Winters in Forget-Me-Not Valley were always bitterly cold. With the wind blowing from the ocean to the mountains holding the cold air in like a gargantuan basin, the Valley and its tiny town often suffered through winters that went on forever and usually were cold enough to keep most people inside. Windows were sealed tight and doors kept closed, sometimes even bolted to keep the air from finding its way inside.

That didn't seem to be enough for the small farmhouse on that January morning, where a small but persistent breeze of freezing air whispered inside. It traveled through the home through the small front door, causing the small dog sleeping on the mat to shake and scamper over toward the television, as far from the door as physically possible. Not just the canine occupant of the house was affected - the man sleeping somewhat soundly in the large bed in the corner shivered and brought the blankets to cover more of his bare skin. It was only inevitable, however, that he woke up then, groggy and slightly annoyed.

In retrospect, Marlin would cherish those first few moments of the day, where the initial feeling of confusion and blissful naivety was all that he felt and was something that he would look back and wish that he could be that way the entire day, not having any worries other than the fact that he was cold and now awake. He blinked a few times, sitting up and glaring at the door in case it was open and let the damned breeze in, but it was sealed tight from the night before. He would probably have to do something about the leaks and he sighed, thinking about all of the work that would have to go into that. Lying back down, Marlin allowed his eyes to close for just a moment before feeling something (or someone) else moving in bed - and then painful, sickening, terrible realization hit him harder than a truck.

The baby.

They'd lost their baby.

It had only been a week since the miscarriage. Memories found their way back into his mind, forcing their way to the front and making him grimace. He'd been the one to find her, sitting on the bathroom floor, blood staining her hands and her clothes and the tile and -

Marlin inhaled sharply, stopping that train of thought before it could even form. He wasn't the squeamish type, but it was the look on Jill's face, the sound of her quiet sobs echoing in the small bathroom that shook him to the core. It had taken all of his power just to pick her up and run to Dr. Hardy's without letting himself fall into disbelief on the floor with her. The run in the cold had made him weak and dizzy afterwards, perfect, exactly what he needed right then and there, and of all of the years that he'd been suffering with that resilient disease, that was the weakest he'd ever felt. There was nothing he could do then, and, well, there wasn't much that he could do now.

He rolled over, where Jill lay very, very still, facing away from him. The blankets were wrapped so tightly around her and she almost didn't look like she was breathing, save for the slightest movement of her side. To say that Jill wasn't taking the situation well was a gross understatement. Jill… wasn't here. The Jill that Marlin knew was a little insecure, but she was warm, kind, considerate, and usually put on a happy face to keep others from worrying about her. But since the miscarriage, she had barely eaten, barely moved, staying in bed and staring at the wall. She was near inconsolable. So many people had offered their condolences to him on the street (because, of course, typical small town, nothing stayed a secret for long) but very few had actually come to the house to see them. That wasn't something that Marlin resented, quite the opposite; the less people coming in and trying to do what seemed to be the impossible for the time being, the better. This was going to take some time.

Was she asleep? Marlin wasn't sure if he wanted to try and find out. He wouldn't have known what to say anyway. He was no stranger to pain, especially emotional and physical pain, but he was terrible at talking to those going through it themselves. Marlin supposed that with relatable experiences his words could have more staying power, but he wasn't even sure what those words even were. What was he even supposed to say? It'll be okay, dear? No. That didn't work on him and he was sure that it wasn't going to work on her either. I'm sorry? Wasn't his fault, at least maybe not directly - but that thought was part of a familiar rut of self-loathing surrounding his health and worthfulness that he was going to avoid altogether.

I'm here?

He was there, hardly leaving her side since it had happened. Since it was winter, there weren't any crops to tend to, and Takakura volunteered almost immediately to take care of her animals. The only time Marlin had to leave was to get something from Dr. Hardy's office, and even that was only about 20 minutes out of the house. Other than that, he'd been there, trying to muster up some consoling words to try and take some of that pain. He knew that facing pain alone was next to impossible for some people, and everyone could take a break from feeling like they're alone in the world, at least for a little bit.

It hurt to see her as a shell of herself, and he can't help but remember how she was just a month or so before…

It was cold in the supply shed, but not nearly as cold as the winds outside. Marlin grunted a little with the effort of moving the large seed crate up onto one of the shelves, having finished counting the number of sacks inside. As tedious as the job was, it was kind of peaceful, away from the prying eyes of Vesta and Celia. Even after he was married, they still took it upon themselves to hover over him and watch his every move. He honestly couldn't wait to get back home and be with Jill, he knew that she would be able to keep him warm, be it snuggling or maybe something a little more…

Speaking of his wife, the door opened with a quiet tinkling of bells and he turned to find Jill standing there with a look that he couldn't place. Her cheeks were a pleasant pink from the cold and her hair was down and under a thick wool hat, causing her bangs to fall into her violet eyes. Said eyes were dancing with something like happiness and mischief all at once, but Marlin hardly noticed with the joy of seeing her unexpectedly. They'd been married for around two months, but he still got so excited when he saw her, something that he hoped wouldn't fade, ever. There was just something about her that had always caught his attention, and even being married couldn't extinguish that particular flame.

Jill stepped fully into the shed and made eye contact with Marlin, a slow smile growing on her pink face. Marlin only realized that he was still holding the heavy crate but it felt weightless in the moment.

"Hey dear," he said, shifting the crate a little, "didn't expect to see you here." She shrugged, still smiling, and Marlin felt his heart do a little flip. Only after becoming serious with Jill had he really started feeling so giddy and sappy all of the time, something more akin to someone like Rock (which he didn't dare admit). "What's up? You don't need any seeds or fertilizer, do you?"

She shook her head, tiny droplets of melted snow flying into the air. He could recall that she had said something about not wanting to worry about crops now that it was winter, focusing solely on her animals instead. There was a palpable tension in the air suddenly as Jill looked at him, as if something were on the tip of her tongue. "Well, uh," she started, twisting a lock of her brown hair around a gloved finger. "No, I think I'm good -" a beat - "your seed has the... fertilization covered."

If a pin had been dropped in that shed, it would have been deafening. Honestly, at first, Marlin hadn't completely understood what she was getting at but quickly realized that she was making a joke…

About being pregnant.

The seed crate came crashing to the ground but he was only vaguely aware of how close it was to landing on his feet. Marlin's throat was suddenly very tight, and very dry, and he couldn't breathe or think or move, but he managed to open his mouth just slightly to whisper, "Are you… are you pregnant?"

Jill on her part, seemed incredibly pleased with herself and nodded somewhat smugly, only to be enveloped by Marlin's arms immediately. He couldn't believe it - a baby, he was going to be a father! That was something that he didn't think would ever happen to him, not with his inability to talk to people and the matter of him being so sick. The fact that this was real, this was happening, was absolutely astounding. He could hear her surprised laugh in his ear and they just stood there for what felt like hours, reveling in the dizziness of good news and new life.

It was hard to believe that that Jill, the woman who said that she'd taken a day to think of a joke to tell him she was pregnant, was the same Jill that was next to him now, barely doing anything than what was absolutely necessary to stay alive. The only other time that he could recall her ever really showing him that she was sad was when she opened up about her father's death, something that had affected her, but the two of them were not the closest when he'd died; that was something she felt guilty and sad over, but after meeting so many people that were willing to be supportive of her, she grew to accept that the past was the past and looked towards the future with hope.

But as it's often said, old habits die hard.

Marlin wondered if he should even try his luck and try to have her say something, or at the very least listen to what he had to say, like he had tried so many times before. He warily looked back at Jill's still form. It couldn't hurt to try, right? Marlin moved his hand to the middle of her back and rubbed as gently as he could, eliciting a small shiver from her. Okay, that was some movement - involuntary, but still some movement all the same. Steadily, his fingers worked their way to her shoulder and up to her hair, petting the messy locks with careful strokes.

"Pony?" Her nickname was something that always alluded to her playful nature, a smiling, joking young woman that moved to town to take over her father's farm. She didn't react at all to the name, but Marlin was sure that he heard a soft sigh spill from her lips. "Jill?" He tried her real name, accented with a swoop of his hand. Miraculously, after a seemingly-eternal pause, Jill turned over so that she was on her back, not really looking at him but it was clear that she was listening.

In simple terms, Jill was an absolute mess. She looked exhausted, her skin and hair, usually so bright and shining, were dull and sickly-looking. What caught Marlin's attention the most, however, were her eyes - Jill had the most beautiful eyes that he had ever seen, an unusual shade of violet that was interesting and hypnotizing all at once. Jill's eyes were always a big indicator of what she was feeling; no matter how blank her expression was, her eyes couldn't hide joy, or sadness, or anger, or anything. But here, in the aftermath of everything, her beautiful eyes were blank, glancing slightly towards him with the sparkle completely taken away. The purple in her irises looked to be dulled to almost a dark gray, if that was even possible. Marlin suppressed his reaction by biting the inside of his cheek, but internally he couldn't stop the pang of sympathy and concern.

He reached over and pushed some of the hair out of her face. Jill barely reacted other than a small twitch where his fingertips brushed her skin. "Jill -" the dilemma of having nothing helpful or meaningful to say once again flashed through his mind and his words caught in his throat. Damn it, why was this so hard? Normally he had no problems talking to Jill, and that was a rarity for him. But with the new circumstances surrounding the both of them, any progress that he'd made in social skills with her was completely gone. That in itself made him feel pretty pathetic; he was a man that couldn't even console his wife. Still, the sound of her name made Jill look up into his eyes and there was such sudden, raw emotion there that Marlin felt his blood run cold. "Hey -"

"Marlin."

He was completely taken aback by the sound of her voice - not only from the scratchy, quietly cold quality of it, but also because it was the first time that he'd heard her directly speak in a week. Marlin hadn't expected her to say anything in response and he swallowed but stayed quiet.

Jill sighed deeply before looking back up at the ceiling. "You know," she started to say, "my dad used to say that 'everything happens for a reason'." She paused, looking as though she was about to start crying, and glanced at Marlin, who merely stared back with dread growing in his chest. She wasn't trying to imply - "Maybe… Maybe this happened because I would have been a terrible mother. I mean, my body just decided to get rid of the baby, right?" She laughed weakly then, but it was a harsh, foreign sound. "Better to quit while I'm ahead, I guess." Marlin's lungs felt like they were being squeezed tightly, almost like when it was raining. What? That was completely ludicrous; he'd seen how she treated her animals as if they were children, caring, compassionate, responsible. She would have been a wonderful mother, but it just didn't work out that way.

He wished that he was able to actually say those thoughts aloud but instead he silently touched the side of her face, catching her by surprise. Jill stared at him, wide eyed, tears beginning to gather. "Please don't say that," he heard himself say, wondering what the hell he was doing. "Please, Jill." Marlin just hugged her then, not wanting to put himself in a position where she contradicted everything that he says without actually listening to him. He'd been there, he knew what it was like, and it would take some time before she would actually start listening to whatever encouraging words he would eventually be able to string together.

Jill didn't move for a bit, but eventually Marlin felt apprehensive arms slowly wrap around him. Her breathing was quiet but it spoke loud, screaming volumes in his ear with every sniffle and sharp intake of air. She was starting to cry.

"M-Marlin, I'm - I'm sorry," Jill whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. "I didn't mean to -"

He shushed her, holding her tighter. "It's okay, you don't have to apologize. If there's anyone who knows what it's like to be a downer, it's me." There was something like a quick laugh from her, warped from small sobs but a laugh all the same. He'd take that small victory in stride.

They just stayed there for quite some time, the only sounds in the room coming from Jill's crying muffled into Marlin's shoulder. Those were painful sounds to hear, and Marlin really didn't know what to do. Before, his mission was just to get her to talk. Now he faced having to find a way to console her and tell her that someday everything was going to be just fine. Making people feel better wasn't exactly his forte (after all, if he couldn't make himself feel better, how could he be expected to help someone else?), but -

Suddenly, like a tidal wave, he was struck and swept away by a very distinct memory from when he was a child, crying over something that he couldn't remember. What he could remember was his mother, a tall, slender woman, bending down to his height and hugging him tightly, quietly singing a song that she and her mother brought over from overseas. 'Ninna nanna, questo bimbo a chi lo dò?' Most of the words had been lost to time, but the melody still rang strong in his mind.

Gently, he began to hum into her hair, feeling her shivers slowly beginning to subside as he continued through the song. Marlin was grateful that he'd inherited at least a sliver of his mother's singing talent, enough to at least sound pleasant, because just a simple song seemed to be calming Jill down in his arms. It wasn't long until soft whimpering turned into deep breaths - she'd fallen asleep. Inevitably, Marlin felt himself start to drift off as well, wondering just what the hell the two of them were going to do, but for now, it was best just to let the world turn a little without them, let life figure itself out for just a little while longer.

Some day they'd be able to move on. It certainly didn't have to be today.