Chris was a tough man. He's walked off a bullet wound before. If he got sick, 9/10 times, he's going to work anyways. Even if he was puking and had a large mission coming up, he refused to miss it. He saw work as something very important.

But ever so often, even he'd be dropped. Everytime he was, his lovely wife was there to catch him and care for him.

Like this morning. You normally slept in, so you were confused on why you were waking up at sunrise. Then you heard Chris next to you, in bed, groaning. You look to him, and see his hand on his stomach, face dropped into his palm as he groaned and writhed a bit.