laugh, barely a huff of air. “It’s not like I can go anywhere.”
Ignoring her comment, I move into the bathroom and flip on the tap.
When I was younger and fell sick my mother would run a lukewarm bath for me and make sure I soaked in it for at least twenty minutes or until my fever calmed down.
Since Ava didn’t want to go to a doctor, my mother’s treatment would have to do.
When I return to the bedroom, I go to her side by the bed and crouch drown beside her, brushing my fingers over her cheek.
“Ava, sweetheart,” I murmur.
She lets out a soft groan, but her lashes barely flutter. I help her sit up, my hands on her shoulder squeezing her reassuringly.
“You are going to have to stand up for me, Solnyshko” She’s still so damn hot and when I lift her into my arms, I inwardly cringe at how warm she feels.
She doesn’t protest, barely even reacts beyond a small groan and only curls herself weakly into my chest. I carry her to the bathroom, setting her on the edge of the tub. Her head lolls slightly, and I have to steady her with one hand before crouching in front of her again.
“You’re burning up, Solnyshko. Let’s cool you down.”
She snorts, “I thought you liked it when I’m hot” she says weakly, and the corner of my mouth twitches in response.
Glad to see that the fever hasn’t messed with her sense of humour.
She doesn’t stop me when I reach for the hem of her shirt, doesn’t resist when I tug the fabric over her head either, leaving her in nothing but her bra and shorts. I move my fingers behind her, unclasping the hook of her bra with one flick of my wrist. Her lips part in a gasp, but I keep my gaze fixed on her face, not bothering to go beyond her collarbone.
Her shorts come off next, and this time, she manages to lift her hips when I ask, helping me get them off. Once she’s completely bare, I help her sink into the tub.
She gasps once her body breaks the surface of the water, her hands weakly gripping my forearms.
“Too cold?” I ask, watching her closely.
She nods her head sluggishly. “It hurts.”
“Shhh, I know baby, I know, but you need this.” I stroke her upper back once before reaching for a washcloth and soaking it in the bath. I run the damp cloth over her fevered skin, shoulders and then lower.
She groans softly at the contact but her body relaxes into the water. Her eyes struggle to stay open, but eventually, she slumps against me, and I have to dap the washcloth over her body from a different angle.
When I’m satisfied with how long she’s been in the shower, I carry her out and set her down on the counter beside the sink and then go to fetch a towel.
She’s shivering when I return. I use the towel to wring her dry and she leans into me while I dry her hair, squeezing the excess water from her curls.
I press my lips to her forehead and she lets out a soft sigh. Her skin feels cooler against my skin and I make a mental note to be sure the effect sticks once she’s out of the shower for a while.
“I’m going to get you sick.” she croaks when I pull away. She lifts her gaze to mine and my heart skips in my chest. “I don’t want you to fall sick.”
“I’m not going to”, I reply, wrapping the towel around her body.
“You should go. Leave me while you still can.”
“You’re being dramatic, Solnyshko, I’m not going to leave you. For better or worse remember?”
She smiles. It’s the first one I’ve received from her all week and I want it to last forever.
I help her get dressed before lifting her into my arms again and carrying her to the bedroom. Laying her down on the bed, I pull the comforter over her body, ensuring that she’s warm and comfortable before straightening.
“You have to eat something if you want to get your strength back,” I tell her.
She refuses at first but eventually, she manages to eat two of the pancakes I bought upstairs and when she finishes I feed her the medicine I’d gotten for her while she was eating.
She takes the pills without a hitch, falling back into bed and curling the comforter around her tiny frame.
I’m about to leave when I feel her fingers come around my wrist, tugging me back weakly.
I arch a brow and she looks at me with those eyes that makes it difficult for me to say no.
“Stay with me.”
It’s a simple request, one I could easily say no to but I don’t. Instead, I pull back the comforter and
fall into bed with my wife.