AN: Had to add another chapter after all the nice comments on Ch 1. Enjoy!
It's a Sunday when they find the time for a short trip.
He shows her the house without commentary, it needs to be her own, this first impression, without bias or influence. He had looked at so many estates over the past months, always detecting a problem, something that didn't feel right. Except for this one. This one was perfect.
He's nervous but feigns confidence, follows as she steps into another room.
"The nursery," he finally says, a bit too quiet.
His taste really is impeccable, she thinks. They could paint the room yellow, something bright and joyous and wonderful, she can picture it so vividly, colorful photographs and a future.
They could make it their own, this house, just big enough but not excessive.
She takes his hand and pulls him closer.
"When are we moving?"
"You can't paint in that."
Surrounded by brushes and cans of paint, she stares at him with blatant skepticism. He had been at a meeting and she had expected him home much sooner, and now here he was, all business attire, tie and vest and not willing to lose another minute. She's never seen anyone look this sophisticated in the middle of a remodeling.
As he discards his jacket and rolls up his sleeves, he almost smirks.
"Watch me, Lizzie."
She spends the first night in their new home on the porch, watches the sun set and the stars appear, so much brighter here just outside the city. He hands her a blanket and a glass of wine, joins her close to midnight after all his tasks are taken care of.
When he's settled and comfortable, she puts her head on his shoulder. Not running away this time, not scared, but cared for and content. Her daughter sleeping upstairs.
"Are you happy?" he asks.
She smiles and kisses him.
"I have no choice, Lizzie," he tells her. "I have to go."
"How long will you be gone?"
"Two weeks."
She swallows, her wistfulness evident. Two weeks. An eternity.
"Will you be able to call?"
"Of course."
"Okay."
The car is already waiting for him, his bags in the trunk, and he hugs her one last time, she shouldn't be this emotional, it's not his first trip and she knows she's being selfish, but she wants him safe and she wants him home and she hates goodbyes, no matter how temporary.
When she closes the door, she lingers. Moves towards the nursery after a few minutes, before she hears a key in the lock.
When she turns around, he's looking back at her, his head tilted, that everlasting habit.
"They'll be fine without me," he says. Like it's nothing.
Her reaction is all feigned outrage and quick steps. Her arms around his neck.
"Dammit, Red."
They've made a habit out of baking together, him and the little girl. Because he has a passion for pastries and because she is his best audience. From her spot on the counter she watches his every move, laughs when he leaves a trace of flour on her nose.
The icing is her achievement, or so he will tell her mother later. She's a natural, he'll say.
He won't mention that the nozzle was much too large for her small hands, and that it was actually him who did all the work. It's really not that important.
Sometimes it's her who has to leave. Because work requires it.
When she comes home eventually, often late at night, she finds him asleep in their bed and the little one next to him.
When she lies down, no matter how careful, he wakes. Through drowsy eyes he'll watch her and reach out.
"Welcome home."
"Go back to sleep, Lizzie."
"But Agnes-"
"I'll go check. Go back to sleep."
He isn't careful enough. Just this once. He thinks of her, thinks of their daughter, when he tumbles and finally loses his balance, and he sees Dembe getting to him, hold on Raymond, and then it all stops.
When he wakes, it's to the insistent sounds of the ICU and to her sleeping form in a chair next to his bed. There's a hand clasping his. And he's breathing.
When she wakes, it's to his apologetic eyes staring back at her and a barely audible whisper.
"I'm sorry."
"I know, Red."
Her fingers reaching for his pulse, his heartbeat.
"I know."
It's the small moments she treasures. When the little girl starts mimicking his expressions, when her sleepy frown turns into a smile. She adores him, it's quite easy to see, much like her mother. He's always there when they need him. No exception.
It's the mornings he loves the most. To wake up rested and beside her, nothing remarkable really, something like simplicity. Her fixing his tie. Them sharing breakfast. Except it isn't simple. It's rather extraordinary.
"So much better than Iowa."
"Yeah?"
"Definitely."
She can hear the waves outside their room, the sheets are soft against their skin. A vacation at long last.
"Red, maybe it's time to get up."
"Maybe."
"Or?"
He moves to kiss her.
"Stay a bit longer."
Another kiss.
"Yeah?"
And another.
"Definitely."
She worries less with him close by. Because he has an answer for everything. Because he listens.
It comes with the job, surely, this practical approach to challenges, finding solutions that work for the two of them. She never takes it for granted, given their history, so close to loss, so close to irreparable damage, the hurt they've shared.
It's the way he gives her space when she needs it, how he senses her struggles, how it's instinctive because he knows her better than anyone.
It's how she can't stay angry at him for too long because he won't let her.
It's how he challenges her, so certain of her abilities.
It's how he trusts her.
"Are you happy, Red?"
He lets his fingers move down her arm, feels her eyes on him in the dark. Takes his time before he leans over and presses his lips to hers.
"Yes, Lizzie."
Pulls the sheets tighter around them.
"I am."