Don't answer me
…
On their wedding night he kisses her all over – almost reverently – as his silent tears drop on her skin.
She doesn't ask him why he's crying. Whether he's thinking about his late wife, or simply about the two of them – she doesn't really want to know.
He's here, in her arms. Her last coherent thought before pleasure takes over is that he's finally hers at last.
…
They've come home from a long day at work, and he's brewing himself a belated cup of tea.
She's been wanting to ask him that question for the whole week – since their latest case, as a matter of fact – and now she just does.
As a blunt "What's your view about having kids?" leaves her mouth she's half afraid he's going to drop his teacup and run away.
So when he simply takes her into his arms and pulls her towards their bedroom she guesses she's going to take this as a yes.
…
He hasn't uttered a single word since the doctor informed them that they're expecting a baby girl.
All of a sudden he grabs his car keys and goes out.
When's he's back several hours later, she supposes he's been visiting Angela and Charlotte.
She just doesn't ask.
…
When they're back from the hospital he stoops over Joy's crib and carefully traces his fingertips all over her little body.
Tiny fingers wrap around his thumb and then he's crying like a baby.
Much later as she's already half asleep on the sofa he snuggles up against her and whispers unintelligible sweet nothings in her ear.
This time she doesn't even need to ask.