My internet has been offline for four weeks. Once I got over the initial panic, I managed to focus long enough to start writing. I am now a good amount of chapters ahead, in fact writing this seems a very long time ago! Am apologising in advance for the romance in this, I know it's out of my comfort zone.

Alec Trevelyan always knew that his wife would ask the question, and part of him was surprised that she had waited so long. She had gently prised information from him on the subject, using subtler methods, but she had never asked outright.

Now as Ashleigh lay in his arms, warm and content, he felt her yawn, and then tense. He knew her eyes had fallen on one of the framed photographs that were tucked away in an alcove, and he felt, with sudden instinct and insight, that she was about to ask. His shoulders were rigid with tension, and his mouth dry as his mind raced, trying to find the words that he should have rehearsed, that he should have formed into coherent sentences long ago.

It should have been a peaceful evening. Their daughter, Natasha, who had turned three a few months ago, was already showing all the signs of having inherited both her parents' innate stubbornness. Alec, used to having been adored by his daughter from the moment she had been born, was struggling to come to terms with this new found wilfulness. She had been a placid child, sweet and calm, and when the 'terrible twos' had failed to materialise, both Alec and Ashleigh had breathed a sigh of relief. Instead, Natasha had merely been biding her time until she could form sentences and now, three years old and tiny, with a mass of thick, dark hair, and knowing green eyes, she would glare at her parents, and start the lip trembling that always presented itself when she didn't get her own way. Earlier in the evening, Alec had fought with her, trying to get her to settle into bed, despite the sound of driving rain lashing against the windows, and despite the fact that Natasha, with the canny ability all children seem to have, knew her parents had a quiet night together planned. Her favourite stuffed toy, a rather battered and well gnawed lion, had bore the brunt of her temper and had been thrown across the room several times, followed by two books, a teddy bear, and finally, her pillow and half her bedding. Three stories, and several cuddles later, an exhausted Natasha had finally stopped fighting sleep, and a relieved Alec had gently manoeuvred his daughter back under the covers, and slipped as quietly as he could from the room and down the hallway where his wife had waited with a warm smile, tight jeans and a black top that showed off her pale skin and a hint of cleavage. Not to mention a bottle of vodka and a roaring fire.

'Alec?' Ashleigh shifted against him, her hand was resting lightly on his chest, her face tucked against his shoulder, her breath warm on his throat. Her fingers found and toyed with the v neck of his soft black jumper. One finger found warm flesh beneath the wool and despite his nerves, he felt the same gentle thrill that he always did when she touched him, that flicker of electricity that seemed to ignite whenever their skin came into contact.

He couldn't manage words, he made a small noncommittal murmur in the back of his throat. He stroked the back of her head, smoothing the short hair into the nape of her neck. It didn't deter her, even when he slipped a hand under her top to trace the line of her spine.

'Tell me about my father,' she whispered, pressing her lips to the line of his jaw.

He sat up abruptly, nearly toppling her to the floor. She frowned in confusion at him. 'Alec?' she asked again, but there was more determination in her voice this time, and her hand clutched at the front of his jumper, as if she were restraining him, trying to stop him running from her.

'Now?' he asked uncomfortably.

'Yes, now!' she laughed, but he could tell she was rattled, the smile didn't quite reach her eyes.

'I did rather have other things on my mind,' Alec said, trying to draw her closer, hoping that he could take her mind off the subject with some physical persuasion, but she wriggled from his grasp, pulling back to look into his eyes.

'It's important to me,' she tried to explain. 'You know what it's like to lose your parents, but you, well, you knew mine. You were friends with my father, and I want to know what he was like, what he was like with you, what you thought of him.'

'It was a long time ago, Ash,' he slumped back against the arm of the sofa, feeling her weight pinning him in place. He ran his hand over his hair, a gesture that Ashleigh knew he did when he was trying to think, trying to find a way of avoiding the subject.

'Not that long ago,' she said softly. She sat up, pulling away from him.

'Perhaps not,' he agreed, sitting up, wrapping his arms around her waist, pressing his chin onto her shoulder. Her hair tickled his face, her back pressed into his chest, and he pulled her even tighter, drawing his legs up to completely surround her. She lay back against him, hooking a foot around his ankle. 'But there's so much water under the bridge, so much has happened,' he continued softly, almost apologetically, and he felt her stiffen in anger in his arms.

'Do you know it was the anniversary of his death last week?' Ashleigh said coldly, but she relaxed slightly in his embrace.

'Of course,' he murmured. Of course he did. It was unlikely that he could forget. He swallowed hard.

'Sometimes I wonder if they ever existed,' Ashleigh said softly, staring into the fireplace. She realised what she had said, and colour rose in her cheeks. She hated showing sentimentality in front of Alec. She always felt like it was a failing in her. 'What I mean, is that it just seems so long ago. I can barely remember.'

'Nearly twenty years for your father. Over twenty for your mother.' By not saying their names, Alec discovered he could just about manage to speak on the subject.

'So long ago. I'm getting old,' Ashleigh sighed, leaning her head back on his chest, so she could look at him upside down. 'Can you see the wrinkles?'

'I can barely see your face for wrinkles,' he almost smiled, relieved to be let off the hook.

They sat in amicable silence, enjoying the peace that Natasha being in bed afforded them. Alec stared at the room, a warm, comfortable room with thick cream carpet, soft neutral colours on the walls, and filled with large, comfortable seating. They were lying on a large, soft, dark brown leather sofa, a soft cashmere throw underneath them to protect them from the cold leather. A fireplace dominated one side of the room, although rarely used, and alcoves either side were filled with books, vases and candles. And the scattering of framed photos. Rare ones of Alec and Ashleigh together, ones showing Natasha at different ages, and of course, the ones of Ashleigh's parents.

Sometimes, he wondered how he had come to be here. When he had bought the villa, it was as a hide away, somewhere he could come and recover if needs be, or somewhere to hide from those searching for him. It was private and so secluded as to be reclusive. It was surrounded by a high wall and electric gates on one side, the cliffs and the sea to the other. It had seemed like a show home, luxuriously decorated, with soft, sensuous textures, gleaming wood floors, and softly cushioned carpets. Alec had merely bought the place on a whim, and now, with Ashleigh's arrival, and Natasha's birth, it had become his home, his family's home.

He wasn't supposed to be happy. He wasn't supposed to be lying here, with his wife in his arms, a woman who had made his life surprisingly content, knowing that their beautiful daughter was asleep in a nearby room. He was supposed to be wondering where the next bullet would be coming from, not how soon he could suggest to Ashleigh that they retreat to their bed for an early night. A flicker of fear made him shiver as he wondered just how long this happiness would last.

How long it would be allowed to last.

His arms tightened involuntarily on Ashleigh, who had been falling asleep. She jumped, startled by the sudden pressure, and blinked rapidly.

'You look like him,' Alec whispered softly into her ear once she had settled again.

'Hmmm?' she murmured, pulling his arm tighter down on top of her.

'David. You look like him. Your eyes, your hair, even your smile, you look so much like him.'

'Do I?' she asked, a slow smile came to her face. 'Or are you just saying that because you think it's what I want to hear?'

'Would I lie to you?' he mocked, and she lightly slapped his hand in reproof. 'I wonder sometimes, what he'd think about all this.'

She shifted so she could look at him, saw the seriousness on his face, and she chuckled. 'You mean, how would he have reacted to all this if he was still alive?'

Alec shuddered. 'I don't even want to think about it. He may never have put them into practice, but David was very well versed in torture techniques.'

'At least you married me.' Ashleigh grinned. 'You didn't just love me and leave me. You tried to,' she amended with another smile.

It was nice being able to joke with him, to make light of their situation. There were too many times when Ashleigh had caught herself before joking with Alec, never sure of how he would take it. Especially when it came to how they met, how they came to be living in Sicily.

'Should have tried harder,' he grinned this time, and Ashleigh couldn't help but grin stupidly back. He didn't let himself smile broadly often, but when he did, his face transformed. The coldness left him, his eyes crinkled up, and he seemed suddenly approachable. Reaching for him, she pulled his mouth down to hers, kissing him fiercely.

Her gesture was warmly welcomed. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tightly to his chest, one hand finding the warmth of her back and stroking gently. When they finally pulled apart, Ashleigh looked slightly dazed. 'My father certainly wouldn't approve of that,' she whispered.

'I remember catching him and your mother sneaking away at one New Year's Eve party. He seemed to approve of it then.'

'I really didn't need to know that!' Ashleigh laughed.

'He was a good man,' Alec said suddenly. 'He had something to believe in. He loved you and he loved your mother so much. He wanted to defend the world, to make it a safe place for you to live in. He told me that on the night you were born. He was so drunk he couldn't remember your name, but David was still able to make James and I feel very ashamed of ourselves. Told us we were only doing it for the glory and for the fame.'

'And for the women?' Ashleigh asked innocently.

'Me?' Alec shook his head. 'Never. James was a terrible tart though. I was always in bed by 10pm.'

'Alone?' she raised an eyebrow.

'Not always,' Alec admitted with a crooked smile.

He felt her reach for her glass, heard a quiet muttered 'damn' as she realised it was empty. 'Back in a moment,' she whispered, pressing a kiss to his forehead as she made her way to the kitchen.

As soon as he heard the clink of glass on tile, he stood, walking over to the alcove where the photos were. He reached for the picture of his best friend and his wife and stared.

Alec hadn't lied. Ashleigh did look like her father. Her eyes, hair, mouth, even the slightly crooked grin she had were all his. Yet at the same time, she had aspects of her mother too. Emma Kain had curling red hair that fell messily to her shoulders, blue eyes, and pale skin, so pale that her red lips seemed like…

Blood on snow…

Alec gasped, as if he had been hit hard in the solar plexus. For a moment, his grip held, and the frame remained safe in his hand, but as the image swam before his eyes, he felt his fingers slacken and the photograph fell with a smash to the marble fireplace surround below.

There had been so much blood, surrounding dark hair, blood seeping into the snow, diluting into a watery pink, the life force ebbing away and there had been nothing he could do, nothing, nothing…

'Alec?' Ashleigh came running in from the kitchen. 'What happened?' With one look she took in the bent double Alec, who was holding onto the edge of the fireplace for support, and the broken glass on the marble below. 'Are you all right?'

'Yes, fine!' he managed to gasp. He felt strangely dizzy, the memories crashing through him. He felt as if a cold icy wind was biting into him, as it had that day.

She ignored her, her slim arms circling around his chest, helping him upright, and backwards onto the sofa. He slumped backwards, only able to see her dark eyes, her father's eyes staring accusingly at him, and he closed his own against their penetrating stare.

'Darling?' she whispered, and he felt her lips brush his cheek. 'Alec?'

'I'm fine,' he managed at last, one hand reaching for her. 'Just a strange… moment.'

'You had me worried!' Ashleigh laughed nervously, although relief was evident in her voice. 'Stay there,' she ordered, 'I'll clean up.'

She knelt beside the fire place, reaching for the broken glass. She picked up the remains of the frame, checking the photograph was not damaged and put it to one side. Then she reached for the jagged shards of glass.

'Shit,' Alec's eyes flew open at the expletive. Ashleigh was cradling her hand, blood was dripping from between her clenched fingers, the droplets falling to the pale marble below.

He had to force himself forwards, to help her, to see how badly she had cut herself. The terrible image was still there, scarlet on white, and the blood on marble was too close to that image for comfort. He felt nausea rise, and fought it down.

'How stupid of me,' Ashleigh said through gritted teeth. 'It's nothing, honest,' she almost managed a smile as he carefully unbent her fingers.

The cut was deep but clean, there was no glass visible in the sliced skin.

'Stay here,' he ordered, and she smiled wryly, acknowledging the authority in his tone, but she didn't move.

In the kitchen, he took the opportunity to take a deep breath.

He had always known she would ask, and he had never rehearsed his answer. Had never attempted to figure out what he might reply. Instead, he had waited, and in the end, it seemed he had passed the test. Relief washed through him, icy cold and sharp, but relief all the same. She hadn't asked more and he wouldn't have to answer more.

'Alec! Quick!' A panicked Ashleigh called from the living room.

'Patience, woman,' he grumbled, as he crouched beside her once more, wrapping the cloth he had brought from the kitchen around her hand before the red droplets could make their threatened descent to the cream carpet. Blood blossomed brightly and immediately upon the white cloth. 'You'll survive. Probably.'

'Thank you for that diagnosis, Doctor,' she teased him, examining her makeshift bandage. With a sigh, she slumped back against the sofa, tucking her legs underneath her. 'I've ruined the mood, haven't I?' she said quietly. Her dark hair fell over one eye, the other peeped out at him, watching him. Her top was slipping off one of her shoulders, showing creamy skin bisected by a black bra strap, and he ran his finger along the thin line of material, just hesitating at the point where it disappeared underneath the soft fabric of her top. He felt her catch her breath at his touch, and he laughed softly.

'I don't know about that,' he murmured, sliding his hand under her jaw, tilting her head back so he could lean forward and gently press his lips to hers. They parted immediately, drawing him deeper into her, feeling her arms wrap around him, and suddenly, they were on the floor, Ashleigh underneath him, her body willingly moulding against his, one leg hooked over his hip, letting him know exactly what she wanted him to do to her, and he found the soft skin of her stomach, his hands tracing the line of her ribs, seeking out the warm, firm contours of her breasts. She copied him, her nails lightly scratching the length of his spine, stroking the breadth of his shoulders, pulling him down, arching against him.

The desire hit them suddenly, urgently, and they were lost in each other. It had been too long since they had just given into their passion, let it take over without being planned. Their kisses grew deeper, hungrier…

'What are you doing?'

A small, outraged voice shattered the moment. Alec and Ashleigh jumped apart suddenly, like two teenagers caught out, and struggled to rearrange themselves.

Natasha stood in the door way, dressed in white pyjamas with little blue flowers all over them. She held her beloved, battered lion in one hand, although he was almost being dragged along the floor. Her dark hair was wild and tangled, her small face indignant.

'Darling, you should be asleep,' Ashleigh struggled to her feet, nearly knocking over Alec who was attempting the same thing.

'Couldn't,' Natasha argued, although the large yawn that followed seemed to contradict her. As did the rubbing of her eyes with her free hand.

'Back to bed,' Alec ordered, scooping up his daughter into his arms. She immediately buried her face into his shoulder, eyes drooping already.

'Bed,' Ashleigh whispered into Alec's ear, with a hint of promise. 'As soon as possible.'

'Five minutes,' Alec said firmly, kissing Ash hard, but quickly on the mouth.

'Maybe less,' Ashleigh chuckled, smoothing down Natasha's hair. The little girl was struggling to stay awake.

'I hope so,' Alec said fervently.

Ashleigh smiled as she watched her husband and daughter disappear down the hallway, Natasha waving sleepily at her mother over her father's shoulder. Ashleigh stretched languorously, before dashing round the living room tidying up. Her fingers throbbed as she did so, but she didn't care. She couldn't wait to get to bed.

Three minutes later, as she slipped into the bedroom, she smiled again. She heard Alec say his final, whispered goodnight to their daughter, and then he was in the room, and she was in his arms, kissing him, telling him how much she wanted him.

As they tumbled onto the soft bed, she allowed herself a knowing, almost smirking, smile.

For Ashleigh Trevelyan, life was good.