A/N: I know that every writer has strengths, but writing light, fluffy things is not one of mine. Even so, I've had an idea that won't leave me alone. So I'm going with it. It's going to have several parts, but I haven't worked out all the details yet. All that I know for sure is that the overall tone is lighter, for now, than what is typical of me.

He left it Sunday for as long as he could, holed up beside the fire with her. They drank tea, read the paper and dozed, snuggling with MacTavish, until half past four.

"I hate to say it," she told him, her head on his shoulder, "but you ought to be making a move. I don't relish the idea of you driving after dark."

"Yeah." He drew her closer, kissing her forehead. She caught his face in her hands and kissed his lips. He returned the kiss, drawing her bottom lip between both of his own. She sighed softly and he pushed her back against the arm of the couch, resting his weight on top of her.

"Richard," she protested as they broke apart, "you've got to go, sweetheart." God knows she didn't want him to. In fact, she could feel the telltale lump forming in her throat. She could also feel him against her, warm and masculine and just beginning to harden. She swallowed hard. "I've got to let you go."

"I know." He moved off her and held out his hand, helping her up. "Five more minutes." His voice held the sort of rasp that spoke of longing and of emotion he was trying to rein in. He pulled her onto his lap and she tucked her face into his neck. She could hear him breathing, feel his chest rising and falling. Moving her lips to his pulse point, she relished the steady throbbing beneath them.

"You'll remember to lock the doors at night," he was saying. "I know we're in the middle of nowhere up here, but do it anyway. And take the lad along when you go out walking."

At this she giggled. "Yeah, some watchdog! 'Stay back; he'll lick you to death!'" She glanced over at MacTavish and his tail thumped. "He is clever though. Knows we're talking about him." She let him hold her for another moment, memorising the feel of his hands warm on her waist.

"Shall I send you off with some coffee?" She slid off his lap and held out her hand.

Nodding, he rose, engulfing her hand in his own and trailing behind her to the kitchen. "Makes a change from that rubbish they sell at the petrol station," he told her.

"Go and put your bag in the car and I'll fix it."

He whistled for MacTavish, who followed him out into the drive and tried to jump in when the passenger door was opened. "No, lad, sorry; not this time. Need you to look after Mumma for a few days." He scratched between the dog's ears and picked up his favourite ball, tossing it across the lawn. MacTavish was off like a shot after it. When he brought it back, Richard threw it again.

Isobel watched from the kitchen window as the kettle was heating, committing the scene to memory. When she saw him heading back towards the house she turned again to her task.

She could feel it when he entered the room, even with her back to the door. Could feel his eyes on her, drinking her in. Making memories of his own, she suspected. She sensed him coming closer and her heart began thudding wildly. Then his hands were on her hips, easing her back against his body, and her knees nearly went out from under her. He brushed her hair aside and kissed her neck, lingering on the spot just south of her jawbone that was her undoing.

"God," she breathed, and he chuckled. "You make it awfully hard to send you away." She poured the hot water into the French press and laid her head back against his chest. He nudged her forwards and she leaned against the countertop as he pressed closer to her.

"Good. We won't be making a habit of it then," he whispered. He traced the shell of her ear with his lips and she shivered. "You feel so good, beauty."

Just then the timer she'd set for the coffee sounded.

She looked back over her shoulder at him and grinned. "Cold reality, eh?" She turned in his arms and embraced him loosely before filling up his travel mug and sneaking half a cup for herself.

She walked him to the car, her hand in his, their fingers entwined. She felt the lump rising in her throat again and swallowed it down even though she knew he'd know. A mirthless laugh broke free and at the same time two teardrops slid down her cheeks. "The last time I was faced with a separation like this one, I got married."

"Well it's a good job we've already sorted that then." He smiled so that she would and pulled her close again.

"You'll ring me when you get in, hmm? It's nothing to do with you; it's all the other idiots on the road."

"Will do. And I'll do my best to phone you tomorrow, though I'm in the surgery all day and then on call from five. Normally I fancy keeping busy, but this time I'm hoping it's slow."

"Last on-call shifts ever," she interjected, squeezing his hands.

"I'll miss the babies, but as to the rest of it … "

"It's time for greener pastures," she finished for him. "Hey, c'mere." She wound her arms around his neck and drew him down to her mouth, brushing her lips against his. He tasted the tip of her tongue and moaned softly. Then his hands were on her face, her mouth opening under his. She backed him into the door of the Rover. He could feel her breasts pressing against his chest, her fingers lifting the hem of his shirt, her palms warm on his rib cage. They kissed until neither of them could breathe.

She pulled away and he watched her, all dark eyes, her chest heaving. He touched her cheek, traced the pad of his thumb over the fullness of her bottom lip. "Isobel," he murmured, "sweet, sweet girl."

"Go on then," she told him. "Away with you before it gets any later." Her stomach churned, but she smiled, opening the door for him.

"Make that lad toe the line, eh?" he said, reaching up to run a hand through her hair. They were both skirting around the words because of the finality they implied.

She nodded. "Drink that coffee while it's hot."

"I shall." He paused, looking at her peculiarly.

"God, we're acting like teenagers, aren't we?" she giggled.

"Rather." He paused again, and it was clear to her that she wasn't the only one feeling out of sorts. She heard him take a deep breath. "I love you."

"I love you too." She grinned sheepishly. "Obviously." It had the desired effect of lightening the mood at the moment levity was most needed.

He got into the car and she closed the door. "Enjoy the time, Isobel," he told her, his eyes reflecting sincerity. "Bye, love."

"I'll try. And don't you have too much fun round the hospital without me." Another rogue teardrop escaped and she sniffed, swiping at it almost angrily. "Bye, darling."

She hadn't been going to watch him drive away, but as it happened she stood in the drive, waving until he reached the road. In fact, she watched him make the right turn onto Cherry Tree Avenue, her eyes trained on the headlamps until he went round the bend and out of sight. Tears were streaming down her face by then and she wiped her eyes on her sleeve and laughed at herself. "Well I can't change it," she said aloud to nobody, "I miss him. I believe I've earned the right."

That was the moment she resolved that no matter what she felt in the next few days, she would do exactly that: feel it; not bury it beneath endless task lists or mask it with a cheerful façade like she'd done after Reg died. No; she may once again be alone, and that not by choice, but she had nothing to hide, no reason to pretend. If she missed her husband, then —by God— she was going to miss him, and if it made her cry, she was going to cry. And if, similarly, she found ways of passing the time that brought her joy, then she would ride that feeling for all it was worth. If there was a singular theme to the wisdom Richard had imparted to her over the course of their relationship, it was that he loved her just exactly the way she was: big emotions, heavy baggage, sharp tongue and all.