'You alright, love?' He questions, as the woman groans in response, muttering she's okay. He would beg to differ, she looked terrible and he knew that she wasn't feeling well. Except he didn't want to fuss too much over her, that was one of her pet hates. A weakness, if you will. 'You sure?' She nods, placing a pillow over her head.

'Mmm, tired.'

'You look tired. Maybe you should have the day off?'

'Charming.' She yawns, moving so she's resting on her forearms. 'I have orders to get out, meeting to attend.'

'That's what you have Sarah for, anyway it's not even your factory.'

'I'm looking after it, I have to go in. People will talk.'

'Let them talk, you look awful.'

'Piss off.' She mutters, wincing a little as a sharp pain takes her breath away. 'It's period pain, I can't miss work for that.'

'Carla, you're going to be more of a hindrance to them if you're there.' He tries, he knows he's, slowly, winning her around. It's obvious she's in pain and that she needs help. She'd been fidgety all night, he'd thought about asking her what was wrong, but at 2AM he didn't really fancy his head being bitten off, he didn't need that today.

'I need work.' He knows that she needs a reason to stay in bed, she doesn't want to go, but she needs to be persuaded, some phycological thing, a need of being wanted. Or something along those lines. 'I meant I need to get up for work.' She rephrases, yet another sign as to why she shouldn't be going in.

'No, you need to stay here. I know you didn't sleep, your probably coming down with something. Could it be your kidney?' He suddenly frets, as she profusely shakes her head.

'Not the same sort of pain. I think you're right, it's just a cold.'

'You don't want to go in and spread it to the workforce.' He points out, 'that's the worst thing you could do. Look, you stay here, phone Nick, I'll get you something to eat.'

'But it's a Sunday, they aren't going to be happy if I don't turn up.' She tells him, shaking her head. 'They're all coming in and if I don't, it looks bad. They'll think I'm hungover.'

'No, you're genuinely ill. You haven't drunk in ages.' He responds, taking in the face in front of her, matted hair, a glistening forehead and dark bags under her eyes, not that he'd tell her.

'What?'

'I'm just admiring your beautiful.'

'Shut up' she murmurs, 'I'm not, at the moment. I'm tired and not feeling well.' He knew better than to argue with her, but he thought it was moments like this, that highlighted just how beautiful she is. She doesn't need the makeup or the fancy clothes. In the moments when it's just them, she's the most stunning thing in the world.

'You are, now you need the day off.' He tells her, 'I'm going to make brekkie, you stay here.'

'You know, Mr Barlow, you're too good to me.' She smiles, grabbing her phone from the side of her bed, 'bring my charger in.' She shouts, as he disappears.

'Your wish is my command.'

'Cheeky bugger' she laughs, as picks up the phone, going down to Nicks number.

-CS-

'Have you told him?' He comes in, a plate of toast and a mug of coffee sitting on a tray, alongside his breakfast. 'How'd he take it?'

'Well, he wasn't happy. You're right though, I don't want to give this to the workforce.' He watches as she picks around the toast, not quite being able to eat it.

'I feel sick' she says, without him even needing to ask the question, 'I know what you're going to say, but it's just a cold. Get me some of that Lemsip stuff.'

'Do we have any in?'

'In the cabinet.'

'How do you know that?'

'I cleaned it out.' She confesses, 'all the mess, it was bothering me.'

'When have you ever done that' he teases, watching as she pulls the duvet up. 'And the wardrobe.'

'That was a mess and my clothes were being tangled up. We really need to keep it tidy, Mr. We're getting old, I can't keep doing this.'

'Speak for yourself, I'm a young spring chicken, me.'

'Catch yourself on.'

'You've been watching too much Derry Girls.' His laugh echoes throughout the flat as she leans back, taking a sip of the coffee. 'You can watch that today.'

'To be honest, I think I'm going to sleep. That's the best thing, I think.'

'Well I've got a shift, if I don't turn up, they'll think were skivers.' He reminds her, before she can jump down his throat. 'You know it's true.' She doesn't need the likes of Beth making digs at her, because she does feel awful. 'I'm just jumping in the shower, you okay here?'

She's thankful that he missed the face she'd just made, a wince, which would alert him to the fact she's in pain. Everything is sore, she's tired. She's already spent a large chunk of the year at home, she wants to work, but she's not up to it. She wonders if it is her kidney, it doesn't feel like it, but her kidney is dodgy, and she can never be too careful. Maybe she's got one of those infections, if it's still there in a few days, she'll go to the medical centre, she doesn't want to be ill for Christmas.

That reminds her that she needs to-do some Christmas shopping, she's got most of it done, but she's still got to get Bertie a present. Or a present that won't drive Daniel to distraction, clothes maybe. She could ask him, or Ken, what size he is and find something. Online, of course. She doesn't want to risk getting Covid. Although, she wonders if maybe this was it.

She's online shopping when Peter gets out of the shower, jumping as he clears his throat. 'What are you doing?'

'Shopping.'

'Do you really need another pair of shoes.'

'For your information, a girl can never have too many pairs of shoes, but I'm not.'

'What?'

'I'm shopping for Christmas presents.'

'Oh. Who?'

'Bertie.'

'Haven't we got him something already.'

'Daniel is going to kill us, if we give him that.' He just rolls his eyes, 'I've still got to get yours too.'

'I've got you yours.'

'As if.'

'I have.' He protests, 'I'm all organised, me.'

'No, you aren't, what have you got me, then?'

'That would be telling.' He taps the side of his nose, getting a gentle punch in the side of his arm, before watching her curl up into a ball, the pain evident in her face. 'You okay? I can take you to the hospital.'

'No, I'm fine. I'm just tired. Please, go.'

'You aren't'.'

'Peter, leave it. Go to work, I'll see you tonight.'

'Oi.'

'I'm serious.' She whispers, watching him get changed. She wonders how she got here, in Peter Barlow's bed. Again. Except it was her bed too, in their flat. The one that they chose together, there was only so much of Jenny and Ken they could take, so they took the next natural step, getting their own place.

'Alright, alright. Call me if you need anything, love you.'

'Love you too.' She tells him, as he leaves in a hurry, cutting it a bit fine.

-CS-

The ringing of her phone alerts herself to the fact she'd, finally, fallen asleep. She goes to silence it, doubling over in pain, whimpering slightly, before she picks it up, not realising it was a facetime and not a video call.

'You look terrible.'

'What?' She groans, letting her eyes adjust to the light, seeing her best friend on the phone. 'What's happened?'

'Nothing, Peter told me you weren't feeling well.'

'So, you're checking up on me?'

'No, I'm seeing if you're okay. You're my best friend, even from Ireland, I worry about you.'

'Well you needn't. I'm just tired.' She promises, a sharp hiss leaving her lips, not being able to stop it.

'No, Carla, no you're not.'

'Alright, alright.' She whispers, 'it's silly and I didn't want to tell Peter.'

'Tell Peter what exactly?'

'It's the menopause.'

'The menopause?' She asks, raising an eyebrow. 'That the best you could come up with?'

'Chelle, it's the truth. I'm not feeling great. You woke me up.'

'You never sleep in the day.'

'I'm sick.'

'Are you sure it's not your kidney, you should call 111.'

'Chelle' she snaps, 'leave it, it's the fucking menopause.'

'Alright, you moody cow.'

'Just go away.' She tries, hoping that pooling in her eyes doesn't materialise into tears. 'Please.'

'Okay, but call me when you're feeling better, okay? Promise me.'

'I promise, Chelle. I'm sorry I'm just not feeling my best.'

'Yeah, I can tell. Love you.'

'Love you too.' She whispers, before ending the call, a wave of dizziness coming over her as her head hits the pillow. She tries to soothe the feeling in her stomach by rubbing her hand over it but has no luck. It's there pressing at her, stabbing her. She wills it to go away, as if it were that easy.

-CS-

'What are you doing back?' She calls from the sofa, where she'd made her bed. 'It's lunch.'

'I thought I'd see how you were, Chelle told me you snapped at her.'

'She had no right. I'm just feeling lousy.'

'I know, I wanted to see if you wanted anything, whilst I'm on my break. A hot water bottle, maybe? It's cold in here.'

'Is it?' She asks, oblivious to the fact it was cold. 'Put the heating on then.'

'Aren't you cold?'

'I think its this illness' she justifies, 'be careful or you'll catch it too. Don't want us to be ill for Christmas.'

'We have nineteen days, I'm sure we'll be fine.'

'Can you believe that?' She muses, her face contorting with pain, 'this year has dragged by.'

'It's awful. It's been a horrific year.'

'So unexpected.'

'You can never tell what right around the corner.'

'That is very true' she sighs, trying to get up off the sofa.

'What are you doing that for?' She looks at him with a puzzled look on her face, 'you should be resting.'

'A girls got to pee. Am I allowed to-do that?'

'I'll make you a butty. Did you eat your breakfast?' She looks guilty, her eyes not meeting his. 'Okay, you have to eat this.'

'I know.' She groans, 'its not for want of trying, I just feel sick. I don't know.' She doesn't want to admit to him that he's probably right and she should go and get checked out, she just knows whatever it is, it's going to be an overreaction.

She's worried something is wrong, they'll tell her something she doesn't want to hear. Maybe that's what is stopping her from accepting the help that is so readily available to her. She knows something is wrong, she can't attribute it all down to the menopause. This sort of pain, it's not normal. She's googled it, scared herself. Convincing herself it's the menopause and a cold is easier than facing up to the fact that there is something wrong. And she's scared she knows what it is, google had given her so many answers.

She stares in the mirror, willing for a sign as to what is wrong, something to tell her what is wrong. Maybe it is just the menopause, or she's caught a nasty bug. Maybe both? This has all come on in the last few days, it was probably someone at work, Beth or someone. Maybe Sarah caught something from Harry but because her weak immune system, she's come down with a cold. Or maybe something she picked up from Bertie.

Moments into wanting a sign, she gets one. As if someone is looking down at her, hearing her fears. Someone's idea of a joke, perhaps. Except, it wasn't what she was expecting. She hadn't expected a sign, she thought she'd have a feeling that something was wrong. This was more of a physical sign, if you can call it that. One of the things on google she'd discounted. One that she wasn't expecting, striking fear into her heart, but it made the pain and everything else link up, as she falls back into the sink, letting out a cry, but not from the pain of her back hitting the sink. As it dawns on her, she lets out another wail. This time it was more primal, a noise even she didn't recognise. It alerts Peter to the fact something was wrong, appearing at the door moments later, confused.

'What happened? Here let me help you up?' She shakes her head, in a blind panic.

'Peter, I think I'm having a baby.'

A/N thoughts/