A/N: I don't know what I'd call this. Not so much a reaction to the finale as a plot bunny that sneaked through while I was recovering. It's just a little ficlet, but here it is, as I wait to figure out the next bit of Worthy and True. Premise: words matter to Richard. Isobel delivers.

Please read and review; this and the other if you have time. And please be encouraged that if Richobel is in your heart, you've got stories of their love hidden in there, and we need to hear them now more than ever. Don't think you can't. Try it and prove yourself wrong. We are the means by which they will survive from now on.

Love to you all and Merry Christmas!

My Richard,

I am writing these words to you as I watch George sleep. Is there anything more beautiful, more pure and good and right, than a sleeping infant? Untouched and untainted by the business of living; trusting his caretakers will keep the world at bay.

I could argue that a certain sleeping Scotsman is at least as beautiful. I do so love to watch you that way, as I hold you close and breathe your breath and revel in your warmth. You are wholly remarkable, inside and out.

You are a man of few words and many thoughts, and while you play your cards close to the vest I can read each emotion as it passes across your startling blue eyes. When you have a point to make, you make it kindly and succinctly. I so admire your ability to make such a bold impact in such a subtle manner. There's a darker side that comes through at times, however. You brood, love. You do, and while I trust you to work it out, whatever's troubling you, I want you to know that I am always here.

Making love seems to ease your mind, which has been the most pleasant surprise for me. I am so blessed to be the woman in whose arms and in whose body you find sanctuary. And I treasure the way you allow me to whisper to you in those moments all the truths of which I am certain and desperate to impart to you. I will listen ... when you confide in me. I will speak ... when it calms you down or encourages you forward. I will simply hold you silently when words fail to make a difference.

I wonder which man will meet me tonight. Will you be bright and chatty or solemn and content to listen to me soothe you? Will you reach for me, and when you do will you speak your beautiful observations to me as your hands move over my body? Whoever you are, you will be welcomed comprehensively, for it is thrilling to learn of the many and varied facets of your character. I am proud of you; the dignity with which you care for your patients and your hospital. I am equally proud of you for letting go in the privacy of my arms, our bed.

You are indeed pure and beautiful; a challenge and an honor and a privilege to love.

And oh, Richard, how thoroughly I do. Yesterday, today, always.

I love you,

Isobel