A/N: HELLO! I don't really know what to say about my prolonged absence, but it was unintentional. I think I just became so busy with work and general life that I lost interest in writing and didn't even check the site for about 2 months. I'm trying to get back into it now, though, and this short drabble ended up happening, which will hopefully re-awaken the writing bug!
So sorry for not replying to all your lovely messages/reviews, but they are definitely greatly appreciated xxx
Her mother had always said how nice it was to be inside, warm and dry, while the rain and wind beat against the strong walls of their house.
At the time, Mary hadn't understood her mother's fondness of these circumstances, much preferring to be able to go outside in comfortable weather. But now, snuggled up under her duvet on a late Saturday afternoon, safe from the gloom and wetness outside, her mother's words from twenty years earlier suddenly made perfect sense. Droplets of rain spattered against the window behind her, and it was quiet enough for her to hear the wind whistling through the air.
Not that she was alone in the room, she realised.
She had left her husband in the living room an hour earlier, while he was engrossed in some rugby match or other. Her announcement that she was going to take a quick nap had been met with an indifferent grunt and she hadn't been sure if he'd even heard what she'd said.
Yet, here he was propped up against the headboard, lazily leafing through a magazine that Mary had left on the bedside table. As eager as she was to poke fun at him for reading Elle, tiredness prevented her from speaking out. Besides, it was nice to simply lie there and watch him as he sat there, unknowingly observed. After flicking past several pages of advertisements, his attention appeared to be captured by an article, his eyebrows alternately raising in surprise and furrowing in concentration as he absorbed the words. Mary smiled amusedly to herself, trying to recall what articles were in that edition that could have her husband so enthralled.
"I can get a subscription for you too, if you'd like." She said eventually, unable to resist the many taunts brewing up inside her.
Matthew turned to her sharply, his cheeks colouring in a slight blush. "That won't be necessary, thanks." He replied drily.
"You know, you don't have to wait until I'm unconscious to read my magazines," Mary continued, her voice sleepy but tinged with mirth, "you can read them anytime you like - I won't judge."
"Of course, since when do you ever pass judgment on others?" Came another dry remark. "And for your information, I was only reading this out of boredom while I waited for you to wake up." Matthew held up the magazine so she could see the page that he'd been reading. "By the way, do women actually do this? 'Contour' their faces to make them look like a completely different shape?" He asked incredulously.
"I'm afraid so." She chuckled. "Some women, anyway."
"Crikey." Matthew said lowly, frowning again at the illustrations on the glossy page.
"Why were you waiting for me to wake up? Is there really no other way you can fill your time, besides with rugby and your wife?" Mary rubbed her eyes.
"There's no other way I want to fill my time." Matthew smirked, leaning over to kiss her softly.
"I'm flattered." Mary teased quietly as his lips met hers in a slow, loving caress.
"Did you sleep well?" Matthew whispered, their noses still touching.
Mary nodded in affirmation. "Very well, thank you." She gently grasped his lips with hers again, enjoying the comforting sensation. "I think someone else has woken up." She murmured against his lips.
"Really? Can you feel him?" Matthew slid a hand down to her stomach, wondering whether the baby (whom he had decided was a boy) was already able to kick or move around at such an early stage in the pregnancy.
"Not this one." Mary smirked. She fell silent, allowing Matthew to hear the faint babbles coming through the wall from the next room. He smiled broadly at her.
Shimmying out of bed, Mary slipped on her woolly cardigan and hurried to the nursery. Matthew moved himself higher up the bed until he was sat up against the pillows, his smile widening when Mary returned a minute later carrying their eleven-month old daughter in her arms.
"It looks like your sleeping patterns have finally synchronised." He joked, reaching out to take the warm bundle from Mary's arms as she slid back into bed beside him.
"One can only hope." Mary replied with a smile, settling into his side as their baby tried to convey her dreams to them in her own little language.