So I have this habit of not posting anything for like a month, and then updating all stories in like a week. Which is better than nothing, right?

Two days later, Rose was fighting with photoshop in her office when her mobile buzzed. She grabbed it blindly and held it for a second before tearing her eyes away from the computer screen and down to her phone, but got a wave of apprehension when she saw a text from James. He usually only texted her if he decided on short notice to take Ian somewhere, but it was already mid-afternoon, so that was unlikely. If something bad happened, Ian acting poorly or anything, James usually waited until she got home to talk to her about it, and even that had only happened a couple of times. But there was first time for everything. She took a breath to steel herself and opened the message.

-You mind if I stay for dinner? I'll cook.

Rose let out a breathless laugh as she looked down at the text, then leaned back in her chair, chewing on a nail. It probably wasn't a good idea to let him stay, after what had happened last week. She was still trying to reassemble the barricades. But it had been fun, before...the thing. She typed a reply quickly to buy herself some time while she considered it.

-Ian begging? Or your family on your nerves?

-Did you consider the possibility that I simply enjoy the company of you and your son?

-…

-Alright, both. But my point is still valid.

Rose laughed again when she saw his reply, imagining his his versatile eyebrows raised to his hairline, lips twitching as he tried not to smile. He had said he wouldn't try anything like that again (Which is good, she added to herself sternly), and he was offering to cook, and she'd probably never hear the end of it if Ian knew that she'd refused his precious James anything. She sighed and gave up.

-Fine by me. What are you making?

-Good question.

-James Noble doesn't have a PLAN?

-James Noble didn't think he'd get this far. Onion crusted chicken, couscous, and...dunno, a vegetable.

-So long as it's not broccoli.

-That's a bit harsh. What's broccoli ever done to you?

-Tasted disgusting.

-Hardly the broccoli's fault. It is as god intended.

-Are you really going to start a moral debate in defence of broccoli?

-Tempting, but no. I also won't make it. Should I assume that green beans are likewise worthy only of your scorn?

-I love green beans.

-There we are then. Glad to know it's not a hue-ist agenda.

-Course not. Vegetables of all colors are accepted in my house.

-Except broccoli.

-Except broccoli.

-Gotcha. Gotta run...Ian's done with his grammar...probably good, because his tortured moans were beginning to draw attention.

-He does NOT like grammar. Give him a kiss for me.

-Will do. See you tonight, Rose.

oOoOo

That's how it started. They had a similar conversation the following week, and the next, until it was just taken as fact that James would be staying for dinner on Wednesday nights. Ian, of course, was the first to fall into this, asking what they were making rather than whether James was staying. Rose knew, as she watched her son grow ever closer to his tutor, that this extracurricular time was probably a terrible idea, and would only lead to heartbreak when they were inevitably alone again, but it was so hard to put a stop to something that made him so obviously happy. And even she had to admit that she enjoyed the nights that James stayed, not the least because coming home to the pleasant cooking smells and dinner on the table once a week was more than a little satisfying.

She was especially thankful for it when, a few weeks later, she had a particularly exhausting day of meetings following a night of nightmare plagued sleep. They didn't come every night like they used to, but when they did, they came with a vengeance, and left her feeling wrung out and exhausted. She couldn't hide away from Ian, but at least James could pick up her slack if she was a little withdrawn.

So she was looking forward to at least that much as she opened the door to her flat, only to stare in surprise at the unknown elderly gentlemen sitting with her son at the table.

"Mummy!" Ian cried happily, running over to hug her.

"Hey, you," she said, smiling down at him briefly before looking back toward the table. "Who...who's your friend?"

"Sorry, hi," James said, poking his head from the kitchen. "This is Wilfred Mott, my grandfather. I sort of...promised I'd have dinner with him tonight...and then kind of…"

"Forgot about an old man," Wilfred said cheerfully, and Rose chuckled at James' eye roll and reddening cheeks.

"I didn't forget," James insisted. "Just...momentarily...got distracted."

"Ian does that," Rose said with a wink as the little boy turned, holding her hands to his chest.

"But can't Wilf stay for dinner too, Mummy?" Ian asked, looking up at Rose with large, pleading eyes. "We made roast with potatoes 'n' carrots 'n' everything."

"If not, it's fine," James said quickly, coming into the room fully when she hesitated. "There's not really much left to do for the roast, I can take Granddad out and pick up the slow cooker tomorrow."

"It's fine," she said, hating the idea of kicking James out after he made her dinner. "Really," she added, intercepting an uncertain look between grandfather and grandson. "The more the merrier, right? Anything I can do?"

Ian quickly squealed with delight and ran back to Wilf while Rose followed James into the kitchen.

"Honestly, there's not much to do," James said. "It's been cooking for six hours, should be about ready, all I've got to do is carve it and put the vegetables in a serving bowl."

"Well, I can do the veggies if you want," she said, looking into the pot as he lifted the lid.

"I've got a better idea," he said, closing the lid again. He turned back to the counter for a bottle of wine, pouring her a glass before turning back and handing it to her. "How about you sit down and destress for a moment while I handle it?"

"I'm fine," she said quickly.

"Your eyes tell a very different story," he said softly, raising a hand to her cheek and running a thumb under her eye. Apparently makeup wasn't doing the trick to get rid of the dark circles. Or James was just ridiculously observant. Probably both.

"You can talk," she said dismissively, touching the ever present shadows under his own eyes.

"Eh, I'm used to it," he said, dropping his hand and pulling away. "Terminal insomniac, me. Rose, you're exhausted. And you have unexpected company. Please, humor me, and just sit down while I finish this up?"

Rose raised an eyebrow at him, but he only mirrored her expression. "You're not going to give up on this, are you?"

"Nope," he said, popping the 'p'.

"Ugh, fine," she said, retreating to the little kitchen table with her glass of wine. When she was settled and took a sip, he nodded and turned back to the pot. The smell of the roast wafted through the room as he lifted the lid and set it aside, then pulled out the roast and began carving it on a serving platter.

"So is this something you do often?" she asked. "I assume I am still allowed to speak."

"You are," he said without turning around. "No bonus points for cheekiness, mind. Is what something I do often?"

"Dinner with Granddad?"

"Oh...no, not especially," he said, pausing in his work to glance at the door to the other room, then shrugging and returning to his task. "But tonight Donna's out with Lee and Mum's out with mates, and while he'd ordinarily take the opportunity to revel in the silence that would create in the house, he decided we should do something since I'm-"

"Actually in the country still?" she asked, smiling a little.

"Well, yes," he said. "Only I completely forgot, and didn't realize it til he was calling and asking for your address to meet me here. I really am sorry."

"And it really is okay," she assured him, taking another sip of wine. "Ian seems to have taken to him."

"Mmm, yeah," James said, eyeing the roast critically. "Mind you, he seems to take to pretty much everyone."

"You'd be surprised," she said quietly, looking down at her glass and thinking of the bullying that had led to her hiring a private tutor in the first place. Bullying that apparently had only continued with Ian's first tutor.

"Let me rephrase that," James said, stepping closer and holding out a small piece of roast for her to taste. "He takes to everyone that's actually nice to him, meaning anyone who's not a complete prat."

"Yeah, suppose that's true," she said, smiling a little as she took the piece of roast from him. She popped it in her mouth, moaning a little at the taste of it.

"Good?" he asked, smirking and arching an eyebrow.

"Gorgeous," she said, and he grinned at her before turning back to the pot. He went into another cabinet with the assurance that one would expect in his own kitchen, and reached up for a serving bowl. Rose's head tilted a little as her eyes took in the lean length of him that the view afforded, but looked back up at him quickly when she realized he was speaking.

"Sorry?" she asked.

"Just wondering why you have things up so high when you're so...erm, not tall," he said carefully when her eyes narrowed.

"There's such a thing as chairs, you know," she said defensively. She didn't want to admit she hadn't really used any of the serving dishes he used regularly for the past five years. Entertaining wasn't her strong suit, nor were elaborate meals just for her and Ian.

"Right," he said, giving her an odd look before moving back to the counter and scooping out vegetables into the bowl.

"Can I at least get drinks sorted?" she asked meekly.

"Ehm...yeah, I suppose I could allow that," he said thoughtfully, but followed it up with a teasing wink. "Granddad, fizzy drink or wine?"

"Fizzy, please," Wilf called back.

"I'll have a fizzy drink, too," Ian called.

"Nice try," Rose said as she and James exchanged a grin. "You can have milk. What about you? Wine?"

"Please," he said, licking a dollop of sauce from the roast of his thumb. She stared at him for a moment before shaking herself and turning to the icebox for milk and Coke.

She couldn't figure out what was wrong with her. James had been true to his word and kept things strictly platonic, although she'd learned that there were certain definitions of platonic that they clearly differed on, given the amount of touching he just couldn't seem to keep himself from. To be fair, he was the same way with Ian, tousling his hair or putting a hand on his back, and often letting the little boy cuddle between them if they watched films together. It was just so distracting, the little touches on her arm or back, or occasionally her cheek.

Hormones, she decided, pouring drinks. Must be. Or just haven't had any good friends in too long. Haven't been around enough men that aren't Jack. Yeah, that'll be it. Just not used to it. Just friends.

This pep talk didn't stop her from jumping and letting out a surprised squeak when James touched her back as he reached around her for his glass.

"You alright?" he asked with a frown.

"Fine," she said, for what felt like the hundredth time that night. "Uhm, you wanna take yours and Wilf's?"

"Yeah," he said, his eyes raking over her face. He put a hand on her arm, his thumb moving in a gentle caress. "You sure you're alright?"

"Just tired, like you said," she told him, pasting on a bright smile as she grabbed Ian's milk and her wine, taking a large swallow as she headed into the other room with them.

oOoOo

Dinner was a lighthearted affair, with Wilf keeping Ian and Rose in stitches with stories of James' younger days. James handled it cheerfully and with grace, adding in a few stories he'd learned from his now departed gran about Wilf, adding that there were plenty more that weren't age appropriate. There was only a slight falter in the conversation, toward the end, when Wilf told a story that included Donna, and Ian said he wished he could have a brother or sister to play with.

"Nah," James said, clearing the table. "Donna always just stole my toys. Still does, sometimes."

"But wasn't it fun to have someone around?" Ian insisted.

"But then, you don't cause your mum all the headaches that Donna and James used to with their fighting," Wilf pointed out. "Those two could go at it for days when they had a mind to."

"Lies and slander. Mostly. But you've always got someone around too," James added. "There's me, you mum, your uncle Jack. And you don't have to share us."

"That's true," Ian said, looking thoughtful. "Okay, Mummy. I suppose I don't need a brother or sister."

"Good to know," Rose said, a little breathlessly, as Wilf and James gave her matching winks.

The conversation moved on from there, but Rose stayed quiet as she helped James clear the table and wash the dishes. The mention of siblings made Rose remember the talks her and John had been having about more children just before he died, which then brought her mind back to the nightmares the night before. It was always the same, always a loop of those last moments, the blood-

"Rose?" James' voice cut into her thoughts, and she blinked and looked up at him. "I know Ian wanted us to stay for a film, but Granddad and I can go if you're tired."

"No, it's...it's fine," she said. "I just...it's been five years, you know?" she asked suddenly. "I'd just like to go one day, just one, without being blindsided by some reminder of what I...what we lost, what we've missed out on, and I just-"

She sighed, raking her hands through her hair and leaning against the counter wearily.

"Why couldn't you sleep last night?" James asked quietly, and she looked up to see him studying her.

"Bad dreams," she said with a shrug.

"About John?" he asked shrewdly, and she nodded a little. "And then that conversation…Oh, Rose. I'm sorry."

"S'not your fault," she said, shrugging again and picking at her nails. "Some days are just harder than others, yeah?"

"Yeah," he said. He watched her for a few seconds, then stepped closer and put his arms around her. She stiffened slightly, but then sank into the hug gratefully, sliding her arms around to his back as he stroked her hair gently. "Can you...try to do me a favor?" he asked after a moment.

"Depends what it is," she said warily, pulling back a little to look up at him.

"It's not difficult," he said. "But it might not be something you think to do naturally."

"Thanks, that's clear as mud," she said with an eyeroll, acutely aware that his arms were still around her.

"It's just...well, you know I don't really sleep much?" She nodded slowly, still on guard. "I'd just like it if…if you have bad dreams like that, and you want to talk ever, please don't hesitate to call me."

He was right, that's not something she would do. Ever. It wouldn't really change anything to drag other people down with her misery, and it wasn't their problem to deal with. But then there was James, watching her with his huge brown eyes full of warmth and sincerity, who seemed to go out of his way to do things for her and Ian simply because he could. Even with Jack, there was that knowledge somewhere that part of the reason he was still around was what he felt was his duty to John. James didn't have any underlying reason to offer anything, and that simultaneously thrilled her and scared her to death.

"I'll...think about it," she said carefully, and he nodded, rubbing his hands over her arms gently as he stepped back. "We should probably get back out there," she added, forcing a bit more cheer into her voice.

"Mmm, probably," James nodded, releasing her completely. "Otherwise they'll pick the film without us."

"Can't be worse than the unending 'Marathon of Muppets'," Rose said with a grin, her tongue wandering over her top teeth.

"That's blasphemy, Rose Smith," James said, taking her hand and pulling her into the other room.