She showers upstairs as you, elbows deep in washing up, try not to imagine too strongly how she looks, naked under a steam of hot water. You sent her to clean herself up deliberately; the accumulated dirt of running around during your murder spree plus three days of lying unconscious in bed can make even the most distraught woman remember everyday needs. Besides, she will be yours in mere minutes, even if she doesn't know it yet, and you want to do this properly.

After stacking dishes and cutlery, you examine yourself in the mirror. Clean. Attractive. Smile and you look almost normal. But you don't have to pretend that anymore. You've showered too, having carried her defeated body away from the beach and locked her in that second bedroom again to handle the situation. That man's body needed removing. His name revolts you and you smile, knowing you'll never have to deal with him again. You'll never have to deal with anyone else again – for the mean time anyway. It'll be just you and Abby, as it always should have been. You also had to cook dinner and board up the smashed door but you did those almost automatically.

Dinner was amusing. You made pasta and salad, realising neither of you had eaten properly for nearly a week. You'd been far too nervous to eat a large meal while waiting for her to wake up. Besides, the first event of your new life was supposed to be breakfast together.

Abby, I've made dinner. Come downstairs.

I'm not hungry.

You haven't eaten in days. Come down when you're ready.

And she did, tear stained and shivering.

Hey. Sit down. Eat.

She picked at the food, and then ate hungrily. She's always loved your cooking and a wave of happiness moves through you. Your first meal together and she didn't do anything silly, like refuse it or start smashing things.

Why don't you just get it over with? Kill me now. You've saved me for last.

Abby! I could never hurt you! I love you, Abby. You're the world to me. I'm going to take care of you now, look after you. We're going to live here, together, happy, like you wanted.

You think I could be happy? Here? With you?

Of course.

A tear rolled down her face at that and you reached to wipe it off but she got there before you. You ached for physical contact during that whole meal. Although you'd positioned the chairs across a corner of the dining table, she'd skirted her legs away from you so you couldn't even touch her by accident. But if it had made her more comfortable, that was OK. She ate a large meal and that was the idea. She might not get another one for quite a while.

What happens now? She mumbled. You spent a few seconds wondering over how clear her voice sounded, before realising she'd accepted that her future was with you.

We live here. We can do anything we like. Remember when we used to go on picnics together? Run through the woods? Go fishing, sailing, swimming in the sea? Whatever you like. You're going to fall in love with me and this is our happy ending.

She swallowed hard at that and what felt like grief hit you. You remember it now equally painfully. That wasn't nice of her.

I could never love you, Henry. But she couldn't catch your eye either.

Yes, you can. And you will. You just have to let yourself. I know you want to grieve but I mean it. Forget the past. It's over now. Open yourself up and allow yourself to love me. I love you, you know.

She looked up, straight at you. And if I don't?

Then you're going to find life here quite difficult.

She froze, pale as the victims you've gotten through and with equally shocked eyes. You smiled at her, trying to relax her. Go and shower. It's been a tough week. The hair dryer's on the desk in your room.

Her room. You've made it comfortable. After all, you're going to need to lock her up sometimes and you don't want to make her feel like a prisoner in the house. Like now, for instance. You listen to her footsteps move across the ceiling, then the hair dryer switch on.

You glance at your own hair in the mirror. You both inherited the same dark brunet from your mother. The same dark eyes and pale skin too. You finger it gently and imagine stroking her hair, playing with it, having it splayed around her face on the pillow. Soon it'll be your hair too. It amazes you how much you both inherited from Sarah yet how different you are. She picked up kindness and determination from her father. You picked up sociopathy and strong urges to kill from yours.

You don't regret killing your father though. You just wish he could have seen what you and Abby shared and how you were meant to be together. After he insisted that she died, you gave up trying to explain. But she is yours. Your half sister. Your better half. In both senses of the phrase.

You dry and put away crockery, then glance round the kitchen to make sure you can leave it this way. You will be coming back for more food soon but she won't leave her room. In fact, that's one of the reasons you cooked such a large meal before this. You don't want to starve her but you know this will be the best method of settling her in. Three days. That should do it. She'll break.

The hair dryer stops and you imagine her sitting in her towel, brushing that beautiful hair out. The image fogs your mind with lust. Then will come the search through the drawers and closet. Then the panic, the confusion when she sees they're empty. You want to catch her at that exact moment of realisation. You remove your belt, shoes and socks quickly so you don't need to fumble with them later, check the key to the room is still in your back pocket and head up the stairs. This is your victory.

Showtime.

Same AU as Flowers, Gifts and Giving Thanks.