He took his vacation days, and for the next few days he feels like a babysitter of a very curious toddler. After the initial stupour his ginger decided that he was Wikipedia and the most frequently used word in his flat now is 'how.' How does fridge get cold air in, how do the sardines get into a can, how, how, how, with occasional 'what' and 'why.' He can't handle it anymore, and he turns on telly for her, making sure there is no nudity or violence on it. She still shivers from the memories of an episode of Game of Thrones she was unfortunate to watch in the rehab.

Although that might be because it was too close to home. She had shortly described to him her home, the Middle Earth as she called it, and yeah, pretty much GoT but with less nudity. He suspects though that maybe it's just she is a bit of a prude. He finds it endearing. She blushes when he takes off his hoodie. Apparently short sleeves fluster her, it's hilarious.

She needs to return to the rehab twice a week, for professional placement training, and he drives her there the first time. He goes to a coffee shop and waits for her to be done. She comes out beaming with pride. She is just in general rather chuffed these days, apparently she likes all possible jobs they have to offer to her.

She also seems more comfortable in his flat, and she quickly learns to handle the kettle and the toaster. The stove still puzzles her, as well as groceries in plastic bags but she turns out to be a very good cook, and he now has to go to gym two times a week more, because she bakes. Bless, she does. All she cooks is strangely reminding him of what his Nana's cook used to serve on Christmas. It's all roasted meat with herbs and vegetables, and seedcakes and tarts, and soon they will laugh at him the same way they were taking a piss at Gloinson when he got married and started gaining weight.

"Wren, can you read?" He is taking off his jacket, home after his shift, she is folding one of her new tees she pulled off a clothes airer.

"Yes, in Common Speech, Sindarin, Quenya, a bit of Khuzdul," she stutters, "Oh, I forgot." She blushes, and he reminds himself that snogging her now would be abusing his position.

"The language we speak now, it is English here, do you read in it?"

"Yes," she smiles to him softly, and he pulls out a book out of his bag. It is a children's natural history book, and she grabs it and presses it to her chest as if he gifted her with a diamond tiara. Her eyes are shining, and he now knows why all those knights were putting on their daft shining armour. For this exact look. "Oh John… Books… There is nothing like books..."

He pretends he is in a rush to go to loo. He could withstand her smiles, and pitter patter of her tiny feet around his flat, and her fingers brushing to his when she would put a cuppa in front of him. Adoration in her amber coloured irises is beyond his capacity.

"What is an ounce, John?" He loves it when she says his name.

"It's a unit of measurement," he looks at her over the lid of his Mac. She is reading a cookbook he bought for her today. There are three seconds of silence.

"And what is al dente?" She reads it with her funny vaguely British accent.

"It is when you cook pasta but it's still sticky in the middle." She nods, but once he goes back to the Manchester United official page, he can still feel her eyes on him. "Yes, Wren?"

"What is pasta?" He gives it a thought.

"Wren, can you come here for a mo?" She readily jumps off the li-lo and runs up to him. He gives himself a mental slap to stop imagining her sitting down on his lap, and he lets her take his chair. She is staring at the screen. He thinks he doesn't like how she looks at Juan Mata, and he quickly closes the tab. "This is a mouse, Wren. You put your hand on it and it moves the arrow on the screen."

"How?" Oh bugger.

"Not the point right now, Wren. So you pull the arrow here and click." She makes an adorable clicking sound with her tongue. He suppresses thoughts of her tongue and turns to her to correct her. Her eyes are mischievous, and he understands she just took a jolly mickey out of him. John thinks they should give him a medal for self-control. The corners of her lips are twitching. He needs a cold shower. "So, you push this button and it opens… unfolds on the screen… and then over here you type what you need to know. It's called Google and it knows way more than I do."

They get her a job in a post office, and John feels like interfering. Surely there were some better options. But again, she is cheery as a lark about it. She says she likes that people send each other parcels, and it's near Christmas time, and she tells him at dinners about Grannies sending mitts and chocolates, and how a girl was picking up her mail today and there was a teddy there, and it's so nice that there are such lovely toys for children in this world, and he is hardly listening, because she is smiling and looks so happy.

She brings her first salary home and pushes the check in his hand. He feels like objecting, but he already knows her well. She is a proud little thing, and he did say she was to be his lodger. They start splitting bills, and she even buys herself some little things. They are mostly books, but sometimes he notices bags from lingerie stores in the recycling bin. He considers installing a freezer in his room for more convenient sticking his head in ice water.

He comes home, she is sitting at the table, it smells like lasagna in the air, and she is frowning at the screen.

"Evening, Wren." She lifts her eyes and immediately her face is lit up with a wide smile. Recently John started refusing overtime. Everyone is laughing at him, but he doesn't give a shite. Yes, he is like a newlywed, he wants to go home early, and he is grinning a lot recently, even without the obvious benefits of being newlywed. That part is actually becoming painfully uncomfortable. Especially after they bought her shower gel and body lotion with lilacs fragrance and he now catches it in the bathroom.

"Hi!" She is smiling widely to him. The top of her head hardly reaches his clavicles, and recently he started hallucinating that she seems to be standing closer to him when he comes home.

"How was your day?"

"I learnt a few new recipes and just finished sixteenth century of your history. It is very… discomforting." He loves her cautious choice of words, and that most of them are longer than five letters. He takes off his shoes and starts pulling off his jacket. "Did you know that in sixteenth century not only nobility but also the middle class of merchants, wrights, inn keepers and the like, would occasionally enjoy the fine arts, for example the theater. Blood sports were popular - including bear baiting, bull baiting, dog or cock fights and the like. Travelling troupes of actors entertained the masses. Enterprising bards would settle and build theaters - such as William Shakespeare's Globe Theater in London, according to The Old Globe Theater History published in 2005." John has been frozen one arm out of a sleeve for quite a while now.

"Wren, are you quoting Wikipedia?"

"Yes," she is looking at him in confusion. He tumbles into the flat shaking off the jacket on the way and opens the page hastily.

"Say it again!"

"Say what again?" She looks worried, and he waved his hand in the air impatiently.

"The whole thing, the Globe thing, and the dates!" She obediently repeats, and he checks. She is correct to a word. "Wren! How much text can you remember like that?" She shrugs, she has sussed out he is not upset with her.

"Ten pages maybe. I remember it for a few days, but the dates and names stay for a few years. Is it important?"

"Important?! Wren, you have photographic memory! Surely it can be applied to something better than to licking stamps!" Not thinking about licking, John! "We need to talk to your supervisor."

She is tested and her IQ hits the top level of 165. She is asked what career she would like to choose, and she answers "a librarian" before they finish the question. She is placed in college, but she insists on continuing working in the post office. He knows she is fussy about the money, he respects it.

She becomes his usual plus one. She quickly meets everyone at the station, and she is immediately great friends with his nephews who work with him. Altogether they become the best of mates, and he starts thinking that's what hell must feel like. Were she any other bird he'd made his move long ago, but with their history he'd be abusing her trust. And they live together. And she knows nothing about dating. And she is probably a virgin. Not thinking about this, John.

They celebrate Christmas with his family, she spent weeks fussing over presents, he finds it adorable. He opens the neatly wrapped box and finds ATH-CKX9iS in it. What, she is a techno geek now? He decides that he a massive idiot and is wasting time while the perfect woman is right in front of him. He has now set his mind on finally pulling himself together and asking her out, he just needs to suss out a way to do it so she didn't feel pressured but still hopefully agreed. For now he allows himself one kiss on her soft fragrant cheek, a copper curl brushes his nose, and he grinds his teeth. It's time to act.