And the final bit of this little ficlet
The bowl shattered loudly as soon as it struck the floor, not nearly as loudly as the curse that came from his mouth, however. He regretted both immediately, ashamed of his loss of control. He regretted it more when his wife rushed through the door breathlessly, eyes wide with fear.
"Charles?! What's happened? Are you..." Her voice trailed off when he swung to her with eyes blazing with an anger that was much easier to direct at her rather than himself.
"I'm fine," he snapped, "There's no need to come running at every little noise. I'm not completely useless. Not yet." Although he knew that he was.
Regret washed over him again. Could he do nothing but break and destroy? Still he couldn't quite find it within himself to apologize.
As usual, she didn't take the easy route and answer his anger with her own fury. Instead, she drew herself in, straightening herself to her full height, and studied him steadily.
At first, he met her gaze defiantly, squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin, but then his own guilty conscience made him drop his eyes to the floor. She didn't deserve this, neither his anger or him. She didn't deserve to be saddled with a man who couldn't even...
His thoughts trailed off when he realized that she was now right in front of him. She took his trembling, traitorous hand from his side and smoothed away the tremors. When the trembling subsided, never disappeared-it was never fully absent anymore, she pressed his hand to her cheek. His heart swelled as he looked into her eyes. She knew. She understood. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly in a smile which she answered with her own watery one. He brushed the tear that spilled over her lid with his thumb and her smile widened. Then, she dropped her hands to the buttons of his shirt that had proved too difficult for him this morning, the cause of his fit of temper.
His hands dropped to her sides, thumbs caressing the angles of her hips and fingers splayed over her bottom. Watching her like this, caring for him without complaint, his heart swelled with all the things he wanted to say-I love you. I adore you. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for writing these final chapters of my life with me. Instead he flexed his fingers to draw her closer. She looked up at him and he bent to kiss first her forehead, then her cheek, and finally her lips, pouring all his unspoken adoration into her.
He lifted his head only so that he could wrap his arms around her and draw her close, as close as he possibly could, then a little closer.
"Mr. Carson," she admonished, voice muffled by his chest, "We'll never get your shirt buttoned if you won't let me go."
He chuckled softly, "We can't have that, can we Mrs. Carson?"
He relaxed his hold and stepped back just a bit. Her hands went to the buttons again, but she hesitated, bottom lip pulled between her teeth. Then instead of working on the next button, her hands dropped to the last one, which she worked free.
Looking down in surprise, he asked, "Elsie?"
Her eyes were filled with love when she looked up at him. "We've nowhere to be today, Charlie. It's as easy to unbutton as it is to button."
His eyebrows climbed and his grin widened, "I suppose it is, if you'll promise to help me after?"
Her smile widened and she smoothed her hands over his chest, pushing his shirt off his shoulders, "Always, Charlie, always."
And that was the moment that he knew he'd found his own masterpiece.
Please note that I am not in any way saying this is a masterpiece, but love can be.