I hope everyone is safe and well. It's been a week, hasn't it? I've been boosted, been unwell from it (but not complaining), and did a lot of yelling at the telly, and I've turned it off and turned back to 1985. This is a short chapter, because I feel that it does what I intended it to do in a neat way. Take care, everyone.

"No!" She tells him when the car is idling outside his flat. She's been quiet on the drive back, the stony sort of quiet that makes his arse cheeks clench. It's rare these days, and he's come to realise it means she's stewing.

"Come in." He tries again. "I'm worried about you."

"There's no need to trouble yourself." Harry purses her lips.

"I want to trouble you." He scrubs a hand through his hair because that sounds like a line, and she knows it as she eyes him like he's a lowlife sex pest.

"You've been…." He attempts, lingering in the passenger seat, wondering how much more of her attitude he has to take. He is worried, but he can't talk to her like this.

"I've been what?" She demands, and it's his time to go.

"Nothing." He growls and slides out of the car. "I'm going already. Maybe we need some space."

"You said you'd never ride.." She's up the steps and beside him at the front door; her scowl has escalated to a full force glare as she stumbles over her memory of his words delivered to Spikings.

He clearly remembers her coming into his space when she put the handset back into the car. He could've done all sorts of things with her; she was that close with no thought of their proximity. She probably still hasn't realised.

"Thought you weren't coming in?" He stops unlocking the door and rests his head against it for a moment before letting them in, trying to gather his patience. "Harry, I've had a long day of being yelled at by everyone; it feels like I just go off the plane again. You let me know when you're ready to tell me what it is."

He holds his breath, she's going to erupt at him, and he's not sure what the scale will be, somewhere between a firework or Mount Etna. Her sigh is soul deep, and he can't let this be. With the women he's had, anything heavy made him walk away.

"Lock up the car. Let's get a takeaway and watch a movie." He suggests hoping she'll say yes. Signing up on the dotted line with a posh fountain pen is turning out to be longer-term than he'd thought. He orders their regular meal from the same place, and she sorts through the pile of videotapes. They half-watch something and pick at each other's food.

He waits.

"I trusted you." She announces as he's cleaning up the kitchen; he had left her half-asleep on the couch. "I heard you talking to Ben, and I knew you'd be alright."

He's thrown by the look of calm certainty. "Anyone would think you care about me."

"I do." She says not without anguish. "I suppose it doesn't feel like that sometimes."

"I said the thing about the rose between your teeth to put Spikings off." He explains because he didn't mean to sound so pissed at the time. "I feel kinda bad about calling you my wife after the fight and all the van hearing... I don't think anyone noticed but ain't no harm in pretending we're pissed at each other?"

He tries to lighten the conversation, but his wife is in the mood for confession. His wife.

"Edwards made me doubt how much I knew you." Her voice is quiet, and he's not expecting that.

"You trusted me with Ben." He counters as he hangs up the towel to draw her into his embrace, wondering if he should have done that hours ago. He forgets he can do that so readily, even though he finds himself hopelessly distracted by their passionate sex life.

"But that doesn't mean I know you." Her voice is muffled by his sweater.

"Yeah, you do." There are things she doesn't know yet. How he is around his family. The mess that was Coltrane she knows and understands and there's no point talking about Simon. She's long gone. All the important stuff, this side of a great ocean, his wife knows it all.