Sorry I haven't written in a while. I promise I hadn't forgotten my fics. Will get to them. Anyway, this is for midoritonbo. Happy birthday. Enjoy your day. Hope you like this fic. Please tell me if you don't. :) A song fic kind of inspired by "Like I'm Gonna Lose You" by Meghan Trainor and John Legend.

"Why did you pick Sundays, Crane?" Abbie said.

She sat at the kitchen island and watched him cut and skin red apples. It was Apple Pie Day. At first Abbie wasn't too fond of it because it reminded her of Corbin, but she was okay with it now. It made her feel close to him.

"Apple pie is the perfect cheer to the end of the week and to the beginning of a new one, Leftenant." He dropped the chopped apples in a bowl before he sliced some more.

They've had Apple Pie Day for the last seven years, except not on Sundays. When they fought against demons, witches, horsemen, gods, and goddesses during the Apocalypse, he baked it on Taco Wednesday or Wing Tuesday or Spaghetti Friday. She never knew which day of the week it'd be. Now that stability has been their new normal for about a month, she told him to select a specific day to make his homemade pie. The Apocalypse was over; they survived.

"I'm cool with Sundays." She tried to steal an apple from the bowl, but Crane snatched it.

"These are for the pie, Leftenant. I see you've taken a liking to sneaking apples, too. Aren't French fries enough?"

She smiled. "On to bigger and better things."

He shook his head and stuck the bowl out for her to grab a few pieces. She never watched him make apple pie before, let alone helped him make it. Either she napped until the nutmeg and sugared crust woke her up or she researched more about the Apocalypse until the timer dinged.

It was different, since the war ended. Battles and research didn't shorten their days; time became their companion again. It shadowed them in all places: on the porch, where they drank rum until their heads looped to the side; in the living room, where they combatted in hushed chess games while they ate Mongolian chicken and fried rice; in their bedroom, where they treasured new spots to kiss and squeeze as they made love.

Time tracked them at work, too. They had full eight-hour days and sometimes worked past dinner. Abbie was a more focused FBI agent; Crane was a history tour guide and curator at the Historical Society. All of it was nice.

She didn't know the process of Crane's pie. He did the usual stuff: coated his apples in cinnamon, sugar, and nutmeg, prepared his dough, and created the filling. It was his little ticks she watched for. He bit his bottom lip when he sprinkled his apples, sung low in Spanish when he molded his dough into the pan, and poked his pinky out and sunk his eyebrows when he covered the top of his pie with crust. She missed a lot.

"Are you staring at something, Leftenant?" he said, after his dessert was in the oven.

"I like watching you make pie."

"Why so?" He switched on the faucet and gathered all of his dirty dishes.

She walked to the sink. "It's nice."

"Is that all?" he said, once he got everything. He washed while she dried.

"Don't you notice things more? Things you didn't see during the war? The days and what we do during them seem so long."

He nodded. "Quite. For instance, you crunch ice when you're nervous about something at work. You like to whistle when it's raining, and you only eat toast when you're tired and don't have much energy."

It was her turn to nod. "There's so much time now. What do we really do with it all?"

"We enjoy as much of it as we can. Do you believe that we have thus far?"

"We have." She paused. "I'm still scared though."

He turned off the water and dried his hands. She leaned into him when his arms curved around her waist. The chopping board she was in the middle of drying would have to wait. Their hands entwined. He kissed her neck.

"It's alright, Leftenant."

Sometimes Abbie woke up in the middle of the night, almost crying. They'd fall asleep whispering or tracing each other's scars or making love. With a slight open mouth and a small snore, his right leg stuck out from the comforter. It nearly hung over the bed. She watched him kick off the covers as he half-slept and listened to his mini rants about technology and modern society. When he stilled and all that tucked into the corners of her ears was his breathing, she wiped her face, kissed the scar on his chest, and went back to sleep. He was at ease; he was with her.

They've suffered from post-traumatic stress during the Apocalypse. It was expected, but she didn't think it'd bother her once it was over. She wanted to believe it was completely out of her system. Yet, things like that couldn't be shaken off. They stayed.

"We aren't immune from dying, but what if there's another one? What if we really do lose each other the second time around?"

She doesn't think there'll be Apocalypse #2. However, God does work in mysterious ways. They could be called again.

"Then we shall love and live through and through, Abbie. Apocalypse or not."

She faced him. He was scared, too. Only he didn't express it. They seemed opposites now. She told him everything while he kept to himself. It didn't matter though. She could tell. He squeezed her hand a little longer, held her a little tighter. Crane kissed her at the oddest moments—during a TV show, at the mailbox, in the laundry room. Sometimes she'd catch him just staring at her. He was most frightened when it was completely quiet in the house, and she wasn't near him. She'd normally be outback under a tree or in her study when she heard him call her name like he couldn't find her. She always told him where she was. He'd be out of breath by the time she rushed to him.

"You okay?" she'd say.

He'd hug her to him. "Abbie. My Abbie. Grace."

Then she'd find herself out of his arms. An apology burbled from his lips. After that, he'd walk away. She never asked him why he behaved like that. It was clear.

"You're right," she said.

He kissed her lips. "I could teach you, you know?"

"You know I don't bake. I barely cook dinner." She went back to finish drying the dishes.

"We have a small bit of time." He turned on the water.

Maybe it could be fun. She wouldn't mind him being behind her, telling her what to do and how to do it. She'd "accidentally" bump her butt into him, causing the start of an erection. He'd say something about pie being serious business and ask her to behave. Of course, she wouldn't. She'll agree to it because she'll enjoy just being with him, having him close.

She smiled at him. "Loving and living, right?"

"Indeed," he said.

She was excited about the next Apple Pie Day. If they never made it to that, then she'd clasp the small bit of time she had with him now.