BACKING UP THE BUS

Author's note: I'm most definitely veering off-canon from here on out but you'll all just have to deal, the same way you had to deal with the terrible "mystery marriage" in the first place.

"Here," Lee said, pulling out Amanda's chair. "Take it easy."

"We always sit in a booth," Amanda muttered, sitting stiffly in the little wooden chair. She didn't look at all comfortable, Lee thought, but she didn't look comfortable most of the time right then, and easy chairs were thin on the ground at the Pie Plate.

He cocked an eyebrow. "Can you get into a booth?"

"Probably not," she admitted. Lee heard the edge in her voice and saw the look on her face when she heard it, too. She'd been cranky all morning. He knew she was tired and in pain, and frustrated with the prospect of another day of being unable to do all the things she was used to.

Lee wasn't used to Amanda greeting the world with anything less than her usual cheery optimism for more than two or three days in a row. Even after the Birol case, she'd dusted herself off and kept on moving — literally moving, in that case, with long, fast runs she'd said were for Station One training. But this time was different.

She'd been cheerful enough in the hospital in California, when sleep and pain medication had taken the edge off everything and the days had slipped past (they'd seemed interminable for him, and for Dotty, too). But at home, and eight weeks after a bullet had torn a path through her chest, she bumped up against all the things she'd once done with ease. Things like loading the washing machine, or doing the dishes, or even pulling a sweater over her head. With the exception of a few things, she was at the mercy of everyone else, and he knew she hated it.

She was getting better every day, getting stronger and healing well. The doctors had all said they expected an almost complete recovery, but the caveat they always tacked on — "in time" — was tough to take. Amanda was sidelined not just from work but from fun, too, and the household as a whole had lost its usual cheery energy. "This place has dark vibes right now," Phillip had said one night, as he and Lee played basketball in the driveway.

Lee had to admit he hadn't realized how much Amanda actually did in a day. She was chauffeur, coach, counsellor, tutor, social coordinator, and accountant. It wasn't that Dotty didn't help — Dotty was a huge help — but Amanda had always been determined to manage as much as possible on her own. And while the boys were getting older, their extra-curriculars seemed to grow with them. Basketball, science club, soccer, band, Trailblazers — all at different locations, occasionally overlapping. Dotty and Amanda often managed through a complex system of shared rides with neighbors and teammates. Lee had yet to understand it, he simply drove where Dotty told him at the appointed times with (hopefully) the right kid or two or three in the car, and reversed the process roughly two hours later. Amanda had come with him for the ride once or twice, but by the end of the day she was usually ready to climb into bed, and by the time the boys returned she was long asleep in spite of her best efforts to stay awake. Her disappointment over missing out on cheering them on was bitter, made worse because their own enthusiasm for recounting the whole event had usually worn off by the next morning.

So not sitting in a booth was just another thing on top of a thousand things to remind them both that their lives were not the way they'd always been, and wouldn't be for some time. Lee momentarily wanted to kick himself, even as he decided to apply Amanda's usual strategy of making the best of things.

"The pie tastes the same out here in the middle," he said, flipping over his coffee cup.

"I don't really want pie." Amanda sagged in her seat suddenly. "I don't really want anything."

"Well you should get a milkshake at least," he said. "You need the calories."

"You sound like Mother."

"She's not wrong."

Amanda sighed. "I know. I just don't… feel like it. I swallow a handful of pills a day and then someone turns me inside out at physio and I'm not interested in anything anymore." The little line between her brows deepened. "Please don't give me a hard time about it."

Lee reached for her hand, lacing his fingers with hers, his thumb moving over the spot where her wedding rings should be. "I'm sorry. I'll lay off. You just don't have a lot of wiggle room in that area is all."

"Now you really sound like Mother."

He made a face at her and lifted her hand to kiss her fingers. She gave his hand a little squeeze in return, letting him know all was forgiven. The waitress appeared at his elbow and he let Amanda's hand go, feeling a little bashful suddenly. He ordered — ham and Swiss and a slice of pecan pie — and waited to see what Amanda would do.

"A mile-high milkshake," she said, handing her menu to the waitress. "Strawberry."

"Nothing else?"

"No, thanks. Just the shake." She turned back to Lee as the waitress left. "Satisfied?"

"Only if you drink it."

"There's no way I can drink the whole thing."

"Well, aim for half, then."

She sighed, her gaze sliding away, across the room to a family tucked into a booth. The two kids were about five or six, Lee guessed, though he had no real idea, and the little girl was up on her knees, trying to dig her way through an ice cream sundae. Amanda's expression changed, from the pinched lines of annoyance to something softer, her mouth curved into a small smile.

Lee wondered what that look meant. He suspected it was connected to seeing a family all together, safe and happy, something they both worried they'd never have. Since coming back from California they'd both agreed keeping their marriage a secret was both impossible and ridiculous. The whole thing had been ridiculous, he thought now. An idiotic idea borne of desperation, and, if he admitted it, a mutual fear of losing some of the magic that came with having a secret. That magic had long worn off for him, right around the time he'd climbed into a squad car to follow an ambulance to the Las Palmas Community Hospital. He knew it had worn off for Amanda, likely before that. Instead they both wore it like a weight.

The first night back home, Amanda had not wanted him to leave. And because she could ask anything of him and he'd do it — even sleep on her terrible pull-out couch — and because he hadn't wanted to leave, either, he'd stayed, slipping up to her room when everyone else had gone to bed and stretching out beside her in the dark. Listening as she told him, tearfully, that she didn't think she could do it. She wanted her family around her, and not in shifts. All at once. A cohesive unit.

They hadn't come to any conclusions that night but he'd been thinking about it, off and on, as he waited for her at appointments or sat at his desk in the Q-Bureau, working his way through a stack of paperwork. (Billy had given it to him with a grin. "Here's something to help you stay out of trouble," he'd said. "Until your keeper's back on her feet, at least.")

Now here they were, on his day off, stopping for a bite between appointments because she had a regular session in the morning and some kind of follow-up that had been moved to that afternoon. He'd joked that they could jam in a date in between, if she wanted to pencil him in, but his attempt at humor had fallen flat and her mood had failed to lift. Lee knew why. They weren't dating.

Lee picked up his sandwich, pausing before he took a bite when he caught her staring at him across the table. He knew he probably looked a little rough. He hadn't shaved that morning and for some reason the collar of the shirt he was wearing refused to lie flat properly. He could remember a time when he'd have refused to leave the house without everything perfectly pressed, and he wanted to laugh a little at the thought. That guy and this guy were four years and an entire universe apart.

"What?" he asked.

She smiled. "Nothing." She stirred the milkshake with her straw and took a sip.

He opened his mouth to speak, then changed his mind and took a bite of his sandwich instead.

"I'm sorry I'm such a grouch," she said after a minute.

"You're not a grouch."

"Yeah, I am. Everything annoys me right now."

"Amanda, you are the least grouchy person in your situation I've ever met." He set down his sandwich. "I've been thinking. Maybe we should come clean."

She blinked. "Come clean? You mean about…?"

"Yeah."

"No." She shook her head. "I can't waltz into my house and tell my family we've been married this whole time. They'd be devastated."

Lee shifted in his chair, picking at his fries. "Maybe we don't, then. You're right. But what if we… got engaged?"

"Again?" Amanda said, laughing.

"Yeah. Maybe we — I don't know — back up the bus a little for everyone else. Tell your family first, figure things out with work. Do it like normal people this time."

"We are never going to be normal," Amanda said, wryly.

"I'm willing to meet in the middle," he said, laughing. "What do you say? Will you marry me?"

"Why are you always asking me in the least romantic place possible?"

He pretended to look hurt. "I thought this was kind of a step up," he said. "I skipped the terrorists this time, at least."

She sipped her milkshake, smirking.

"Well?" he prompted.

"I guess," she said.

"Perfect." He slipped his hand into his pocket and fished out her ring. "I think we deserve a do-over, don't you?"

Amanda leaned over to kiss him as he slipped the ring on her finger. It was loose, spinning in a way it hadn't when she'd worn it last, that horrible day in February. But things were on the upswing now. They'd already tackled 'in sickness and in health' and they weren't doing so badly. Maybe the rest would be okay, too. The very worst thing he could ever imagine had already happened, and they were still here, still together.

"I do," she said, and he saw some of the light he'd missed so much return to her eyes. "I definitely do."