Being married to an agent for going on twelve years now, Elizabeth had endured her fair share of worrying. She'd been woken in the middle of the night countless times to learn Peter had been shot, or involved in some sort of fight with undercover work in his early years.
But nothing had been as devastatingly worrisome as the call that informed her that her husband –sweet, perfect, reliable Peter who spent his nights watching baseball on the couch with Satchmo curled up at his feet and never remembered to put his socks in the hamper—had been kidnapped.
And worse yet, their last conversation had been a fight because he'd forgotten the laundry, again.
It was by far the hardest day she'd ever had to go through, but laying in bed now, listening to him humming the faint strains of some old song from their high school days as he shaved in the bathroom, the worry was slowly beginning to subside, if only slightly. She looked up from the book she was reading and bit her lip, before letting out a small sigh. "Hon, are you almost done in there?"
"What's wrong, do you need to get in here?" he called back, causing a momentary pause in the humming.
"No," she answered lightly, pausing a moment before continuing. "I just miss you," she finished, her worry evident in her tone as she set her book aside.
The razor was soon turned off and she could hear him clamoring about in the bathroom for a few moments, which caused her to smile. Soon enough, he was climbing in bed beside her, his strong arms pulling her against his chest as he nuzzled his face in her hair.
"I'm right here, El. Please don't worry."
She smiled faintly. "I'll always worry."