Most everyone else was heading out on Friday, off back to whatever work they had, but Paul thought the girls would wanna spend until Saturday evening at the lake house. Then on Sunday, spend the last day of summer at home, doing whatever it was that they wanted to do.

He hoped it wasn't much. He didn't feel up for it, if it was.

Andre woke him up that morning, just in time for the sunrise. He couldn't be too upset; the poor pooch had to really be let out.

Immediately.

Leaving his baby behind, snoring and somehow tangled up (literally) in the sheets, Paul set off to get the animal taken care of.

Nails clipping on the hardwood floors, Andre raced through the halls the second his father opened the bedroom door, headed to the closest exit he could find. This happened to be the front door and Paul only let him out before heading to go find some relief for himself as well, being much quieter than the canine had as he headed back to the bedroom and, just as quickly, the master bathroom.

It was weird. The tile was colder, for some reason, on the bottoms of his feet than the wood had been. Absently, he considered if there was a reason for this, some sort of chemical makeup of wood as oppose to tile, or if it was just his imagination. He felt like his perceptions of things recently had been shifted to different things. He was more in tune, it felt like, with the tiny things, frequently missing the big picture. He didn't care that he hadn't hung up his towel before, the last time he used it, leaving it a still sopping mess on the floor, but rather focused in on the fact that his feet were a bit cooler in the bathroom in contrast to the bedroom.

Nonsensical, perhaps, but he felt hazy most of the time, leaving the little things to be much easier to handle and consider.

Paul didn't flick on the bathroom lights. Didn't need to. There was a big window that hung on the wall above the tub that Steph loved so much. It was frosted or whatever that thing was where everything was blurry when you looked in or out it. Paul thought it was stupid and a waste of money. Steph said that he thought this about most things.

She was usually right.

But she liked how when the sun was rising or setting, the colors of the sky would catch the glass in certain ways, casting glows on the dimmed bathroom. Steph called it beautiful frequently and would thump him in the head if he remarked otherwise or even, at times, if not at all.

At the moment he was just appreciative that it was there and therefore he didn't have to burn his eyes out to see.

Through the frost, he could make out some shapes and he could see something darting around, out there, in the yard, and knew that Andre was chasing squirrels or something. At least he was happy.

Paul had stopped working out regularly that summer and he didn't particularly care for how sluggish he was feeling as of late. He knew that it was combination of things (age, lack of sleep, grief), but also knew that it had to do in part with the disruption in his typical exercise plan. Stark, however, was the difference in pinpointing a problem and actually being able to do anything about it.

He stripped down completely after getting some water running in the shower, just standing there unconcerned, while it warmed. With little else to do, he only stared into the mirror above his sink. Or, at least, where his sink was supposed to be. Steph's shit spilled over from the other side of the vanity, even though it was the lake house and not home and who the heck needs all that shit, perfumes and lotions and creams and shit, when they're on vacation?

She was lucky if he'd even deodorize out on the lake.

Err, well, he was lucky to remember because if he didn't, he was in for quite the scolding.

It didn't make him grin though to think about like he thought it would. Rather, it made him realize, once again, that eventually he was gonna have to get rid of Steph's stuff, the meaningless stuff that just junked up the bathroom anyways and he was nearly certain she didn't use half of. It should be easy, on that that end, to at least toss all that junk in a trash bag and be done with it, but for some reason, he chest began to tighten, just from the thought, and his eyes became trained on the mirror as he stared at himself rather than think about it.

The water was too hot, when he stepped into the shower stall, but he wasn't up for getting into toying with the temp and figured it was better to burn than freeze anyhow. It felt good on his back, anyways, when he turned it towards the shower head, reaching up even years out subconsciously, shocked just long enough to feel stupid when there was no hair there to wash.

He could hear it, even over the sound of the shower, when his bedroom door was slammed open. It sounded like Murphy who called out for him and then, of course, Vaughn complaining as she was woken up. Paul had a bad feeling that Murphy was looking for his laptop or, worse, wanted to talk about those videos.

It was something that was going to have to happen eventually, of this he was certain, but Paul just couldn't yet. More than just not wanting to, he legitimately felt as if speaking in depth at the moment about his wife with the girls would lead to him getting all emotional or something and he didn't feel as if that was what they needed at the moment. Plus, he just didn't like feeling that way in general, outwardly emotive. He wasn't raised like that. He felt things, of course. Paul felt a lot of things. But you deal with it on your own.

That wasn't to say that he wanted his daughters to be that way. He wanted them to openly grieve if that's what they felt like doing. He figured it was healthier, anyways. But he was hoping that this could be done either at a later date, when he was out of his process of it, or with one of their grandmothers or aunts.

With Steph, really.

He was still waiting around, as stupid as it was, for Steph to fix all the problems that her death had sprung up.

If he'd been the one to die, she'd know what to do. How to help them. She'd have had them over it, probably, had he had some sort of long, drawn out sickness, by the time he was actually in the ground. They'd have come to terms with it and been just fine. And when things weren't fine, she'd have the perfect, soothing words to quell whatever fears or pain appeared. Crying with them when they needed someone to cry with and being strong when they required that as well; Steph would do it all.

And Paul felt like he was doing nothing, but being a big failure and a baby and hoping that there was someone else in his family that could do his job. Even when he would lie to himself, about how he couldn't breakdown for fear of them doing the same, he knew deep down it was just an excuse.

He was scared. He'd had months to prepare for the project and still dropped the ball, just wishing the date away rather than figuring out what he would do when it arrived. Steph's death had been imminent and yet he continued to delude himself into believing that if he just prayed a bit more or hoped or even just kinda plugged his mind to idea of her being gone that it would all just work itself out, but it hadn't. Whether he liked it or not, Steph was gone and he was going to have to be a pretty big portion of the solution to where everything was headed next.

No amount of dreaming or thinking of the past would change that.

And yet…

"Daddy! Are you in there?"

Murphy didn't want him to drift to far either, apparently, as she came to knock at the bathroom door. "No one else is up. Where's Andre?"

Even though he didn't want to, Paul had to get out of the shower then and keep her quiet, before she woke the whole house. The others would be leaving in the coming hours and no doubt would want their sleep, regardless of the fact she clearly was content with the amount she'd already gotten.

"Give me a sec," he sighed from in the bathroom as he slowly stepped out of the shower stall, frowning when his eyes finally found his blue towel in that heap on the floor, stinking and undesirable, awaiting his use. "Just gotta towel off."

She was too, waiting on him, outside of the bathroom door. Vaughn was curled back up in bed, but Murphy was right there, staring up at him with wide eyes, and Paul only patted her on the head, mumbling something about how they needed to go find Andre; he was outside all alone.

Murphy didn't like this and tugged him along, rushing to go find the dog. She was quite fond of him, perhaps even more than she had been their last dog, if only because Andre seemed equally as drawn to her whereas Bluto, their former dog, mostly just loved Steph and saw everyone else as baggage that went along with this.

He hadn't gone far, the dog hadn't, and Paul was glad for this. Eventually, sure, Andre would die because everything dies, but it wasn't anything that needed to happen soon. At all.

Andre was very excited to see Murphy and, though she seemed to have woken up in a bit better mood that day, she still didn't jump around with him or take off running in an attempt to get the dog to chase her. She only patted him on his head as Paul stood there, beside her, waiting for something. For her, he guessed, to decide that they should lead the dog back into the house, but honestly he was hardly thinking about her at all, much less the dog.

Drifting again, Paul ignored Murphy and Andre, who were very content in both giving pets and receiving them, respectfully, his mind finding favor in thoughts of getting back in the shower again, with the hot water and silence.

Where he could think.

Or not.

Feel.

Or not.

Exist.

Or not.

Just be alone.

Alone.

He'd always be alone, from then on.

Shower or not.

"Late," he recalled Steph yawning as he got home, like she said, late one night in early June.

She was resting in bed, with her phone, and alone for once. Since summer break began it's typical tyranny on their household, at least one of the girls could usually be found snuggling in bed with their mother, either sleeping or talking. Just lying around. Being.

But that night.

"At your dad's," he replied with a bit of a sigh as Steph hardly glanced up from her phone. "Getting bitched out over this whole Shane doing stuff for me at work. Like the man wasn't doing it before me."

"That's because you need to work, Paul."

"You and your father are too much alike."

"Come lay down with me." She glanced up finally, eyes staying on his as he pulled his shirt over his head and moved to drop his pants. "Please."

"Might stink," he warned, though he was coming to fall into bed regardless. "Ain't showered since this morning."

"Don't care." She was facing away from his side of the bed and he knew that meant she wanted him to cuddle up to her back. To hold her. "Just want you."

"Mmmm."

"Are you still angry today?"

That was what started it all. He could still remember her how nonchalantly she tired to pass off this sentence and how, at first, he believe she truly was just curious. Or concerned. It felt like something she would ask, were they in the previous year or any of the ones before it.

But they had been in the current one, their last one, together, and she knew what she was doing.

If it has yet to be made clear, Steph always knew what she was doing.

"Wasn't angry," he muttered into her neck, eyes focusing more on her phone, finding her to have been texting what looked like one of her friends. "Yesterday."

"You were too," she replied right back, but it wasn't in an accusatory tone. Just a statement. It wasn't up for discussion.

And it hadn't been for a few weeks.

June was when they both kinda knew, hey, it was beginning to look like the end was coming sooner rather than later and he had begun his descent into the funk he had, in August, as he stood out there with his daughter and dog, but felt alone and wrong and...guilty.

He felt guilty, back in June, because of how easy it had become, for him to snap at one of the girls or to space out, when Steph was trying to talk to him. To not be interested in what was going on, regardless of the fact that all he wanted to do, to throw himself into them, all of them, his wife and kids, and just have them, all four of them, together, for as long as he could.

Rather than becoming overly loving, however, he could see himself becoming more and more distant, to all of them. He'd only just started his skipping of shows and meetings, being around the house more, but it was too late, it felt like, as his attitude was dipping south from the get-go.

It was a lot like senior year. Before you got to it, you had all these plans, but then you were there and the weight of it, of the ending and the work and emotions tied into it, was just too heavy. The excitement turned to apathy and the apathy in his case was more like a short fuse. He tried to get excited, to play games with the girls or to sit around with Steph all day, but just little things that went wrong, like one of the girls spilling a drink on the floor or the dog refusing to stop barking, just suddenly pissed him off in ways it never had before.

He was tired.

"No," he said even though it was a lie.

"You're tense."

"Am not."

"That's why you're in a bad mood," Stephanie reasoned. "That's why you need to work. To put thought into other-"

"I'm gonna be with you." He remembered letting out a long breath, right on her ear, but the hot air didn't make Steph shiver for once. "At least for the summer."

One of Steph's hands had left her phone and moved then to toy with his fingers as his arm was slung over her, not pulling her towards him, but also not allowing her much movement. Softly, she said, "I've been stuck doing the same thing for weeks. It grates on you."

"Just stop, okay?"

She did. But only for a minute or so as they laid there. He wished that he'd turned on the stereo, before lying down, but didn't feel like getting up then. Just as he was getting ready to ask her to play something, anything, from her phone, the woman spoke again.

"I don't want you to, like, be bored here with me all day, every day."

"I won't be," he told her after a sigh. He sighed a lot, in June. "I'll have the girls and I'm still heading down to Florida, sometimes, to take care of-"

"You should."

"Should what?"

"Go to Florida." Steph had stopped her toying, but her fingers still held one of his, the index. "A lot."

"To what?" He wasn't understand. At all. "Check in at the Performance Center?"

"Well, yeah, duh. You have to-"

"If you say something about work-"

"What are you going to do after I die, Paul?" She glanced over her shoulder at him. "Are you going to just be miserable?"

It wasn't a joke, either, when she asked this. Her tone was flat and her face wasn't much better. He was frozen, just staring at his wife without blinking.

"Because I don't want you to be." Toying with his fingers once more, she looked away from him and down at her phone. "Ever. Okay?"

"Stephanie," he finally breathed. "I don't wanna-"

"Talk about this?" When he said nothing, she only said, "If I have to think about it, you should have to listen to it. And I know you think about it too."

"What do you want me to say?" he asked then. "I don't even get what you're telling me. That you want me to be happy? If you die?"

"When I die."

"Fine. When. I won't be miserable for the rest of my life. Promise. Alright?"

"That's not what I meant."

"What are you talking about? You said you didn't want me to be miserable, I said I won't. How are we talking about two different things?"

"I wasn't talking about in general, Paul."

He was trying hard not to get too huffy with her, but it was hard.

"Then what specifically, Stephanie?'

"Just… You've just been...stressed, a lot, and it's starting to show."

"Is not."

"You yelled at Murphy for-"

"They shouldn't just leave their damn toys all over the house."

"Paul."

"It's dangerous. What if I fell and broke something? Or one of them? Or you?"

"Yeah, and there's a way to explain that."

"Steph-"

"I just want you to find something to...else to do. Sometimes. To...relax you. You should happy. Not miserable. Right now and after… You should just be happy. I want you to be happy."

"Like what? You want me to take up golf or-"

"Paul."

"What, Stephie? I'm not getting it. What are you saying?"

"I just… Are you going to be with someone else? After I die?"

She had more than taken him by surprise in saying this. Paul hadn't been playing coy, at all, with their conversation. He truly did not understand what she was getting at.

But he was starting to.

"What?" he asked, frowning at her as he pushed away from the woman a bit. "Stephanie-"

"Well, I mean, obviously you are-"

"Why is that obvious?"

"Paul."

"Stop...saying my name like that. I don't get this. Why are you talking about-"

"Because it's something that we should talk about."

"Says who?" he asked. "Huh? No one I know. Why would we ever talk about-"

'We've always talked about everything with each other and-"

"Has this been...bothering you?"

"No. And that's what I'm trying to tell you." Steph shifted as well then, so that she was facing him. Staring into his blinking, confused eyes, she said, "I want you to be with other people. That's what I was getting at. I don't want you to be lonely or think that I wanted you to be or anything like that."

Staring, he was silent for a moment as his chest tightened, clearly uncomfortable with their topic.

"I'm not gonna...do this with someone else," he finally told her, the words hanging in his throat as he shook his head a bit. "Ever. So-"

"This?"

"This," he kept insisting. "Us. This… I… Steph..."

"I'm not saying you have to fall in love with someone again."

If he wasn't in such a perturbed mood by that point, he might have made some sort of slight about never saying he was in love with her to begin with, but his sense of humor was always shut off when he was as worked up as she was making him.

"I'm just saying that you're going to be with someone after I'm gone."

"Why are you saying that?"

"Pa-"

"Don't say my name again."

She was shifting again, then so that she could lay down more, head resting on her pillow as she stared up at her husband. "You'll at least have sex again."

"Stephanie-"

"Don't say mine either. You will."

"Why do we have to talk about this?"

"Because I'm not getting better, Paul."

He knew. He'd known. But that didn't mean that he wanted to act accordingly.

"So?"

"I'm trying to tell you..." She shut her eyes then, but he continued to stare at her, watching, waiting. "I'm not doing anything here, Paul, for you or for anyone. I just sleep all day."

"You do not." He wasn't sure where she was going, but he didn't want her to get there. "You spend time with the girls. People come to see you. You do plenty."

"But not for you."

"What are you talking about?" he complained with a shake of his head. "All I wanna do is spend time with you. Like right now. So-"

"I don't want there to be a lull."

"Lull?"

Nodding, she said, "Between me being here and not. I meant what I said; I don't want you to be miserable or lonely. Even for a day."

"Then what-"

"I think you should… If you wanted to be with someone, right now, then I wouldn't mind-"

"Are telling me to cheat on you?"

"No." And her eyes opened then, watching him as his brows furrowed. She always told him how cute that face was, when he'd make it at her, but in that moment, she didn't seem to be enjoying it. "I'm just saying that if you wanted to… If while you're in Florida, you wanted to see someone, then-"

"Fuck, Steph."

"No, I'm trying to be-"

"You're being stupid. Knock it off."

"Be mature."

"Fuck you."

"Paul-"

"I don't want to fight." He fell then, into his pillow, and buried his face in it. "So just-"

"I'm not fighting. I want you to. You have to have something other than...this to deal with all day and I've thought about it a lot and-"

"Enough."

"No."

"I'm not going to fuck around on my wife while she's fucking dying, Stephanie." He lifted his head when he said that, so that she could hear every last word. "I'm just not. This is...weird. Just shut up."

"It's not weird."

"It's very weird."

"Only because you're making it that way."

"So what, Steph? Huh? While you're laying around the house dying, you want me to take a trip to Florida and what? Fuck women?"

"You're such a jerk."

"How? Is that not what you're-"

"I'm just saying," she told him in a soft voice, the one that always made him feel like an ass for snapping at her, even before she was sick, "that you're not happy right now. You can pretend to be, but I know you're not. I'm not happy either. This sucks. But...it'll be over for me, soon. It's not going to be for you. And if you can find something to do, away from here, even if it's spending time with...another woman or...multiple, then I'd want you to do that. I want you to just be happy."

He didn't even listen, really. Only replied, "I'm happy here," and they left it at that.

For awhile, anyways.

They had to, really, as one of the girls started yelling at another one from one of their bedrooms, apparently not as asleep as they'd seemed when Paul peeked in on them earlier. When he got back to her, Steph was sleeping and it was just as well.

Paul never wanted to have that conversation again.

Of course, it wasn't really his choice, it seemed, as they inevitably did, not a day later.

"Daddy, what are we gonna do today?"

He also didn't have time to think about it then as Murphy was finished, it seemed, trading head pats for face licks and was awaiting instruction from the man.

Looking down at her, Paul only stood there for a moment, thinking, before shrugging a bit and saying, "Whatever you wanna do, I guess."

His middle child stared right back up at him, shrugging as well before saying, "I dunno what I wanna do."

"Me neither."

They'd started to head back to the house then and, just as they were approaching it, Paul got this really...sick feeling in his stomach. Because he knew it was only a matter of time before everyone else woke up and then they'd be leaving and they'd all wanna hug him and tell to call if he needed anything and wasn't that just the worst?

He felt like it was the worst.

Weird to think about, but it kinda reminded him of bringing a newborn home from the hospital. Every then gives well-wishes and promises to babysit whenever needed. In the current case, when he came home empty handed, everyone was constantly calling to give regards and telling him to just pick up the phone and text or call if he needed someone to talk or anything like that.

Was it that people wanted to offer support in stressful times? Or was it that they wanted to be around to pick up on drama during said times?

Perhaps a bit of both.

And he knew with his family, at least, that was mostly genuine, but at the same time…

He just…

"Wanna go for a car ride?"

Murphy looked up at him with wide eyes at the suggestion. They'd reached the porch and she stopped in her tracks, awaiting an explanation. When he gave none, she only nodded, deciding quickly that she didn't care where they were going; just anywhere would be nice.

"Let's put Andre up," he sighed, shaking his head a bit before saying, "and be quiet about it. Really don't wanna deal with anyone. Alright?"

His SUV was a bit blocked in, out in the dirt driveway, but driving onto the front lawn in a way that would have gotten him a good scolding from his wife fixed this issue. Murphy still had to ride in the backseat, but she seemed fine back there, just staring out the window every time he glanced up in the review mirror.

On the drive down, he'd let Aurora control the radio and hadn't been in the car since, so it was on some pop-ish station that he only put up with for his girls, but was too lazy then to change. Music mostly felt like white noise anyhow. He just hoped it was bringing Murphy some sort of comfort.

The next time that Steph and Paul had discussed the whole...cheating thing (she could call it what she wanted, it was what it was), it was in a far more mature manner as they were alone in the house for a few brief hours, even Andre finding interest in things that didn't pertain to his parents.

He knew it was coming too, had been dreading it for the two days since the first mention of it, and only sat there, silently, as Steph explained to him just why she thought it was such a good idea.

"You're not going to be alone forever," she told him as they sat in bed beside one another. He was resting with his back against the head board, arms folded loosely (though that could change in an instance) across his chest, while she rested on her side, staring at him sleepily. The day before was spent with the girls and that was very draining on her. "I wouldn't want you to be."

He was listening to her, in a polite enough way, but he knew that she could read his body language enough to know that he wasn't thrilled with the conversation. Yet she was pressing forward, which also said a lot about how important Steph must have thought the whole thing was.

"And...if you could not be alone as soon as possible, why wouldn't you be? It's not I'm stupid. You're not...gonna mourn over me forever," she went on, randomly looking away from him, no doubt a show that she too wasn't so sure of what she was saying. But that had never stopped Steph from voicing what she thought. Especially to him. "We haven't had sex in a month, Paul."

He was done being quiet at that.

"And?"

"Paul."

"Don't do that today."

"It's just...only going to be longer. Even when it's not, it's not like… Don't make me talk about this."

"I'm not making you do anything." He even recalled shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head. "You're the one that wants to do this."

"Don't be a baby about it."

"I'm not being a baby." And they were devolving, as they always did, in tense moments, into teasing one another. "It's just not..."

"What if I die next week?"

"What?"

"What if?" She was staring him straight in the eyes then. "And after a month, you slept with someone else. Would that be cheating?"

"I don't..."

"No. It wouldn't. So, if I live for another three months-"

"Why can't we not talk about this too?"

"-and you were sleeping with someone during that time, why would that be cheating? If I told you that you could?"

"Steph, you are taking too much medication." Which was true, probably, and not really a joking matter, but he was in a such a foul mood from the conversation that he didn't care. "Why are you trying to convince me to sleep with other women? This is beyond a first. This has to be the only time anyone will ever say that to someone that they care about."

"I'm saying it because I care about you. And it's a really normal thing," she insisted to which he rolled his eyes. "It is, Paul. People do this all the time. Not normally with such a stubborn person-"

"How even am I supposed to do? Huh?" He shook his head again. "Go out and just pick up some random chick or something?"

"How did you use to pick up women?"

"I ask my bosses if they have any daughters and what their trust funds are-"

"Never mind." And she was annoyed. She even gave him her back. "If you're just gonna be an ass-"

"I'm not trying to be." Err, well, with that previous remark, he had been just a tad, but she served him up for it. "I just don't… I've never cheated on you, Steph. Ever."

"I know."

"No. You don't. You believe me and I believe you. We trust one another. But tell you, right now, since the moment we got committed to one another, I've only been with you. That's a long ass time. And..."

"So what then?" She glanced over her shoulder. "You're...scared?"

"No." He made a face. "I just… If you're dying, baby, I wanna be with you."

"I'm not saying you can't be."

"And if I've been a jerk," he went on, "recently, or short tempered, then I'm sorry. Everything's just… I just hate it." When she was silent, Paul said, "And you're not thinking about this. Not really. You're acting like this is just something to do. That I'm just gonna move on immediately. I'm not."

"I know. I only-"

"If things were reversed, would you go out and sleep with someone? If I told you to?"

"No." She didn't even think about it, he felt. "But that's different."

"Why? Do you think you love me more than I do you?"

"Just differently."

"Then you're stupid."

"Paul-"

"And this is a stupid idea. This is how shit starts, Steph. If I went out tonight and slept with another woman-"

"Or just date." She was already backtracking. "You just go out and have fun with someone else. You don't always have to sleep with someone."

"-then you'd be pissy about it."

"If you left the bed right now? Yeah, I would be, but that's not what I told you to do."

"Then what do you want, Steph? Huh? Tell me what to do."

"I'm not tell you to do anything," she said, staring across the room at nothing. "I'm just saying that if...when you're not home if you're out or something and… I don't know, Paul. I thought that you'd like this."

"That I'd like what? You basically giving up on me?"

"I'm not giving up on-"

"You're basically telling me that I'm going to do it anyways, so just go ahead. That's stupid."

"But you are," she insisted. "Maybe after I'm gone, but you are."

"Stop talking about that."

"You have to live, Paul, after me. You get to be the one. Just...earlier than we'd have thought. And you'll...probably get married again."

"Shut up, Steph."

"You might," she insisted. "It happens. A lot. And...you might even have more kids."

"I don't wanna do this." And he was getting out of bed then. "Have this stupid conversation-"

"It's not stupid." And she was moving as well, but it was to turn her face into her pillow. Her voice was sounded like it was breaking and he hated that, but she was doing to herself. All of it. She was the one, clearly, that was thinking about all of this, worrying about all this, and only trying to alleviate the thoughts by spurring him on to hurry up and get to it already. "You're not old."

He couldn't leave her though, when she was upset, not anymore (he used to be pretty good at riling her up, disappearing long enough for her to miss him, and then getting back in time to benefit from her remorse over their argument), and was just standing there, at the end of the bed, thinking.

"I don't want to get married again, Steph."

"You don't know that."

"I do know that. It won't ever be like this again and-"

"Don't start with that 'this' stuff."

"Why? It won't. I can't… I was just supposed to be with you, Steph. And that's it. That's all. It's not even possible that I would ever feel this way, so strongly, truthfully, about another person again. It wouldn't even be fair to the people that never get this. And that's fine. If you...have to… I don't even want to, ever again. Nothing can ever come close to this. I won't let it."

Which he was ready to leave things at, heading off then, away from her, from that annoying state she kept insisting on putting him in, where she was almost outright demanding that he be emotional and sappy and all the garb that they usually buried so well in their quips and jokes.

But Steph always needed the last word.

Even if it wasn't conclusive to anything at all.

"Maybe," he heard her muttered at his back as he left, "you'll actually finally get a son."

Which was fucking aggravating. He couldn't get away from that. Ever. It was a question everyone asked him about, each time one of his daughters were born, and it was something Steph talked about all the time. And yeah, he'd fucking wanted a son, but with Steph. And even then, he couldn't imagine it adding anything to his life. Definitely not if it meant subtracting one of his daughters.

It was one of those damn interview questions that made him glad that he was behind the scenes then and away from morons that didn't know their damn place.

Then there was Steph, using it to try and get him back on her side. Which was a fucking stupid side, considering it consisted of attempting to get him, her very damn loyal husband, to fuck around around on her.

He wondered, looking back on it, how much it had to do with her father. The whole sleeping around thing. Steph wasn't stupid, of course, and knew just how different her father was from literally every person on the face of earth, in its entire existence, but at the same time…

It was just carnal, wasn't it? He'd been taught so. That women looked for men that reminded them of their fathers and fuck, Paul respected Vince for a lot, could separate the Vince he knew to the one the man probably actually was on the inside, but damn, Vince would probably sleep around on Linda, still, even if she was sick.

And it was probably actually something that Steph thought Paul would be happy for. Her permission or whatever. It wasn't even really that Paul hated the idea of it, but more that it was just poorly thought out. There was no way that it didn't end in her getting hurt and him being a bad guy.

Plus he meant it when he said it; if he had free time, he wanted to spend it with Steph.

She was his best friend.

She just was.

He was more than ready to just put the whole thing behind them. Let Steph try to bring it up a few more times and then let it die out.

But then she ahd to go and say that.

Needling him. Even after he'd tapped out, Steph was locked in and unrelenting. She wanted to have that conversation until he agreed to, at the very least, the possibility of him one day marrying again.

She'd gambled wrong though, as her statement only made him glare over at her.

"Fuck you, Stephanie." And he meant in that moment. "Damn, why can't just shut up? And leave it alone? Just- What's wrong?"

The final two words kinda just tumbled out of his mouth as Steph suddenly shoved up from the bed and rushed passed him, to the bathroom, where she hardly made it to the toilet.

Actually, thinking back on it, he was pretty sure he had to clean up a bit, afterwards, and she hadn't.

Regardless, all malice left him as he went to go rub her back and hold her hair (as well as keep his own gagging to a minimum) as Steph emptied her guts. He pretty sure though that it had less to do with her sickness (they were actually slowly taking her off her medications and she'd officially decided to end chemo/radiation two weeks prior) and more to do with how worked up she'd gotten herself. He felt like an ass, as if he'd had something to do with it, but really, it was all her.

He still wiped her face with a cool cloth though, before she got to her feet.

"I just," Steph whispered when they were finally back in bed together, him rubbing her stomach and nodding appropriately, no longer wishing to fight with the woman, "want you to know that if, when you're in Florida or wherever, something...happens… It's okay. Alright? That's all."

"Okay," he whispered, mostly to end the discussion. Nuzzling his head against hers as he rested against her side, he added, "I understand, baby."

"You don't have to, like, tell me about it." She let out a slow breath, staring up at him. "I'd actually prefer you didn't."

"Okay. I won't."

"Just be happy. I just don't want you to be alone, Paul. Ever."

"I won't be." He pressed a lingering kiss to the side of her head. "I promise."

Paul had tensed up a bit, driving, just from thinking about all of that, and his daughter was being far too quiet, it felt like, not really questioning him at all about their destination. This led to him driving into town, little motivation in mind until finally she spoke up.

"Can we get breakfast?"

He felt like such an ass for forgetting. For not even thinking of it, really. She hadn't eaten yet. Of course.

"Yeah, baby."

"Whatever I want?"

"If it's in town."

"Can I get donuts and a breakfast burrito?"

He was to tired to care. "If that's what you want."

If it was the little things that made her happy, he couldn't deny them.

Murphy wanted to sit inside the donut shop and made him order pig in the blankets, even though he didn't want them, so that she could not so sneakily eat them. He did drink his bottle of chocolate milk though, mumbling to her that she should drink hers too, because at least that was sorta good for her.

She talked him a little bit then, mostly about what other children she already knew where in her class at school and which she liked and didn't like. Basic things, but things that he couldn't focus on and, up until he'd given her those videos, he probably wouldn't have heard about anyways. But she was happier, it seemed, just from receiving those, even after only watching a few, and he couldn't hate that.

He didn't hate that.

Concerned still over what the fallout would be, should the videos dredge up too many emotions, but at the moment, he had to keep thinking of the positives.

At the moment though, all he wanted to think about was getting back to the warmth of his shower. It was soothing, when so little else ever was anymore.

That's what he found Steph doing, a week after their conversation. Not showering, technically, but soaking in the tub, finding her own soothing way to relax.

The house had been quiet, when he got in, and he found the younger two of his girls sleeping in the fort he'd made them in their play room, while Aurora was conked out in bed. Steph, however, was up of course and in the tub.

She seemed shocked to see him, when he came into the bathroom, and Paul only frowned at the bottle of wine that rested on the lip of the tub, as well as the glass curled in her hand.

"You shouldn't drink with your meds," he mumbled, though it sounded hallow to both their ears.

Still, Steph only stared before whispering, "I thought you'd… I really didn't think you'd be home tonight."

He'd thought it'd been obvious, that night when he agreed that yes, the next time he went down to Florida, if something happened, he'd just let it, that he was only agreeing with her to calm her nerves and get her to sleep off their argument.

"Why'd you think that?"

"I just… You were mad at me still. I could tell. And… Then you didn't text me, after the taping, like usual, and..."

"Why are drinkin', Steph?

"I thought that… I dunno. If you were out with someone else, like that moment-"

"Why would I do it the first night that you-"

"You didn't text me."

"I was busy. You're the one that always wants me to be engrossed in my work. And you didn't text me either, you know."

Steph shifted deeper in the water. She'd always enjoyed their tub at home when she was ready to spend some time alone. He didn't want her to be then though, alone; he wanted her to be with him.

"I thought it'd be romantic."

"How would me sleeping with other women be romantic?"

"It'd bring us closer because you wouldn't get tired of me or annoyed that you're having to take care of me or-"

"Why would I get tired of that? You're sick. That's ltiearlly the exact thing I signed up for. In our vows."

She only stared up at him. '"Didn't we write our own vows?"

Instead of answering, Paul leaned down to gently take the wineglass (which needed refilling anyways) from her hands. Instead of pouring more in there though, he took the bottle as well and went to set them over on the counter, away from her. Steph only watched silently, waiting.

"The water still warm?"

"Why?"

Shrugging a bit, he asked, "A man can bathe, can't he?"

And she smiled at him. Really smiled at him. He remembered that the most about that night, because she didn't do that very often anymore, not that real way, and she snuggled back against him when he sunk into the tub behind her, letting out a low moan while he was at it.

"If it upset you, baby," he whispered to her after a moment, "you shouldda, like, called me."

"And freaked out on the phone?"

"Yeah. Old Steph would have done it. I think you were more attached to me back then, babe."

"No."

"No way would you have told me to just go out and fuck someone else," he insisted. "Sick or not. I don't even think you wanted me to look at other women, if you died."

She pulled his arms tight around her, toying with the wedding band that he still wore around his finger and would, from then on. "I think I'm more attached now. Your happiness over mine."

"What you perceive as my happiness isn't always my happiness, babe." Humming a bit, he added, "If I was planning on cashing in, anyways, I wouldn't have made it so obvious. The whole point was for you to not know, right? Something just for me to do, on my own time, away from you?"

"In my perfect world though-"

"Of course."

"-you did mention it to me and you wouldn't, like, be in love or whatever with another woman."

"Never."

"But you'd find someone you at least liked to be around. And liked to be around you. And...I dunno. Just want you to fine."

"Steph," he sighed as he shifted a bit in the water. "If you don't...make it..."

And she wasn't, but confirming it with absolution just felt wrong."

"I'll probably sleep with other people again. But not before then. And not even a long time after, probably." Paul let out a long breath then, thinking for a moment before whispering, "I'll never be in love like this again though. This...whatever we are. I can't be. I've spent so many years with you, all of the important ones, and no one else will ever have that. You get me."

"You're really not that hard to get."

"My little drunk baby. Delirious."

"Not drunk."

"You're drunk. I'm deep. It's special that you get me."

"We are special," she conceded.

With a nod, Paul whispered in her ear, "Hell yeah we are, baby."

When they finally got out of the tub, Paul did first, to dry off, before helping Steph out. She'd been fine, sitting there, but the wine had gone to her head and was making the room spin. Not that this was a problem. Before she could even attempt to slip into her nightgown, Paul ahd wrapped her up in a fluffy towel and, with minimal effort, lifted her into his arms.

It was something that he used to do, when they were dating, that would sen Steph into giggles. He'd carry her around the house, refusing to put her down and it was just a big joke.

Not so much in June, as it was around then that there were times when Steph just couldn't climb the stairs to bed and he'd carry her up there. Less romantic and silly, far more morose and inflicting reflection.

But that night when he carried her to bed, Steph was giggling and he liked hearing her do that. A lot.

"You gonna ever tell me, baby?"

"Tell you what?"

"The movie," he remarked as she laid curled up to him.

"Hmmm?"

"Don't make noises at me. I'm not stupid. You watched a movie, didn't you? Probably a little cheap one on TV? Where this happened? Where the man met someone else while his wife was dying? "

"There was more to it-"

"Knew it."

"You need to watch it with me."

"I'm canceling our television service. You have to find something else to do all day."

"Well, since someone wants to spend so much time with me-"

"I do." He snuggled her up real close. "I really do."

The donut shop was cold (he couldn't recall ever being in a warm one) as he and Murph sat there, the place feeling even less so as he considered that evening silently. His daughter had shifted to talking something about the videos, he could tell that much, but Paul couldn't focus enough to understand. Some joke Steph had said, in one of them, a knock-knock joke that Murphy was very excited to tell other people.

"But not Vaughn," she said as he only stared at her. "Since she can't see or hear the videos. Right?"

"Right," he muttered. And wasn't she so lucky?

Paul still had his and, for some reason, even the thought of Steph just recording herself telling knock-knock jokes in it didn't ease his stomach when he thought about it. Just like the idea that one day, he might actually some semblance of what he felt with Steph, but with another person. That another woman might actually get him, at least on some level.

And...what if…

What if he ever did get married again? Then what?

No. He didn't wanna contemplate anymore unknown. So he continued to think about that night when he and Steph bathed together and he played with her hair while she played with his ring and they were just perfect together.

Even without her being there, in the donut shop, to scold Murphy on eating to much and him not at all, Paul still felt closer to his wife than he ever had another person in the entire world. Dead or alive, Steph was just the one.

The only one.

And Paul was pretty okay with that.