Will more reviews make for longer chapters? Curious to see…

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Feeling the need to do something while he was cooking, she rummaged in the cabinet closest to the refrigerator and came up with a toaster. She pulled the bread out of the fridge and sliced off a few pieces, then rummaged for jam as they toasted. She found some raspberry jam near the back of the fridge, nearly buried under a bag of apples, so she liberated one of the pieces of fruit as well.

Biting into the crisp white flesh, she rummaged up a knife and a bread plate. The bread popped up before she got back to the toaster, but it was still warm enough to melt the butter she spread on it.

She bit into the first piece of toast, alternating bite of apple with a bite of bread. She closed her eyes for just a second, savoring the taste of the fruit, and when she opened them, her second piece of toast was gone.

"Hey!" she exclaimed, surprise trailing into a mournful sound.

"What?" Knives attempted to say innocently. It was ruined by the fact that he hadn't had time to swallow yet.

"Nothing," she sighed heavily, and sliced off another couple pieces of bread. "Want an apple?" she offered.

"Sure."

She grabbed one and dropped it into the his outstretched hand. The room was silent, save for the hiss of eggs as they cooked and the juicy crunching that accompanied their munchings.

"You were right," she admitted after a minute. "I needed to eat."

"Of course you did," he said easily as he reached out the window and liberated some herbs from the window box. "Normally you aren't quite such a bitch."

"Hmm. Almost touching apology moment ruined by bad word choice," she mused, then attended the toast.

"You were acting a bit less friendly than you normally do," Knives pointed out in his defense.

"Yes, and you could have said that instead of saying that I was acting the bitch." She scowled at the butter as it tried to slide off its dish. "I'm not saying that I wasn't being a bit on the sensitive side, but there are better word choices."

He rolled his eyes and slid the fresh omelet onto her plate.

"Here, oh heavenly maven of kindness, your devoted servant wishes that you enjoy this tender repast," he said as he slid it down the counter.

She narrowed her eyes. "Sarcasm is the sign of a failing wit," she pointed out.

He sighed as he filled the pan with water and set it in the sink to soak. "I'm tired, too," he replied as he sat up on the kitchen counter.

"Well, the bed's open," she pointed out.

"The big bed," he muttered.

"What is it with you and my bed?" she said, exasperated.

He glared at the floor. "It's a big bed."

"Yes. I knew that when I got it. Are you normally this irrational when it comes to furniture choices?" She looked at her plate, surprised to find that the food was all gone again, and set the empty plate on the counter next to her as he replied.

"No. It's just too big of a bed. For one person," he amended after a moment.

"For one…. What? Do you think I've been sharing that bed?"

He didn't reply.

The eggs were beginning to settle heavily in her stomach. "That's it, isn't it? You're pissy because you think I've been sharing that bed." She scowled, and tried to meet his eyes, but his gaze kept shifting all over the place and she couldn't follow. So she yelled at him, instead.

"What gives you the right to just walk in here and start making assumptions about my love life? What is it to you if I share that bed with someone? Do you think you have some sort of rights to me? That screwing you for a couple weeks means that there will never be anyone else in my life? That I'm supposed to just sit here, hearing nothing from you for four years, and just wait for you to show up? Is that it?"

"No. That's not it at all." He slid off the counter. "I don't want to have this discussion right now. You finish eating; I'm going to go sleep." He walked out of the room, back very straight, and Anne knew that she had hurt his feelings.

She was still mad enough to not want to take the words back quite yet, though. Just because she had waited for him, just because she had bought that huge bed with him in mind three years ago, that didn't give him the right to just assume that she had to wait for him. She waited because she loved him. But he didn't just get to assume that. She swallowed past the lump that had appeared in her throat.

She couldn't count the nights she had lain in the middle of that bed and wished that he was there with her. It was too big for one person; she agreed to that. But she had been faithful, had waited and waited, and continued to wait, even as she wondered if she would see him again. And then, to have her fidelity called into question because of the size of her bed…. It was more than infuriating. He was just so entirely wrong to assume that she was that unfaithful.

She flushed a little. Maybe she had led him to believe that she wasn't quite so good as she had been, but it was his own fault for questioning her. And for assuming. She shook her head ruefully as she put her plate in the sink. She would apologize… in the morning. Let him stew for a night.

She walked into the bedroom after doing the dishes to see him already under the covers, asleep or doing a very good job pretending. He was taking up the far right side of the bed, so after crawling into her pajamas she slid onto the left.

"Good night, Knives," she mouthed as she turned off the lights and set the alarm clock.

Nice seeing you again, she thought as she surrendered to sleep.