Tess offered him her hand, swinging up from the couch in a move of authority. She wore a gentle smile on her face and her blond hair fell from behind her ears, and Harrison could not take his eyes from the sight. In the dim light of the living room, she radiated.
"You're dancing," she commanded swiftly, sliding his glasses off his face and placing them, with a click, on the side table.
It was as if his muscles could not disobey. The tension left his arms in a single breath – a sigh of giving in – and he felt her hand in his pulling him off the cushions of the couch. He could recall vividly the last time they danced, over a decade ago, at their wedding. Since then, his skills had gotten rusty with the lack of use. But Tess, she was a natural at everything, and dancing was no exception. She patiently showed him where to place his hands, how to move his feet, and where the strong beat was to be followed. All without frustration. It was lucky Harrison was a quick learner, as the song only began its third chorus by the time he grasped the basics.
Tess shifted her hands to form a circle around his neck and started to sway, no longer tethered by giving instructions.
"You really forgot everything, didn't you," she commented, her voice lower in volume now that there was less distant to cover.
"There hasn't been much time for… dancing," came the answer. With the plans for their dream lab coming to a close and all the construction and funding needed in the years beforehand, the work had far outweighed anything else. Activities such dancing fell to the backseat. The future of S.T.A.R. was always on his mind, to some degree or other, and ensuring that advancements progressed the name of science took a top priority.
"We really should change that," she decided, and Harrison could only hum in response before she continued. "The labs are nearly finished, the work is dying down. I don't think the occasional night is too much to ask for."
In the time he might have answered, the music switched from Elvis to Frank Sinatra, and Harry frowned at the odd progression, lifting a head in attempt to see the player and spell out the name of the record sleeve on top.
"Which one is this?" he finally asked, bringing his gaze back down once he realised his glasses were still on the side table.
Tess momentarily lapsed into pensive quiet. "The one you gave me five years ago, that very Christmas, I believe."
"All your favourite songs," Harry finally remembered, eyes up at the ceiling as he pictured the record sleeve in her hands and the excitement shining in her eyes as she asked about songs like 'Blue Christmas' and 'New York, New York' whether they made it to the cut. He let a smile come to pass at the memory. "I remember."
"It's still one of my favourite gifts."
Harry raised an eyebrow, only pretending to challenge the statement. Secretly, making it had been one of his greatest accomplishments, up there among the nearly-finished research laboratories and their amazing daughter, Jesse.
She leaned in for a quick kiss, her reply of 'yes' hidden in the action. He could have stood there all evening and all throughout the night, all the way until the next day's sunbeams broke over the horizon. He could have stood there from here to eternity. But how unfortunate is was that time pushed relentlessly onward and soon the record's spinning would slow and stop, and the needle would push itself back to its resting position off to the side. In anticipation, Harry allowed a disappointed-tinged breath to escape; if he could prolong the moment, soak it in until the very end...
The record shows,
He put his forehead against hers.
I took the blows,
Their breath mingled in a shared place between them.
And did it my way.