There were days where Abby didn't want to play with her lizards, as hard to believe as it was, and nights where poetry was so far out of her mind that she didn't even attempt to pick up a pen. Reading was rather hard as she was never able to fully engross herself into the story and sometimes the telly had nothing but rubbish on. Beauty and The Beast needed a break and all her other DVDs and VHS's seemed dull and unappealing.

Those were the days that she broke out the paint.

She didn't use a brush and she didn't paint amazing scenes that belonged in a museum. She was more into finger painting, which often turned into a big mess of colours and shapes. She was taught as a child, it was supposed to help her cope with her anger. It was something she had control over. When she was eleven the idea of it made no sense and she wouldn't listen to the counselors anyway; she didn't like them...now that she was twenty eight, she was more than happy to accept it as a tool to calm down. When yoga and kickboxing were far too much work, she always had a back-up.

Connor didn't know about this habit. She didn't show off her paintings, she preferred to hide them in her desk drawer of her bedroom and when he was home; she did yoga [much to his pleasure]. To her, it was a childish habit and one that was best when she was alone. There was a niggling feeling inside of her that said he just might laugh in her face.

Today was one of those days when Connor went off to Duncan's, the anomalies had been quiet, and the lizards had been taken care of. Rex was curled up on the couch and she sat at the kitchen table that was rarely used, blue paint staining her fingers on her right hand as she painted a sky and green paint staining her left hand as she painted the grass. It wasn't an intricate, beautiful scene, but it didn't have to be. It was hers. Music was playing in the background, soft rock with a bit of indie.

It was just a perfect night alone and if Connor was to be trusted, he wouldn't be home for another couple of hours.

"What do you mean you're sick, mate?" Connor groaned after knocking on Duncan's door. In a place like this, it wasn't hard to believe, but the man didn't want to be rude. Not everyone had money for a decent flat.
"I mean, I'm sick! I threw up three times and my plumbing is backed up." His friend replied, a small cough escaping his mouth.
So that explained the foul scent. Hopefully. "I've seen you sick tons of times…"
"Con, if you really want to stay, you're welcomed to. I just don't want to pass this onto you. I mean, you've got a girlfriend and a rather important job that I assume doesn't allow for much off time."
"Yeah," He sighed, leaning against the door frame. Connor had really been hoping to catch up, to play a video game and pretend it was like old times. [It never would be. It was too empty without Tom, but sometimes it felt alright...] "Next time, then? I miss hangin' out with you, dude."
"Promise." Duncan nodded, a small smile written on his face. He extended his hand to at least do the silly handshake they'd made up when they were teenagers.

After turning around and leaving, Connor vowed to get a small place for Duncan. Somewhere much nicer, somewhere that didn't reek and had better plumbing. Somewhere to start new. It would only be fair, really. Duncan had given him so much when he was a teenager that he practically owed him a flat. He climbed into the car and with one final wave, headed back home.

Wanting it to be a surprise, he didn't bother to text Abby. As if it truly mattered anyway anymore. The worst she could be doing, he'd probably already seen.

The music had gotten louder and she'd gotten more invested into a painting. This one of a lizard. Sort of, at least. That was the goal. Whether it was good or not didn't matter, but it was always nice when she did something recognizable.
"Rex, stop moving will you? You're my base model!" She teased, a laugh escaping her mouth as Rex proceeded to burrow under the blanket strewn on the couch.

When the door opened, she didn't even hear the familiar creek, nevertheless the familiar footsteps. Feeling someone's arms wrap around her sent her into panic and she did the first thing she thought of as defense was to throw paint in the enemy's face.

"Oi!" Connor yelped, closing his eyes tightly. "You're lucky that didn't get in me eyes! "
Realization flooding Abby and she took a deep breath to calm herself down before smirking. "Sorry. You shouldn't do that, now should you?"
"I thought it would be cute, I was obviously wrong," He mumbled, trying to wipe it off before it became permanent.
"Very wrong." She kissed his lips. "I'm sorry."
"Of course you are," He scoffed. "What if I ended up blind and I could never see my beautiful fiancee again? Then what?"
"You already know what I look like. You've been staring at me for what? Six, seven years now? I'm sure you've got every bit memorized in that brain of yours." She grinned, shaking her head.
"But the real thing is always much prettier than the image!"
"Guess you'd be screwed then, huh?"
"What a nice fiancee you are. Maybe I should get a new one," It was only a joke, they both knew well.
"As if you could. You got lucky once, you think you can get lucky twice?"
"Probably...and maybe I'll even find someone who likes Doctor Who, Star Trek, Star Wars, and Battlestar Galatica instead of someone who either falls asleep or doesn't stop complaining."
"So you're going to marry Duncan?" Abby chuckled before stealing another kiss and Connor just rolled his eyes before succumbing to it. He always did.

"Why are you home early anyway? You weren't supposed to be back for hours." She reminded him.
"Duncan was sick, his plumbing was backed up, it smelled disgusting—-which reminds me, do you think I'd be able to save enough to get him a better place? He helped me get one of my first places, it would seem wrong if I didn't return the favor."
"Maybe. How about after the wedding, though?" She suggested.
"Yeah, yeah, we've got tons of planning and stuff for that still..." Connor nodded. "What were you doing anyway? Painting? I don't see a brush,"
Abby shrugged. "I dunno."
"What? Of course you do," He stood on his tip-toes and looked at the table. Definitely no brush and those looked like finger paints. "Abby Maitland, are you a finger-painter?" A cheeky grin spilled onto his face.
She blushed. "Maybe."
Taking her hands in his, he laughed, seeing the different colours on them. "You are! That's adorable. How come I didn't know?"
"It's a solo activity. I only do it when I'm alone," She grumbled. "It's not adorable."

He shook his head and let go of her hands, walking over to the paints, watching her curious expression. Dipping his hand in the green paint, he went back towards her and smeared some in her face.

"Had to get you back. Rules of the relationship, remember?" The rules of the relationship had started out when they were friends, but he figured they still must apply.
"I detest making those rules." She pushed him lightly, reaching over and grabbing the purple paint, splattering it at him.
"Oh, but I love them!" He shouted, grabbing his ammo [red and blue paint] and ducking behind the counter.

It was definitely going to be a long night and cleaning up the next morning would be hell, but Connor figured it was much more fun than anything else they could be doing and he was sure he wouldn't regret one moment of it.

Well-

"Oi! Not the hair!"