Paul sat silently on the couch, mostly just listening to the worthless dribble that was whatever child's show was on the television as well as the babbling along that his daughter did from his lap as she attempted to sing the song that the show was assaulting his ears with.

It was hardly six thirty in the morning yet, but, as always, Aurora had woken him up by whining from her crib at the top of the hour, needing to be changed and pampered with attention. Too tired for too much pampering, he found the best alternative there was; television.

"Damn it."

That, of course, came from the back of the house, where Steph was...doing something. He was certain that she'd told him about whatever it was, but he hadn't really been listening.

Then came the sound of Steph giping, quite loudly, as she came into the room in her robe.

Glancing her way, he only blinked before saying, "Nice glasses."

"Shut up."

"You big dork."

"Damn it, Paul-"

"When I curse in front of the poor impressionable baby, I get absconded."

"Spell absconded."

"You spell it. Nerd."

"You-"

"Where are your contacts, Steph?" He went back to staring at the television show Aurora was so enraptured by. The one year old clapped her hands together when, once more, the characters began to sing.

Damn he hated his quad injury.

"I'm out."

"What do you mean? How can you be out?"

"Because I am, Paul."

"But-"

"I had a few contacts left in the box, yesterday, but for some reason, it's suddenly gone from the bathroom..."

She kept talking, he was certain, but Paul only sat there, thinking hard. Yesterday. Hmmm. He'd recently begun to be able to walk without his crutches and had taken to shaving again (it was completely unrelated; he had actually been seeing how long he could go without doing so before Steph complained and he found out). Which he'd done the day before, in the bathroom. And Aurora was with him, so he'd sat her up on the counter...which was a bad idea.

See, he'd gotten shaving cream in his eye (don't ask) at the same time that Aurora crawled across the bathroom counter and knocked something into the toilet, which was so soaked through and disgusting by the time that he pulled it out that he just threw it away, still a bit blinded from the shaving cream, and thoroughly annoyed.

Could it have been…

No. Impossible.

But maybe…

Keeping quiet on that, he said simply, "Surely you just misplaced the box, Steph. I mean-"

"I looked everywhere," she practically hissed at him which was all the hint he needed to stop helping her.

Sheesh.

Of course, he was kinda the whole root of the problem (although he felt like Aurora was a bit to blame herself, his little bad girl), but that was besides the point.

"Okay." He glanced down at Aurora to see if she felt any twinge of guilt. Nope. Following her lead, he only patted the couch. "Come sit down then, babe. You know how hot I think your glasses are."

"You do not."

"Totally do."

"You just called me a-"

"That was a loving term of endearment."

Stephanie only let out one of those low groans before stomping off again while Paul, on his part, tried to remember just where he threw away that disgusting wet box of contacts. Hopefully in a trash that got taken out at some point during the day.

Only...he never took out the trash. Literally ever. Unless Steph was hounding him on it. And she'd been busy all day.

Had she found time to bitch at him? Typically, yes. But he felt like yesterday she was extra busy.

Glancing down once more at his daughter, Paul only said, "Sorry, Rora. No more TV. We gotta go find those damn contacts."

And pray that they weren't what he'd tossed in the trash.

The baby didn't mind not being dragged away from her show when Paul went to put her in her playpen and give her a bottle. A kiss on the head too because he knew, should things go south, he'd totally be throwing her under the bus and letting it be known that the baby was totally the reason the box ended up in the toilet.

Totally.

"Hey, Stephanie, let me look, huh?" He headed for their bathroom. "Are you sure you didn't take them somewhere? Like out of the house? Or-"

"I think I'm very sure that I didn't take a damn box of contacts out of the damn house, Paul."

"Okay, you're biting the head off the wrong person here."

Or the exactly right one.

He found her in the bathroom, the entire medicine cabinet tore apart in there and littering the bathroom counter as she search desperately for those dang contacts.

"I just don't know," she raved as he slowly came to peek in the cabinet as well, though she'd stripped it clean, "where they could have gone. Do you?"

"Uh-"

"And on the damn morning when I have to be in by eight. I have to leave. I-"

"Just go in your-"

"I hate my glasses."

"Why?" He watched as she, once more, turned to the mess she'd created on the counter and began going hopelessly through it one more time. "I think they're-"

"You called me-"

"Endearment."

"Paul-"

"You're my little dork." Her head got a pat, but she still only glared at him from behind the frames. "And hey, you haven't ever bitched about them this much."

"I don't...bitch, Paul."

Silence.

"Paul-"

"Why are you so upset about having to wear your glasses? Huh?" Paul even spared her a rare grin. "I think they look hot."

"They do not."

"On you they do."

"It's not gonna work, so knock it off."

"What's not? Huh? 'cause I ain't playing."

She was back to staring down at the mess she made, shaking her head in disappointment. Then, glancing up at the mirror that spanned the length of the counter, watching herself, she said, "I just hate the way I look in them."

"Since when?"

"I dunno."

"You just haven't finished getting ready yet," he said, trying to be rather helpful that day, it seemed.

It wasn't typical of him. Honestly, her little contact fit would have been handled on her own had he not felt (and very much so was) responsible.

Paul was more of a listener (if that) when it came to such troubles. He thought Steph looked fine all the time; and, if she didn't, he sure as hell wasn't going to say it. So why would he ever have any advice about the contrary?

"All you did was shower," Paul went on as Steph stared at him in the mirror, only watching as he tossed an arm over her shoulders. "You still gotta, uh, do your makeup and get all dressed for work and outta this robe. Then you'll be looking hot! In glasses! It's a plan. Right?"

"It's kind of the only option."

"Great." He hugged her to him then though Steph still seemed rather peeved. "I'll go finish Rora's breakfast, huh? And then, later, me and her will go out and get Mommy her prescription for contacts filled. That is, uh, how you get more of those, right?"

Her eye roll was so heavy that he thought, for a moment, her eyes would stay stuck in her head.

"You don't have to do that, Paul," she said as he grinned regardless. "You really shouldn't even be walking around as much as you have been. You're supposed to still be taking it easy. And going out to get me contacts wouldn't be that."

"But I know how much you like it when I play housewife. Running errands and all."

Not that much, apparently, as she, once more, went back to staring into the mirror. Following suit, Paul stared more at her reflection than his own.

"What is it?" That time he didn't have much play in his voice. "What's so bad about glasses today, Steph?"

"It's not..."

"Just tell me."

She swallowed first and wouldn't look at him, not even his reflection nor her own, glancing instead away. "I just thought I'd...have lost more… It's been over a year, I mean, since I had the baby and I-"

"What does that have to do with-"

"I feel, like, even less attractive in them. I mean it's bad enough that I'm-"

"Hey, wait, is, like, about you not feeling pretty or something? Because-"

"Paul-"

"No, Steph, is it?"

"You're making it sound trivial and-"

"I am fucking not."

"You-"

"Babe, look at me." He grabbed her arm when she tried to turn away and leave the bathroom, no doubt with his name as a curse on her tongue. When she was facing him, he only reached out with the other hand to gently tap under her jaw, making her glance up.

"You," he said as he stared down into her blue eyes, ignoring the fact she was clearly over the conversation and had wished she never brought it up, "look fine. Damn, Steph, you had a baby. You-"

"A year ago. I should be-"

"You should be what? Huh? And don't say something stupid like how you should be skinner or whatever because, damn, woman, you look fine to me. You look great."

"Pa-"

"Who else should you care about?"

"Myself."

"Well, if yourself doesn't get turned on by looking at itself then its completely and utterly idiotic."

Then they both stared at one another.

"Do you even understand what you just said?"

"Well, I'm not the nerd, so-"

"You're so-"

"I love you, Steph." And he dropped both of his hands, for a moment, before moving to wrap them around her. Feeling her face against his chest, as well as the frame of her glasses, he added with a grin, "Especially your glasses."

"I hate you."

"You do not. You love me." He took a deep breath, still holding her. Shaking then, a bit, back and forth, just to get on her nerves, he shut his eyes. "Mmmm. You feel that?"

"What?"

"Better. Do you feel better?"

"How do you go from using the word absconded not twenty minutes ago to having a horrible showing of grammar the past five?"

"Sleep deprivation."

Her arms came to wrap around him as well, making him truly smile. Muttering into his chest, she said, "i have to get ready for work."

"I know."

"Well...are you gonna let me go?"

"I dunno. Do you feel better yet?"

"I'd feel better if I could find my contacts."

"Yeah, well, life happens." Paul buried his head in her hair. Against it, he said, "You just wear your glasses today and-"

"I just wish that I could find them, is all. I mean, they couldn't have just gotten up and walked away."

"Definitely not. But you know, maybe you should just forget about that for now and-"

He stopped then, in the middle of his sentence as his eyes fell, suddenly, towards the ground. It was there, shoved in the open space beneath the counter top, that he saw the tiny bathroom trashcan. He'd thought that, considering the box had been wet (disgustingly so) that he'd tossed it in the trashcan in the kitchen, as that would be going out that day (if Stpeh had gotten around to bitching at him; she hadn't) instead of in the tiny one in the bathroom that Stephanie mostly used and he mostly, of course, avoided taking out.

There it was though. The tiny box was soaked through, but definitely there.

He tried hard not to gulp.

"And get ready," Steph finished for him. "I know. I just… Think they fell down behind-"

"No!"

Paul hadn't meant to say that so forcefully, but he had, and it was enough to get his wife to stare at him once more, eyes wide.

"What?" she asked when, not sure what to say, he only stood there. "Paul?"

"I… That's not what I meant. I didn't mean you should hurry and get ready."

"But I need to. I-"

"And I need to," he repeated, thinking on his feet as he moved to grab her by the arms and pull her close again, "make sure that my wife, uh… Understands just how...uh..."

"Paul, what are you-"

"I just… You never told me if you felt better." There. That was a good place to start. And somehow manage to get her out of the bathroom so he could take out that dang trash before she saw the soggy box in there. "Babe. And I need to know that you do. Fuck work; you're my woman. And if you don't feel good about yourself or your...body or whatever, then damn, it's my job to make sure you do."

That got her. Just like he figured it would. Staring up at him, she blushed a bit and giggled and he was in.

Now how to get her out of the bathroom…

"Paul, that's so sweet."

"It's the truth." He kissed her forehead, though his eyes were still over on that trashcan. "You're the only one that matters. You and Rora. That's all."

"That's not even close to being true, but thank you."

"You're damn sexy to me, Steph." Still, he kept his eyes trained on the trashcan. "And if you need to be reminded of that, then-"

"What are you looking at?"

"What?"

Steph turned, suddenly, pulling away from him. As he was looking down (rather intently, she might add), she did too.

"Paul!"

"It's not my fault," he tried as, of course, her eyes fell right to the wet box sitting atop the nearly overflowing miniature trashcan. "Aurora was… And you made me shave! So ha! And don't hit me; I'm injured, babe."

"You're about to be injured worse."

"It was an accident. I didn't even know they were your contacts."

"How could you not know that-"

"You should have those cool contacts that you can wear, for, like, ever. Or invent them, if they're not a thing. That would solve a lot of this. What kinda racket is this anyways? Wearing contacts once? Does your dad know that you are wasting the McMahon fortune on buying daily contacts? When there are, probably, ones that you could buy that last for a month?"

Her gaze wasn't weakening in the slightest. She was pissed.

"Paul Levesque-"

"Still wasn't my fault-"

"-why did you let me look for them when you knew-"

"Uh, to save my hide, Steph. I knew you'd be this way either way; so why not at least try to keep my name clean?"

She let out that low groan then before turning, in desperation to the trashcan. When he saw her bend down, Paul frowned.

"What are you- Steph, don't pick that up."

"It's just toilet water," she reasoned, though she didn't move to do so. "And the lenses are in these foil packets, sealed off, so-"

"As an expert on foil packets-"

"You're so stu-"

"-I have to say that what you say might be true, but uh, babe, I love you and think you're the hottest woman in the world, but if you put toilet water contacts lenses in-"

"They wouldn't be-"

"I will not be able to kiss you for at least a week. And cannot be held accountable for who I may or may not inform of this."

Pouting a bit as they both stared down at the trashcan, her debating whether or not it worth it, Steph said, "I just don't wanna wear my glasses."

"That's silly. You could wear a raccoon hat and still be drop dead gorgeous." Then Paul grinned. "Especially if all you were wearing was-"

"You're not," she hissed, turning around to face him, "off the hook, you know. At all."

His smile deflated a bit. "I know. I-"

'You're just lucky I have to get ready."

Nodding, he said, "And Rora's probably done with her bottle, so now I gotta go mush her up a banana or else she'll get cranky."

Or at least that was his excuse to hightail it out of there. And when he got back to Aurora, she was very much so ready for her standard after bottle 'nana, though she enjoyed playing in it more than anything else.

Stephanie didn't seem too pissed. She couldn't be. After all, it wasn't something life or death. Just him completely derailing her day before it even had a chance to truly get on the track.

Paul, who was mostly living a life split between being a stay at home father and the agony of rehabilitation after a muscle tear, was not one who stayed up late any longer. Bed by ten, up by six.

But Aurora didn't seem to cooperative that night. He was up with her, sitting out on the couch, some late night talk show on as he bounced her in his lap, when Steph got home.

He'd tried to text her a few times, during the day, but she was rather concise with him, even for texting, which he saw as a sign to just leave her alone.

"Is she sick?" was all she mumbled as she came to fall into the couch with them.

"Nope. Just not sleepy."

At all. She wanted to be held and snuggled and paid attention to.

Steph wanted a bit of that too, but settled for just resting against Paul's shoulder, telling him through yawns about her day.

And when Aurora finally did go down that night, Paul and Steph only stayed out there on the couch, him in his boxers, as he had been since she got home, while she didn't even take off her glasses. Just stretched out with her head in his lap, waiting to find the strength to head off to bed.

"Your meetings last too long," he told her simply as he flipped through the channels on the television. "You getting home this late is a joke. You know that?"

"Mmmm."

"And now Aurora has me all up and I can't just fall back asleep that easily, you know." He settled on a rerun of Seinfeld. "My internal clock is gonna be all bonkers."

When she said nothing, he glanced down at her with a frown.

"Babe, you gotta go get undressed."

But she didn't want to. So he forced her. And, once they were in bed, her curled up away from him and Paul just lying there, staring at the ceiling, he couldn't seem to turn his mind off.

"You know, Steph," he told her softly as she mostly drifted off, "I don't want to hear you talk like that again. About not feeling...attractive or whatever. Because you are. And if anything, you've exceeded how back in shape you've gotten. Your body was housing the child of the greatest wrestler to ever walk into your father's company, you know."

He waited. If she was awake, she'd have remarked, yeah; her, or something of the sort. When that didn't come, he frowned, but still continued.

"I'm the one that's gotten all pudgy. No definition." He poked his stomach. "And no excuse. Other than my damn quad. But you, you're running around working up at the company, taking care of Rora, and dealing with all my shit. Because trust me, I know, I've gotta lotta shit. I just… I don't mean to stress you out so much. I've just hated this past year." Then he grimaced. "Not the whole year, I mean. This was the best year! Getting to be with you and Aurora and… It's just dealing with being sidelined that I haven't liked. You know that. And… I guess all of this is just to say that you shouldn't worry about… 'cause I love you. You had my damn baby. The best baby. That's all that matters. And… I dunno. You know I can't help you with this kinda shit. You shouldn't have asked, Steph."

"I didn't."

Which shocked the heck outta him. He just laid there, eyes wide. He'd have never said all of that if he'd known that she was awake. He was more talking aloud than he was actually speaking to her.

"And you're not pudgy, baby." Steph shifted on the bed, so that she could face him, before tossing an arm around her husband's abdomen. "You're just...older. And that's okay. I don't know if you know this, but I happen to like older men."

"So I've heard." He stared down at her when the woman opened her eyes, though the lids were heavy. "And you're still damn sexy, Stephanie."

She made that face then, that cocky one that made him grin. "Oh, I know."

Silence.

Then, softly, she said, "By the way, absconded does not mean the same thing as reprimanded."

"Mmmm?"

"You made it seem like it did and I wasn't going to call your bluff. It means to steal something. Not...whatever the way you said it. Then I used it that way today in a meeting and looked like an idiot."

"What? Am I supposed to be in charge of everything that comes outta my mouth?" He snorted. "I'm not the fucking nerd."

"Paul-"

"G'night." He shut his eyes and kept his head facing towards the ceiling once more. "Steph."

He could feel her glare at him for another moment before, succumbing to that exhaustion once more, she only mutter her own similar phrase against his side.