Red glanced at his watch and ran an antsy hand over the hair at the back of his head.

(He'd been lax about keeping it trimmed the last couple weeks; he wasn't fond of how scruffy it felt, but he was a new father. Some things took precedence.)

(What a surreal thought that was.)

Agnes was babbling away in her crib, watching whatever children's show Lizzy had put on for her from Netflix, looking for all the world like someone on the mend. Red worried, however, that if she wasn't quite as healed as it seemed like she was, her misery would surely return just as soon as her medicine wore off. He dreaded the possibility of watching her little face crumple again, seeing her confused eyes look to him and Lizzy, silently begging them to take the discomfort away.

Lizzy herself was looking at him strangely, right at that moment. Perhaps because he'd been pacing ever since he brought her breakfast tray in from the kitchen.

He checked his watch again.

Lizzy bit her lip, pausing with the last forkful of eggs raised halfway to her mouth. "Do you have to be somewhere?"

"Hmm? Oh, no, I don't. I'm just making sure Agnes isn't due for her next dose of medicine yet."

"When is she due?"

"In an hour."

Lizzy's brows crept up her forehead. "You've checked your watch five times. Relax. I'm pretty sure time doesn't move any faster because she's sick. And remember, this is coming from me, who called you at midnight like the world was gonna end because she had a stuffy nose."

"The first cold is scary," he said, with a shrug.

"Yes, it is. Still…" She trailed off with a sigh and beckoned him over to the side of her bed, patting the quilt beside her in invitation. He sat, heaving a heavy sigh himself, and she picked up his hand, running her thumb over his knuckles. Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, she said, "Last night, I was frazzled. Overtired. Apparently getting sick myself. You were there for me. For Agnes. You didn't even hesitate, you just… dropped everything to help."

"Of course I did."

"Red," she said, looking at him with an odd expectant expression on her face, as if she was waiting for him to say something, to read something in her eyes.

"I'm sorry. If there's a point you're trying to make, I'm missing it."

"Look… I appreciate what you're doing for us. With all my heart. Breakfast was delicious, and letting me sleep so long… Trust me, I'm beyond grateful. But I didn't call you so you could pamper me and neglect yourself. You don't see it, but you're right where I was yesterday. Only now you haven't had enough sleep, and here you are, still waiting on me."

"I've gotten by on far less sleep than I had last night."

"I'm sure you have. But right now you don't have to. Come on." She patted his thigh and shooed him off her side of the bed, then scooted over to make room, folding the covers down for him. "Lie down for a while. And if you happen to fall asleep? Don't worry. I've got her."

Red stood there for a long moment at somewhat of a loss, drumming his fingers on his thigh where she touched him.

Truth be told, he was tired. Usually, he could function pretty well on very little sleep, but seeing Agnes suffer with no way to explain to her that everything would be fine had obviously taken its toll. He hadn't had to face the day to day realities of fatherhood in a very long time. He wasn't nearly as prepared for it as he thought he would be, theoretically.

It wouldn't hurt to rest his eyes for a few minutes.

He rounded the bed, toed off his sneakers, and—taking a deep, fortifying breath—crawled under the quilt.

The sheets were warm, inviting. From Lizzy's body heat. From Lizzy, who was so close, yet so very far away. Reaching for her would be instinctual, much more so than lying there stiffly suppressing the urge, but something held him back.

Was it too soon for this? Could they share a bed without the ghost of what brought them here lingering, reminding them of what had been, and what could be? Could they trust themselves not to screw everything up again?

And did Lizzy want the same thing he did, he wondered? To be past walking on eggshells, worried about crossing lines and bringing up painful memories? To acknowledge that they might still crave the closeness they once had, however fleeting?

Red wanted to reach for Lizzy. Touch was so important to them—even when they were at odds with each other, even after she came back from the dead… Touch could bridge the divide where words could not.

He curled on his side, feeling tension build in his body. Perhaps Lizzy felt it, too. Even though his eyes were closed, he could still tell that she kept stealing glances at him. He felt her attention like an itch, one that wasn't wholly unpleasant, but distracting all the same.

He opened his eyes and she looked away, pretending to focus on Agnes' tv show.

Why didn't she reach for him? She'd done so just a few minute ago, after all.

Maybe she wanted it to be him, this time. Maybe she was… waiting for permission.

"Lizzy. I don't care if I catch your cold," he said, ever able to address matters of the heart without deflecting onto less treacherous ground.

When she didn't move to take Red's hand from where it rested on the covers, he slid it closer, palm facing up in a clear invitation. Clearer than his assurances, at least.

Lizzy eyed his hand and then met his searching gaze for a charged moment, before reaching down and entwining their fingers like she used to when they were together before.

It felt… good. Right. It felt like the chasm between them was shrinking, little by little.

Baby steps.

He could live with that.