Jack pedaled quickly, the early morning sun warm on his back. The basket was full. The shop had just opened when he arrived. With any luck, Rose wouldn't be up when he got home. He'd woken up early, breaking out of the nightmare, and found the kitchen nearly empty. No eggs. No bread. No milk. They had enough to throw together a lunch, but beyond that, it was either soda crackers or a shopping trip. Might as well get some of it over with now, he figured. They had another long day of painting ahead of them, and the last thing either of them would want to do at the end of it was go into town.

Jack's bicycle screeched to a halt when he saw Cal standing outside the gate that led to the house. It was their private entrance; there was even a sign posted. No-one ever came around that way. Jack walked toward him slowly, eyes firmly fixed on him. He was glad he had the bicycle to hold onto. Cal watched him, a tranquil expression on his face.

"What do you want?" Jack asked coolly.

Cal's expression didn't change. "I came to tell you something."

Jack's eyes narrowed. "What could you possibly have to tell us?"

"Not us, you," Cal replied. "Since you mention her, where is your better half? I didn't think the two of you went anywhere alone if you could avoid it."

"She's home, asleep."

"And you're out doing all this while she sleeps in?" Cal said, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Well, I imagine life with you must be rather tiring." The emphasis he placed made clear exactly what he meant.

"What do you want?" Jack demanded.

"I'd like to know what she looks like when she sleeps."

Unbidden, the image of Rose as she was when he left flashed in Jack's mind. She lay on her stomach, curls fanned across the pillow. The blankets had slid down, revealing her creamy back. He'd wanted to draw her. She was so beautiful, but when more than that, she was peaceful. Nothing disturbed her sleep. They made love quickly the night before, too tired to linger over each other, and she fell asleep next to him.

That was it. There was nothing complicated about it as far as she was concerned. Jack was glad. One of them should have peace. He pulled the blanket over her, pausing to kiss her shoulder. Her skin wore its sleep scent, and he briefly considered abandoning his plan and getting back into bed. They could wake up late and make love again, slowly this time, before lunch. It had been a while since they'd done that.

They couldn't, of course. There was too much still to be done. The list of tasks was stalled at painting, which was taking longer than expected.

Jack pushed the image away, but not before Cal saw something in his face. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly. Jack frowned. "We're not talking about her," he said.

"Of course we are," Cal said. "Don't get so offended. I came to warn you."

"That's likely."

"It's true," Cal said.

"Why? What are you planning? There's just nothing else to do here, is that it?"

"I'm not doing anything," Cal said with exaggerated patience. "If you'd stop being so suspicious and listen for a minute, you'd find out what's going on."

"Alright," Jack said. "I'm listening."

"You know he wants her."

"I thought you had something new to tell me," Jack said. "I don't have time for this."

"Did you know her mother's here?"

"How do you know about that?" Jack asked. "I can't see them telling you."

"I have ways," Cal replied. "So, you did know? Good for you then. I'm assuming you haven't told her."

"No," Jack admitted grudgingly.

"Neither would I." The approval in Cal's voice made Jack uncomfortable. Cal went on, "Do you know how close they've gotten? Or what they're planning?"

A chill ran down Jack's spine. It was ridiculous. They couldn't make Rose leave, and she wouldn't want to. He gripped the bicycle tighter. Or would she? The voice whispered in his ear. It sounded like his own thoughts, but Jack knew it wasn't. It was the voice of the nightmares, the voice of his deepest guilt and fear. He had to ignore it.

"They can't change anything," Jack said. "She married me. They can't make her leave."

"No, I suppose they can't," Cal said. "But there are other ways to get someone to do what you want, and they have nothing to do with force." His gaze met Jack's. "He isn't like me," he went on. "Whatever he does, you won't be able to fight it. Andrew is-more subtle than I am. I tried to get rid of you, but he won't. He'll put his efforts toward making Rose want to go back."

Jack kept his face blank. "Why should I believe anything you say? You hate me. You hate both of us. The last thing you'd ever do is help us stay together."

"You know I'm telling the truth," Cal said. "You've heard me lie."

"You aren't as good as you think."

"Well, then there's no reason to distrust me," Cal said.

"I don't get it," Jack said. "Why are you telling me all this? What's in it for you?"

"Maybe I'm becoming altruistic."

"Now you're lying," Jack said. "You've never done anything for anyone else in your whole life."

"Yes, well, as much as I enjoy being told about myself, especially by you," Cal said. "I'm afraid this concludes our tête-à-tête." He turned to go. "Watch out for him," he added. "If you want to stay with her."

…..

Rose was up when Jack came through the back door. He didn't know how long he stood at the gate, going over what Cal said. She was dressed, her hair pulled back. "Jack, what's wrong?" she asked. She peered at him with concerned eyes. "Do you feel alright?"

"Fine," he lied. "I went to get some things for breakfast." At least he remembered to bring the bags inside.

"That was thoughtful of you," she said. "I can't believe we've neglected the shopping for so long." She took out the eggs. "Fried with toast?"

"Sure," Jack said. "I'd like that."

Smiling, she kissed him. "I missed you, you know. After you got up."

"I thought you were asleep."

"I can always tell when you aren't there," she said.

Jack's fears evaporated under her gaze. She wouldn't leave. He was a fool to doubt her, to doubt them. They were strong together. "I'll help you make breakfast," he offered.

"Thank you."

…..

Cal put himself in Andrew's way around lunch. "You don't have any plans, I assume?" he said.

"Well-" The trust was, Andrew had plans to dine with Ruth, but since he was still keeping her a secret, or so he thought, he was forced to say, "No, none at all."

Grinning, Cal clapped him on the back. "Good. Let's find somewhere decent and have lunch. If this town has such a place."

"One moment. I need to check for any messages." Andrew hastily scribbled a note for Ruth and sent one of the few remaining maids up to her room with it. Cal was pretending to study a paintings in the lobby when he returned. "Ready to go?" Andrew said.

"Oh, yes," Cal said absently.

"I didn't know you liked art."

"I don't, really," Cal replied. "Not generally." He kept his tone casual. "But do you know who might? That girl. Rose."

"What makes you say that?" Andrew asked.

"Just a guess. She seems like the type."

The truth was, Cal had nothing better to do than hang around and watch the chaos unfold. He didn't want to go home to go home yet and face an empty house and even emptier city. At least something was happening here. And he was a bit interested in how Jack would handle Andrew. Would he face him directly? Try to ignore him? Or would he end up losing Rose? A small part of Cal hoped he wouldn't. He didn't necessarily want them happy together; he couldn't go quite that far, but Jack had won. There was a grudging respect for him amidst the hatred and disdain. He also just didn't care for Andrew's methods. Yes, he'd lied and schemed and used a henchman to get rid of Jack, but at least Jack knew that's what he was doing. The fight had been between them. Jack had even said exactly what was happening just before his arrest.

It never occurred to Cal to even consider Rose, now or back then. His only real interest had been Jack; he was the threat. Rather than find ways of making her want to stay, he preferred to find ways to keep Jack away from her.

Well, the necklace had been one attempt to make her happy, a somewhat weak attempt, he now realized. It wasn't at all the sort of thing Rose would care about. Inviting Jack to dinner was also supposed to appease her, not bring them together. How could he have been so wrong?

Perhaps Andrew was right. Cal didn't let himself seriously consider that. Even without his help, Cal suspected Jack would keep her. He'd fought once already and won.

"What are you planning to do?" Cal asked.

"I'm not sure yet," Andrew said. "I'm hoping an opportunity will present itself. This matter is rather delicate, after all."

"Indeed. Trying to win over a happily married woman always is."

"I don't think she's happy," Andrew said.

"Why is that?" Cal said.

"This life isn't enough for her. Maybe it is now, but soon, very soon, she will regret her choice. She'll look around and see everything she gave up, and what did she gain? Nothing."

Those were Ruth's words. Cal could almost hear her saying them. "What if you're wrong?"

"I thought you were on my side," Andrew said.

"I am," Cal replied. "But you have to consider every possibility. She's given no indication she wants to leave her husband. I'd hate for you to make a fool of yourself."

"I won't," Andrew said. "When the time comes, I'll know, and I'll make my move."

….

Rose stepped back to survey their work. "It's coming along nicely," she said. "Another coat, and we should be finished with this side."

"I think you're right," Jack said. He brushed his hair back, leaving a streak of pain across his forehead. Rose laughed. "What?" he said. He glanced at his hand. "It's on my face, isn't it?"

She nodded, giggling. "It looks good."

"You're laughing."

"But I like it," she said. "You look like a painter."

"Maybe I'll be a famous house painter," he joked. "Sought after for my trim work, renowned for my ability to paint any size structure in under a week."

"If that's what you want."

Jack's eyes flickered. "It's not," he said, before he could stop himself. Ambition wasn't something he generally admitted to having. It wasn't something he thought much about. He drew because he loved it, but sometimes, he wanted more. When he saw great art, after the initial awe cooled, after he'd drunk in all they had to teach, all their beauty and depths, he wanted to create something as good. He didn't want to just be rich and famous; he just wanted to be as good. Jack wanted to be a great artist, one way or another.

He didn't want to give up the life he had. The freedom. The experiences. Those made his drawings what they were. But then again, hadn't he given some of it up when he married Rose?

"What do you want, Jack?" she asked.

"I have everything I could want."

"I believe you," she said. "But there's something else. You don't have to tell me."

"We should take a break, for lunch. Your hands are cold," he added.

"So are yours."

"I'll find us some gloves," Jack said.

…..

It grew colder as the afternoon wore on. They worked faster to stay warm. "A few more days at most, and we'll be finished," Rose said cheerfully.

Jack smiled. "We'll manage."

She wore a coat over an outfit of his, gloves, and had a scarf wrapped around her head. Her cheeks glowed pink. Jack thought she was adorable. He wanted to take her hand and head off on an adventure. "I like this," Rose said. "I've told you that before, already, though, haven't I?" She chuckled sheepishly.

"You can say it again. I'm glad you're happy, Rose."

"Are you?"

"What?" he said. The question caught him off guard. "Of course I'm happy."

"You haven't been sleeping well. Don't say I'm wrong, Jack. We share the bed. I can tell."

"Yeah, I've had some trouble lately," he said. "But it's nothing. You shouldn't worry about it. It's not about you. I mean, you aren't the reason." Isn't she? the voice asked. If he never brought her along, he wouldn't be having this problem. If I'd left her with him, I'd worry. This is about me.

Yes, it is, the voice answered. It's about you failing. It's about you not deserving this life, let alone her.

"Jack?" Rose touched his arm. For a moment there was anguish etched on his face. Rose saw everything, the guilt and fear, the grief, and her heart broke for him. He blinked and rearranged his features, burying the feelings again. "You can tell me," he said. "Whatever you're feeling, Jack, you can tell me. After what we've been through together, after what you've seen me through, I'd think you knew that."

"I do know," Jack said. "Rose, believe me, it's not that I don't trust you."

She looked deep in his eyes. "I understand." While they talked the sun sank behind the trees. "We may as well go inside," she said.

"I'll clean the brushes," he offered. "You go get warm."

"I can help."

"It won't take long. Go on," he said.

"Don't coddle me, Jack."

"I'm not," he said. "Maybe I'm hoping there'll be a pot of tea waiting when I get inside." He grinned. She placed a light kiss on his lips. "In that case," she said.

Rose wasn't looking at the ground. She never saw the hole. It was just big enough for her foot. She stepped right in it and pitched forward with a cry of surprise. Her ankle wrenched, and sharp pains shot up her leg. She lay there, unsure at first what happened. Rose turned, slowly taking her foot from the hole.

It wasn't far from the house. Had she not been distracted by the pain she would have realize it was directly in the path she normally took. She hoisted herself to her feet, determined to make it the rest of the way. Rose managed a few steps before her ankle gave out, and she collapsed again, in more pain than ever. She was lying in a heap on the cold ground when Jack found her.

"Rose?" he cried. He ran toward her, narrowly avoiding the hole. He dropped to his knees next to her. "What happened?"

"I stepped a in a hole back there and fell," Rose explained. "I hurt my ankle."

"You tried to walk on it?" he said.

"Yes."

"Why didn't you call for me?" Jack asked.

"I thought I might still make it back."

"Rose," he sighed. "My stubborn Rose-Petal." He scooped her up as gently as he could. "Let's get inside."

"I can walk if-"

"No, you can't," Jack said firmly. "You'll make it worse."

He laid her on the couch and set about warming the room. "Let's see," he said, carefully removing her shoe and sock. Her ankle was swollen to twice its normal size and bruised a dark purple, almost black. He moved his fingers over it. "That hurt?"

Rose winced. "Yes."

"What about here?"

"Uh-huh." Tears sprang into her eyes.

"You can't walk on it," Jack said. "It doesn't feel broken, but I might be wrong. Either way, it needs rest." He placed a pillow under her knee and two under her foot. "That should help," he said.

"Jack, I can't just sit here," Rose said.

"Sure you can."

"For tonight, perhaps, but tomorrow—"

"Tomorrow you'll be in bed, getting better," he said. "And that's where you'll stay until you can walk again."

"Jack-" she began.

"Rose."

They stared at each other. "I'll get you some ice," he said. "I think we still have some. A hot bath'll help too."

"It's only a swollen ankle," she argued.

"And they were just bruised ribs," he said.

"It's not the same."

"Is to me." Jack said. He kissed her forehead. "Don't get up, alright?"

"I won't," she sighed.

Jack gently placed a tea towel full of ice against her ankle. He put a cup of tea in her hands. "I'm gonna make dinner," he said.

…

Rose didn't protest when he carried her to the bathtub or when he carried her to bed. Once again, he placed a pillow under her knee and two under her foot. "Try not to move it too much," he said. "Maybe the swelling will go down by morning." Before she could respond, he added, "You still need to rest even if it does."

"Are you telling me what to do, Jack?" she asked.

"I'm telling you not to hurt yourself more," he said.

"I know."

"Do I sound bossy?" he asked.

"You mean well," Rose said.

"I'll work on the tone."

….

Jack couldn't sleep. Something kept nagging at him. Where did the hole come from"? They walked from the toolshed to the house all the time and never noticed one. It wasn't possible to have missed it all those times. They trimmed the grass. There was simply no way they wouldn't have seen it.

Jack slipped outside as the sun was rising. He bent down next to the hole. It wasn't deep; it was just right for twisting an ankle, and as he suspected, it was freshly dug. He looked around for signs of an animal but found none. He hadn't really expected one. It wasn't the right time of year. He took shovel and filled it in, Cal's warning in his ears. Was this what he meant?