"Did you get the feeling she'd been drinking?" Seth and Ryan had seated themselves at the breakfast nook. The first aid basket was still on the counter, in case Kirsten needed something else. Her water glass was sitting out, and Ryan busied himself rinsing it out and putting it in the dishwasher, giving himself something to do. Delaying answering Seth's question. He had smelled the vodka on her. It was meant to be the undetectable drink, but years with his mother had given him a sixth sense for it. He didn't know how much to believe of Kirsten's story. He thought that she'd probably gone to see Sandy, but after that he didn't know how much of her explanation to trust. He knew Seth would have believed her about Sandy not making her bleed, but too many years of knowing men who seemed nice before they broke your nose had made Ryan wary. He didn't think that Sandy was capable of something like this; he'd seen the way he looked at Kirsten, as if she were his entire world, but he still couldn't completely trust that he hadn't been driven to the brink.

"Yeah, she'd been drinking." Ryan sat back down, unable to find anything else to clean.

"And the carjacking? She could've been killed, Ryan, and she doesn't even want my dad's help." Seth shook his head, rested it on his folded arms for a moment before he got up and reached for the phone.

"What are you doing?" Ryan asked as Seth dialled a number.

"My Mom almost died tonight. I think Dad should be around to help her with something like that."

"But, she didn't want-" Seth cut Ryan off with the start of his conversation.

"Dad, it's me. Did you know Mom got carjacked tonight? She's bleeding a little… Okay." Seth hung up the phone and looked triumphant.

"He's going to be home in the next five minutes."

"Seth, you shouldn't have done that." Ryan traced a marble pattern in the bench top.

"Ryan, sometimes the Kirsten is too strong. She needs my father right now. Trust me. Besides, maybe I need my Dad right now. It's not often your mother comes home wounded." Ryan didn't think now was the time to contradict this with stories of his mother's various wounds. He did know that Kirsten wasn't the kind of person to appear with a bloody face and a short explanation. He also knew that he'd felt a cold fear snake through his stomach on her arrival. There had been something about her lonely appearance, her waifish wrist held up to her bleeding face, which had made him want to punch the person who had hurt her. Instead, he'd gone to get an ice pack, and had let the freezer air wash over his face for a moment, cooling his emotions. Now, with Kirsten gone, Ryan felt his hands again ball into fists.

"Besides," Seth continued, not noticing Ryan's growing anger, "maybe whatever issues the parents are having, this will force them to work it out."

"Maybe," Ryan muttered. Somehow, he doubted it. He knew something big had happened. He'd noticed Sandy come from the direction of the spare room early in the morning before everyone else was up. He'd noticed that when he or Seth walked into the room, Sandy and Kirsten didn't have to disentangle themselves and look guilty, like they usually did. And he'd noticed that Kirsten had been sad. She'd still laughed at jokes he or Seth made, still made a comment here or there about what they were talking about, but she was never really there, and hadn't been for a while. She was always looking to the door, waiting for Sandy who rarely, if ever, came home anymore. And he knew she wore long sleeves to hide bruises that she was hoping no one would notice. Ryan had recognised the placement of the fading bruises, the way they would have been inflicted by someone holding her arms over her head. And, logically, the only reason anyone would be doing that would be to have sex with her. Immediately at this point, Ryan tried to stop thinking about it. Kirsten was as good as a mother to him, and he didn't want to consider her sexual life, but he'd never seen bruises on her before from Sandy, so he had to assume they were from someone else. Which was why Sandy was so distant, and why Kirsten was so upset.

Ryan was interrupted in his musings by Sandy bursting through the front door.

"Guys, are you okay?" He was slightly breathless as he yelled down the hallway, and from the kitchen Ryan could see his eyes were widened with worry.

"Fine, Dad. Mom's in your room." Sandy turned on his heel, ran to find Kirsten. He felt sick inside. He couldn't stand it if anything had happened to her… If their last words to each other were cruelties.

Sandy followed the sound of the shower. The bathroom door was closed, but not locked. Sandy let himself in, shut the door behind him. Steam billowed around the small room, and he opened the shower door. His wife was propped up by the wall, letting the water sluice over her. The bruises on her hips and wrists were almost gone, but she had a new bruise purpling around her throat. Her knees looked skinned and bloody, and one of her cheekbones was scraped and raw.

"Honey," Sandy barely breathed the word, but Kirsten opened her eyes. They were opalescent blue, slow to focus on him, but when they did she smiled, wincing when it moved her graze. She walked through the water to him, and reached out the door. Automatically, Sandy started throwing off his clothes, wanting to be as near his wife as he could be, feeling the hot flash of desire for her the way he remembered, before life and everything in it got in the way. Sandy stepped into the shower, and Kirsten moved around to let him under the spray. She looked him in the eyes as she leaned in to kiss him. Each one was gauging the other's reaction, wondering how far they could go, how many boundaries had sprung up that needed breaking down.

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