Harry and Ruth didn't have to wait long for the storm to hit. There was a stampede along the hallway floor; the sound of familiar footsteps careering towards their bedroom. Seconds later, their pride and joy came bursting through the door, riding high on a tide of enthusiasm. Her shoulder-length dark hair was sticking up in all directions, and her eyes were still slightly crusted from sleep. One pyjama leg had somehow ridden up her thigh and one sock was already off, probably having vanished to whatever haven the other missing socks disappeared off to. Ruth had yet to find where they went. It was hard to find a pair of socks for their daughter on a day-to-day basis.

Lottie was clutching her precious stuffed cow, aptly named 'Moo'. The poor thing had seen better days. With dried toothpaste stuck to his front hooves, a burn to his belly, bite marks to his horns and a brown discoloration to his whole sorry being, he looked more akin to a Jersey cow than a Friesian. The first place they had landed after leaving England had been Amsterdam. Harry had taken Ruth and Lottie to the nearest hospital for further care. Tom had dutifully visited to say his goodbyes, but not before handing them a little cuddly Friesian cow. "For the baby," He had muttered. "Just... you know... from the gift shop." But Harry had later discovered that the hospital gift shop sold no such things. He could only assume that Tom Quinn had trudged all the way through the streets of Amsterdam to find a toy shop. And that was both an amusing and an endearing thought.

From the get go, Lottie had fallen in love with Moo. Many times during her first six months of life, when she had been at her most unsettled, a snuggle with Moo had been the only thing that got her off to sleep.

Now, less than six years later, excitement was alight in the tiny girl's bright blue eyes, her wide grin showing off a number of wobbly milk teeth. She flung herself into her parents' embrace, one arm clinging tightly to each of their legs.

"Mummy! Daddy! I'm six today! I'm six!" she chattered animatedly in her sweet Anglo-Australian accent.

Ruth couldn't help but grin. She loved seeing her little girl so excited. Lottie laughing, smiling and generally loving life was a sight that never failed to warm her heart. She and Harry were the most precious things in her world, and she knew she would never take either of them for granted.

"I know! Happy birthday. my darling!" she crooned, stooping to Lottie's level to press a huge, wet kiss to her daughter's cheek. "You're a whole year older, and such a big girl."

Lottie beamed, clearly thrilled at having graduated to 'big girl' status. Then she looked to her father for his response. Unable to bear disappointing her, Harry swooped down, and although he knew his back would pay for it later, he lifted his little girl high into his arms to plant another massive kiss on her cheek.

"Happy birthday, Squirt!" he greeted affectionately.

"Daddy! I'm a big girl now!" Lottie huffed, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You can't call me 'Squirt' anymore!"

Harry felt Ruth snort beside him, and as she drew herself back up to full height, she glanced up at him with impish eyes, "That's you told."

"Oh, be quiet, you," he told her lightly. "What did I tell you? Six going on sixteen."

"Moo wants cake." Lottie announced, not even missing a beat as she shoved the battered old cow next to her own face to gaze pleadingly up at Harry. Yes, she certainly could wrap people around her little finger – especially her dad. As she looked up at him with those beautiful blue eyes that were so much like his darling Ruth's, he found himself flailing slightly. It was her birthday after all. Where would be the harm? Perhaps Ruth saw him starting to cave, because she rescued him almost immediately. She reached forwards, lifted Lottie into her own arms, and carried her to the door.

"Well Moo can't have cake yet, my darling. You can both have some later after school, but you certainly cannot have cake for breakfast." she insisted, softly but firmly – as had always been her parenting style.

It did not matter if there were occasions when Ruth was going completely to pieces inside – she would always act calm and measured around her daughter. It was a promise she had made herself since Lottie was a baby, when her daughter would cry all day and night, leaving Ruth so frazzled that she ended up sobbing helplessly on the bathroom floor with Harry's arms around her. She had soon realised that Lottie was sensitive to her others' emotions, and responded directly to her distress. Since then, she had resolved to always remain calm around her daughter; to be a gentle but firm presence; reassuring and protective, yet giving the child room for independence. And however much of a wrench this proved to be, she had followed through with it, because she did not want her daughter to be afraid of the world.

They all headed downstairs, Harry bringing up the rear, silently cursing himself for nearly falling for those hypnotic blue eyes. He decided that if the little girl really was going to object to 'Squirt' from now on, he ought to call her 'Monkey' instead. She was certainly mischievous enough. The little minx had identified him as the softer touch – as usual – and gone to him before Ruth. He smirked as Lottie's face fell, defeated in her plight for cake. Clearly, Ruth wasn't as much of a sucker as he was.

Upon reaching the kitchen, Ruth deposited Lottie onto a chair at the dining table, kissing the top of her head before moving to retrieve the breakfast things. As always, Lottie bounced back quickly. She seated Moo on the table next to her and hummed lightly to herself, fiddling absently with the cow's hooves. Harry opened the curtains to allow the now-risen sun to filter through. A picture of perfect domesticity, they all slotted easily into their morning routine. Ruth found two mugs and passed them to Harry, who flicked the kettle on and set them down on the marbled countertop. Ruth then hunted in the cupboard for cookware, whilst Harry sought out of the cafetiere and coffee grains.

"What would you like for breakfast, Lottie?" Ruth called. "You can have a special breakfast today if you like, since it's your big day."

"Yes, please!" Lottie grinned happily. "Special breakfast!"

Harry came to sit beside her, waiting for the kettle to boil.

"Do we all get special breakfasts, Mummy?" he asked cheekily, earning a roll of the eyes from Ruth.

"Of course we do. Bacon, eggs, beans and tomatoes. Is that okay?"

"Sounds wonderful, thank you." Harry smiled. "Do you want any help?"

"I think I can manage. If you can do the coffee though...?"

"Already on it," he replied, nodding to the boiling kettle and the cafetiere that was primed and ready.

"Eewwww! Coffee!" Lottie pulled a face.

Harry tweaked her nose lightly, "Nobody's asking you to have any coffee, Squirt."

He half expected her to object to the nickname again, but she seemed to have forgotten all about that. They all knew that the little girl secretly loved it.

As Ruth busied herself with the food, he entertained Lottie by making Moo do an odd little dance across the dining table which ended in him doing the splits and her in fits of laughter.

"Do the voice, Daddy! Please!" Lottie urged him between giggles, her big blue eyes beseeching once more. Harry was unsurprised by this request, but he wanted to get his own back on his daughter before he did her bidding again.

"What voice?" He asked, feigning innocence. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ruth grin.

"The voice, Daddy." Lottie explained. "You know, Moo's voice."

"Oh, I don't know, Squirt. If you're getting to be a big girl, I think you must be too old for 'the voice' now." He reasoned, very much with his tongue in his cheek as he watched his daughter's eyes grow as wide as saucers.

"I'll never be too old for 'the voice'." She insisted earnestly. "Never, ever, ever."

All joking aside, Harry was actually rather glad to hear that. He loved making his daughter laugh each time he voiced that grubby old cow. It was one of the main things he and Lottie had bonded over as she was growing up. She and Ruth shared so many loves: reading, maths, history, languages, music... And whilst he adored watching their minds meld over these wonderfully intelligent things, it was nice to have something really inane that was their thing.

He suddenly felt quite pensive – forlorn even – wishing Lottie could stay a baby forever. It only felt like yesterday that she was born. And now, six years later, she had her own mind, her own personality, her own likes and dislikes, and a manner that was very much representative of the best and worst parts of him and Ruth. She was still tiny, of course. Their little 'Squirt'. She was the smallest in her class, and indeed, had always been small for her age. He put that down her early entrance into the world. She had been worryingly sick during her first few weeks of life, and both he and Ruth had panicked that she wouldn't live long. However, she was as stubborn as her parents and defied all the odds. And so now, here sat their sunny little daughter, demanding that he do 'the voice'. And damn it, how could he not?

Harry cleared his throat dramatically before standing the mucky little cow up on his hind legs. He then held one of its front hooves out and said in a deep, gravelly voice: "So I hear it's a very special day for a very special girl today." Lottie giggled adorably at her father's antics. Harry held the front paw closer to his child's mouth, "How do you feel about turning the big six today?"

As per a child's imagination, Lottie knew immediately that she was being offered a microphone, and spoke delightedly into the cow's hoof, "Good."

Harry made the toy clap a pondering paw to its mouth, "Hhmmm, only good, eh? Well that doesn't sound so good to me."

"Really good." Lottie amended. "And you're six too, Moo, 'cause you're the same age as me."

Harry let out a throaty, exaggerated gasp, as if the cow had only just realised this fact, "Oh goodness gracious, I am. I'm six just like you. We're birthday buddies!"

"We can celebrate after school at my party."

Harry and Ruth froze, their mouths hanging open in shock. The party had been intended as a surprise. Over the last few weeks, they had put a great deal of effort into ensuring that all plans were kept secret, and that invited guests kept their mouths firmly shut.

"Who said anything about a party?" Harry spluttered, trying and failing to be nonchalant.

"You did," Lottie said cheerfully, taking Moo from Harry's now stilled hand, and making him do a back flip across the table. "You and Mummy were talking about it the other night before dinner. I heard you. You're really not very good at keeping secrets, Daddy."

This time it was Ruth's turn to burst out laughing, and Harry's to look miffed. It was a little insulting that he had managed to keep numerous state secrets from very powerful political radicals, and yet his plans for a surprise birthday party had been rumbled by a six-year-old. Ruth had actually told him that she didn't think they would get away with it, but he had been absolutely adamant that Lottie wouldn't find out. It just went to show how well some mothers could read their daughters. He glanced forlornly up at Ruth, who stopped laughing and flashed him a sympathetic smile. She could see that his pride had been dented.

"Oh, also," Lottie continued matter-of-factly. "Amelia Craig in my class told me she had been invited and that she was coming, but said if there was cake, could it please be chocolate because she doesn't like fondant icing."

"Doesn't. Like. Fondant Icing." He blinked, completely stunned. Since when did six-year-olds complain about fondant icing? Never mind his worries about his daughter becoming a teenager; kids her age had already graduated to old women!

"Jamie Peters said that he's coming too, but asked if there was a bouncy castle. I said I didn't know because it's supposed to be a surprise party." Lottie stated brightly, before asking the room at large, "Is there a bouncy castle?"

Ruth waited for Harry to give an answer but he was still staring at their daughter as if she had grown a second head.

"No, my darling," she eventually answered. "there isn't a bouncy castle."

"Okay," Lottie shrugged easily. "That's fine. I don't think Alfie would like bouncy castles anyway."

And with that, she skipped off to the living room, probably to find a book to occupy her until breakfast. Just like her mother, Lottie was an avid reader; a lover of all things books, whether it be fiction, finding out about the world through encyclopaedias and history volumes, reading simplified poetry, or tackling mathematical problems. Maths was undoubtedly her favourite. She was much more advanced in her mathematical studies than any of her classmates, which at first had been a great source of frustration. Harry didn't know where Lottie's gift for numbers had come from – Ruth, most likely. It certainly wasn't him. Last week, her homework had been six whole pages of quadratic equations, which had left him utterly bamboozled. He wasn't bad at maths, but it had been a long time since his school days, and it had been a shock to the system seeing a tiny little girl completing high school standard work.

At the beginning of the year, when Lottie's talents had become apparent, Miss Cavanaugh had wanted to fast-track her through school. She had suggested that she sit with Year 6, however this had deeply distressed the little girl, who didn't understand why she couldn't stay with her friends. Ruth, who had attained a similar academic level as a child, had herself been pushed to fast-track certain years. She knew from experience that whilst it had made her quite brilliant in many ways, it had also left her very shy, and for a long time, socially inept. Initially, she blamed herself for putting Lottie in such a position, wondering if she had done right by teaching her so much in her infant years. Then she realised that Lottie was her own person; she was incredibly thirsty for knowledge and delighted in soaking up every morsel of information. She wanted to learn, but she also wanted the love and safety of her friends. Ruth fully supported this desire, and together, she, Harry, Lottie and the school had reached an arrangement. Lottie would stay with her friends in her own year group, but also be tutored by a teacher from the local high school in Maths, English and Science at weekends, giving the child a more challenging range of studies.

Harry considered this while watching Lottie skip off to the other room. He really ought to have known the girl would catch on to their 'secret' scheme. After all, she was practically a prodigy plus the offspring of two spooks. He sighed and dragged his eyes up to meet Ruth's. Her heart very nearly broke at the helplessness she saw in his face.

"It's alright that the party isn't a surprise, Harry. She's just happy to have one."

"I suppose," he grunted, rising from his seat to fix the coffee. "I should have guessed that she'd twig. She is our daughter, after all."

With one hand still guarding the stove, Ruth wordlessly reached across and squeezed his shoulder. He inclined his head and pressed a sweet kiss to the back of her hand. Lottie bounded back into the kitchen clutching a thick book tightly against her chest. She heaved it onto the table and began browsing through it.

"What is it today, Squirt?" Harry teased as she finally settled on a page. "War and Peace? The Battle of Hastings? Einstein's Theory of Relativity?"

Ruth's gentle hand on his shoulder turned into a light smack, and he snorted out a laugh in response. He couldn't see her face because they had their backs to each other, but he knew that she was smiling.

Lottie glanced up at him with keen eyes, "The Jabberwocky."

"Oh, I'm not sure that's a poem for little girls," Ruth began concernedly, her brows furrowing.

"But Mummy, you said I'm a big girl now." Lottie reminded her. Harry released another snort, earning him a second swat to the shoulder. "And also the poem was in the Alice in Wonderland book you read to me once. You said that was okay."

Ruth sighed, unable to fault her logic there. Lottie read silently for a couple of minutes, her lips mouthing each and every word. After a while she looked up.

"I think there are a lot of spelling mistakes in this poem," she said decisively, pulling Moo onto her lap so that he could read along with her. "The words don't make sense."

"That's because they're nonsense words, darling." Ruth informed her, flipping the bacon to the other side of the pan. "They're not real words. The author just put them in to make the poem sound more exciting."

Lottie frowned, re-read the page and peered back at her mother. Then, really quite comically, she made Moo do the same. Finally, both she and the grubby cow turned to look confusedly at Ruth.

"But... but Mummy, it doesn't make it more exciting. It just makes it so that it doesn't make sense."

"The Jabberwocky is a poem that's sounds a lot better when you read it out loud," Ruth told the little girl patiently. Finishing her cooking, she turned off the gas and began serving up. "If you read it with lots and lots of expression, you find that it doesn't matter that the words don't make sense. From the sound of your voice, you have a good idea of what the author is saying."

There was a pause and Ruth glanced across the room to see Lottie still seeming quite confused. To illustrate her point, Ruth launched into a theatrical recital of The Jabberwocky: "'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves, did gyre and gimble in the wabe. And mimsy were the borogoves, and the mome raths outgrabe

"It's all just silly words!" Lottie observed, giggling at her mother's dramatics. "But you're right, it sounds better when you say it out loud."

Having finished the coffee, Harry joined in the fun by creeping to the dining table, swooping down and lifting an unsuspecting Lottie out of her seat. She screamed with laugher as he twirled her round and round, carefully dodging Ruth who darted between them with plates of food.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!" Harry took up the poem, gnashing his teeth after 'bite'. On the 'claw', he moulded his hand into a talon, with which he began mercilessly tickling his daughter.

Lottie's shrieks of laughter grew increasingly hysterical, and Harry only stopped once he realised that the poor little thing was so giddy that she was quite literally heaving for breath. He placed a swift peck on her cheek and lowered her gently back down into her chair. Ruth delighted in watching her family muck around – only she was a little concerned by the purplish-red colour of Lottie's face; the result of laughing so hard.

"Sit still and take a few deep breaths, Lottie," she advised, and Lottie immediately complied. "Have you finished tormenting our daughter?" she asked of Harry as he sat down next to her.

"Tormenting?" Harry repeated with an irresistible twinkle in his eye. He began tucking into his cooked breakfast. "Oh no, sweetheart. That was only the start. It will be the thumbscrews next."

"What are thumbscrews?" Lottie immediately piped up.

"Nothing we should be discussing over breakfast." Ruth ruled adamantly, nudging Harry under the table as he started tittering into his coffee mug. "Eat your food, darling. And afterwards, if we have time, you may be able to open one of your presents before school."

"Oooh presents!" Lottie cheered, clearly relishing every moment of her big day so far. First a special cooked breakfast and now the prospect of presents! She picked up her knife and fork and began ripping gleefully into her bacon. But the three of them only got so far in their meals before she suddenly frowned, "What is a Jabberwocky?"

Harry and Ruth paused, then eyed one another, silently conferring how to answer such a question. The last thing they wanted was for their six-year-old to be frightened of a non-existent monster. In the end, Harry took the lead.

"It's... a kind of monster, Squirt." He answered cautiously. "But it's fictional."

"That means it's made-up, right?" Lottie checked amidst a mouthful of bacon.

"Yes, darling, it does. So you don't need to be worried about a Jabberwocky." Ruth told her firmly.

"So the poem's about a monster?"

"It's about a young man and a monster." Ruth nodded, choosing each word with care. "A father warns his son of this monster, the Jabberwocky. But the son doesn't listen to his father, and goes off to defeat the monster, because he thinks he can."

"And can he?"

"Yes, he can. He defeats the Jabberwocky." Harry replied.

"Defeat as in 'kill'?" Lottie asked with wide eyes.

"Erm..." Harry's eyes flicked to Ruth, who shook her head minutely. However seeing Lottie's big blue eyes blinking curiously at him, he decided that it wouldn't be right to lie to her. "Well... yes."

"Killing's bad." Lottie concluded matter-of-factly.

She shovelled a forkful of beans into her mouth, unaware of the stricken looks her parents were exchanging. She was right, of course. Under any normal circumstances, she was absolutely right. However, there had been no one-size-fits-all guideline for their previous profession. There had been many complicating factors. It had been kill or be killed. And both of them had, at one point (or in Harry's case, on many occasions), killed another human being – albeit, for survival's sake or the safety of their country. But all the same, hearing those words spouting from their six-year-old's lips was rather like a punch to the gut.

"Well... well..." Harry muttered, fumbling for the right words. "The Jabberwocky is a really mean, people-hungry monster, and it's eaten lots and lots of people. The son wants to protect his family and friends. So to do this, he needs to slay the monster – even if he doesn't want to."

Lottie finished her breakfast and placed her cutlery together, just as she had been taught. She tugged the thick, hardback poetry book onto her lap and traced the letters on the page thoughtfully.

"So..." she frowned, and Harry noticed that she looked the spitting image of Ruth in thought. "So... the son is doing it to look after his family and friends?"

"Yes." Harry confirmed.

"Even though it's bad, he just wants to do what's right for all the people." Lottie surmised, and her parents stared at each other, once again bowled over by the extent of their daughter's intellect.

"Yes, that's right, darling," Ruth said quietly, tucking a strand of dark hair behind Lottie's ear.

"So he's like a knight, and the Jabberwocky's a dragon?" the child worked out.

"That's exactly what it's like," Harry nodded. "The son is like a good knight, and the Jabberwocky an evil dragon."

"But killing's still not okay, right?" Lottie asked, her eyes big and round and so full of innocence that Ruth suddenly wanted to cry.

"No," she whispered, a tight knot forming in her throat. Just to distract herself, she reached across and wiped a smear of tomato sauce from her daughter's chin. She could feel Harry's eyes boring into her as she spoke. "No it's... it's not. It's really not."

"But The Jabberwocky is just fiction isn't it, Mummy?"

"Yes, of course." Ruth answered, feeling a gentle hand on her arm. She knew, without even looking, that it belonged to Harry.

"Then why are you crying?"

Ruth was mortified. Utterly, utterly mortified. She had genuinely not even realised she was crying. It hadn't registered that the sharp stinging in her eyes, the tight coil in her throat, the sickening surge in her stomach and the sizzling scorch of her cheeks were actually signs that she was welling up. She saw how anxious poor Lottie suddenly looked, and fought the overwhelming urge to kick herself. So much for not getting into a state around your daughter, she thought. She shook her head and swiped an impatient hand across her eyes, tamping down her tears and plastering a tremulous smile across her face.

"Oh... oh I'm not crying, my darling," she lied, and Harry's gentle pressure on her arm grew slightly heavier. She was glad of the grip; it helped her feel more anchored, more present. "Mummy's just being a bit silly, that's all. I suppose I'm just... just happy and sad that my little girl's getting all grown up."

For a moment, Lottie just peered suspiciously up at Ruth. Then, she slid slowly out of her seat and clambered up onto her mother's lap, wrapping her twiglet arms around her neck. Ruth swallowed, slipping her own arm from Harry's hold and enveloping Lottie in a huge, heartfelt hug.

"That's nice," she whispered, burying her nose in her daughter's hair to inhale her sweet scent. "Just what Mummy needed. Special big girl cuddles."

Lottie beamed back, satisfied that she had done the right thing. They stayed there for a good while, Ruth rocking her baby back and forth; Lottie sitting huddled in her mother's arms, content to be rocked.

"Hey, Squirt," Harry said quietly, his eyes fixed firmly on Ruth. "If you look in the lounge, there may or may not be a present hiding somewhere."

Those truly were the magic words, for not a split second later, Lottie was squealing and leaping from her mother's lap, dashing excitedly towards the living room. She only got so far though. As soon as she reached the kitchen door, she skidded to a halt and turned her winsome eyes back on Ruth, clearly torn between wanting to make her mother feel better and the tempting gift that lay in wait.

"Go on, darling," Ruth coaxed. Her heart almost broke to see the angst still rampant in Lottie's big blue eyes. Needing more than anything fix the smile back onto her little girl's face, Ruth dug down deep and rallied all the strength she had into producing a brighter, more realistic smile. Then she tugged back her sleeve and tapped her watch. "I'll tell you what. I'll time you. See how long it takes you to find it."

Lottie's face brightened. She was never one to turn down a challenge.

"Okay," she grinned.

"Let's see if you can find it in less than three minutes," Ruth waited until the minute hand struck twelve again, then nodded. "And... go!"

Lottie tore from the kitchen, her little arms flailing adorably as she ran. Ruth allowed her smile to fall.

For a moment, silence reigned. Everything held still save for the faint bumps and clatters coming from the next room, signifying Lottie's hunt for the much-anticipated present. She was no doubt making a horrible mess, but they would deal with that later.

"Ruth." Harry breathed softly.

Never had there been so much meaning hidden in that one word. Ruth almost couldn't bear his tender regard for her; the love and reverence with which he uttered her name. He wasn't pitying her; there wasn't a hint of pity there, for which she was extremely grateful. But there was a tentativeness to his delivery; an uncertainty that betrayed just how fruitless and unforthcoming words could sometimes be. For sometimes, one could not find the right words to say, and sometimes, words were just not enough.

Still, his tone was gentle and patient and laced with unwavering concern. It was the same tone he had used throughout those first couple of years of recovery; the voice he had adopted to drag her back from the brink during those nights of vicious, soul-crushing nightmares. Ruth could still remember the heat of his breath against her ear as he crooned her into consciousness. She could still feel the power in his arms as he clutched her tight to his chest, rocking her with him as she screamed and strained and writhed and raged and rode out each maelstrom of misery, each torrent of unremitting terror. She could still sense the comforting weight of his body beneath hers, as he pressed her trembling form to his heart and held her there; held her close until its reassuring beat drew her out of the shadows and back to the present. Back to him.

Ruth shut her eyes, willing herself to retain a modicum of self-control. Once she felt sure that she wasn't going to burst into tears, she opened them again and reached across the table for her love's hand. He gave it immediately, holding her safe and tight and warm. As always, he was the guard, the eternal knight standing stoutly on the wall, protecting his loved ones from the might of evil – from the Jabberwocky.

But every knight had its weakness – its Achilles Hell – and she just so happened to be his. Her pain, her distress, affected him just as deeply as his affected her, and she could see the telltale crinkle of concern, the blistering intensity in his troubled eyes. She tried to manage a reassuring smile, feeling guilty for worrying him so; for making him look so much older and wearier than he had only ten minutes before.

"It's alright, Harry," she whispered. "We did so many things back then. Things a person couldn't even... begin to explain or – or justify... unless they were there on the front line of it all." The 'like us' went unspoken. She looked away and ran her free hand through her hair, suddenly feeling very tired. "She's bright. And curious. I knew she'd start asking questions that'd hit a raw nerve one day. I just didn't think it would be this soon." She let out a wet, choked sort of snort, "Or because of reading the bloody Jabberwocky!"

Harry smiled weakly, though he knew neither of them really found that very funny.

"Death and killing is an awful thing to discuss in any context," he acknowledged quietly. "But for us, it may seem like everything said is a personally aimed jab." He inclined his head to try and make eye contact, but she steadfastly avoided it. So he paused; waited for her to process his words, waited for her feel strong enough to meet his eyes once more. When she finally did, he saw a myriad of emotions there: love, regret, relief, worry, and worst of all, fear. "But what she said... what others will undoubtedly say... their words aren't personal, sweetheart," he iterated, squeezing her hand as tightly as he dared. "It's hard, I know, but we just have to keep trying to remember that fact. If we don't, we'll never be able to fully move on."

"We'll never forget," Ruth whispered knowingly, and Harry hated the haunted glint in her eyes.

"No," he admitted. "But we can keep moving forward. Together. Just as we always have done."

Ruth's eyes landed on his, taking in those soft, hazel orbs, so rich, so deep – like liquid honey.

"We've done a pretty damn good job of it so far," she murmured, her lip curling into a tiny smile.

Harry grinned, "The best."

"Even if I felt like a hypocrite just then with our daughter."

"You gave what I expect would be a fairly ordinary and acceptable response to a question that, let's be honest, would be difficult coming from a child anyway," Harry reassured her with another squeeze of the hand. "It just so happens that you and I led quite... extraordinary lives."

"We told Lottie that there are no such things as monsters," Ruth recalled sadly. "But there are, aren't there?"

"Not here, sweetheart," Harry said firmly. "They can't touch us here."

Ruth paused, reflecting on his words. Then she nodded and kissed his hand, cradling it carefully against her cheek, absorbing its warmth and resounding strength.

"Found it!" Came an enthusiastic shriek from the other room, making Ruth chuckle in spite of herself. She placed her love's hand gently back down and turned just in time to see Lottie scurry in, lugging a heavy-looking parcel. "Found it, Mummy! How long was I?"

Ruth dutifully checked her watch while Harry helped haul the package onto the table.

"Two minutes, thirty-five seconds. Well done!"

Lottie beamed but said nothing, preferring, like her mother, to keep her achievements to herself. Instead, she turned her grin on Moo and gave the grubby cow a triumphant twirl.

"Come on then, Squirt," Harry urged. "Open it."

The little girl didn't need telling twice. She massacred the wrapping paper and found a large, thick textbook.

"Quadratics!" She squealed, her ocean eyes lighting up with joy.

She proceeded to launch into an enthusiastic monologue about the brilliance of quadratic equations, and both parents were powerless to do anything else but smile. The shock of before was forgotten, for a silent resolve had been made to move on from the life they left behind. And with it, the easy, light-hearted domesticity returned.

Little did they know that fate had other plans. Harry had been wrong. Very wrong. There was a darkness brewing, and with it, the monsters were coming. Their blissful bubble was about to be well and truly burst.

Many thanks to all you lovely people who reviewed. You seemed to want more so here is more! I hope to be posting weekly, so sorry for the slight delay. Chapters don't take long to write, but editing takes ages! All the best x