Disclaimer: This show would be much sappier if I was in charge, so no, it isn't mine.

A/n: Thank you all for the lovely reviews. I really hope this chapter lives up to expectations; please take a minute to let me know what you think. At the very least, it will bring a smile to my face.

-Ryeloza

Perseus and Andromeda Up in the Sky

A story by Ryeloza

Chapter Four

Twilight had fallen by the time Tom and Lynette arrived at their destination. It was a beautiful June night, warm and sweet with the scent of flowers. Outside the world was enveloped in a thick, rosy dusk in which the moon was already visible and the stars were just beginning to glimmer in the sky. The fates couldn't have conspired better to give them a more perfect evening, but as Tom parked the car, he realized quickly that Lynette's mind couldn't have been further from the idyllic world outside.

"Tom," she said, astonishment creeping into her voice, almost as though she couldn't believe her eyes. It was exactly the reaction he'd been hoping for. "What are we doing here?"

He flashed a grin in her direction, but didn't answer as he stepped out of the car. Waves of heat rose and died from the black tarred pavement beneath his feet as night slowly extinguished the hot summer day. In a way, he felt as though he'd stepped back in time eleven years; this place hadn't changed, or, if it had, his memory sifted the slight variations to fit what he remembered. He wondered if Lynette, so much less inclined to live a fantasy than he was, would react similarly. Opening her door, he took her hand and helped her out of the car, thrilled by the tremulous smile she bore. "Tom?" she prodded gently as he opened the trunk and pulled out the picnic dinner he'd packed. "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything. It's entirely possible that someone will have finally put a lock on the door to the roof and we'll be out of luck."

"I don't believe it."

Tom reached out for her hand again, not sure if she was referring to the likelihood of the door being locked or him bringing her here; it didn't particularly matter. "Come on," he said. "Let's trespass where we don't belong."

"I don't know. I think that some part of us never really left."

He glanced at her, surprised. Usually she wasn't one to be nostalgic or romantic in that way, but he had to agree with the thought. They'd started their life together here—the first place they'd called home as a couple; the place where they'd first crossed the threshold as man and wife; the home where they'd started their family. Once, long ago, this dingy little building had been everything to them, and Lynette was right: some part of them would always belong here.

Quietly, they entered the side door of the building, Tom, for once, thanking the lackadaisical security. It was only three flights of stairs to the top floor, and to his delight, the door to the rooftop was unbarred. With a shared, wicked grin, they ascended the final staircase and emerged on the roof of the apartment building. "Jeez," breathed Tom, shaking his head, "this place really hasn't changed."

To an average person, this could quite possibly be the least romantic place on earth. The roof was nothing but a long slab of concrete surrounded by a four foot cement wall onto which people had scribbled an immense amount of graffiti over the years. Even the view wasn't anything special, overlooking the parking lot and surrounding streets; a boring, unnatural landscape heightened by the sound of traffic. Still, he and Lynette had spent more nights up here than he could count, lying out under the stars and daydreaming about a day when they'd have more.

Tom set down the picnic basket, slowly tracking Lynette's movements as she crossed the roof to look down at the street below. The fear he'd felt earlier had faded to a subtle pinch in the back of his mind; omnipresent but ignorable when faced with such a distraction. He knew now why this date had been so important to Lynette. It was an escape, a chance to recapture something that had been lost at some point—their ability to simply be two people in love. Not a married couple, not parents, not business partners, but lovers only. He couldn't remember the last time that that connection had been the most significant one between them; perhaps that was part of the problem.

Lynette turned to face him, leaning back against the wall and smiling shyly. She looked ghostly in the moonlight, pale skin and shimmering hair, almost effervescent in that watery dress. "Don't get lost in the past," she said quietly.

"I'm not. I was just thinking about how beautiful you look."

"Hmm," she said with a hint of self-deprecating laughter in her voice. "Twelve years and four kids. You sure you're not remembering the past?"

"I don't know if you've ever looked more gorgeous than you do right now."

Lynette ducked her head for just a second, a delighted grin lighting up her face. "What made you think of coming here?"

"Missing you?" It wasn't really a question, but he punctuated it with a slight shrug. "Missing us."

"We've never stopped being us, you know."

"No. But we've changed."

"Isn't that life?"

Tom didn't answer her. It wasn't really necessary because they both already knew how true that statement was. Marriage was some constantly evolving entity, forced to adapt to the thousands of challenges life presented or else die. They could never really go back, but they could recapture the past. Lately, their history was all the escape he'd had. The present reality of what was facing them loomed large and dangerous, and the only way he'd been able to cope was by looking back. Reminiscence, he was beginning to realize, was just as important as the present or the future.

He stepped toward her, holding out a hand, and she came to join him halfway. Unhesitatingly, he pulled her to his chest and wrapped his right arm loosely around the small of her back. Her head rested against his shoulder, and slowly he began to lead her in a dance serenaded only by the distant sounds of the traffic below. Immediately, any tension left in his body fled. This, dancing with her, was something that had always felt natural. The feel of her body, gentle and feminine pressed against his, the smell of her perfume, the way she leaned into him, showing some rare, appreciated dependency—he always felt like she was completely his in these moments.

She hummed into his shoulder contentedly, briefly nuzzling him. "Did I ever tell you that I fell in love with you during a dance?"

"No." He frowned, oddly curious. "The first time you said you loved me was that weekend I took you out on my boat."

"I know. But I knew before then." She pulled back to look up at him. Her eyes had turned to a deep violet color in the fading light. He'd always been certain that he could lose himself in her eyes just by watching them shift to different, brilliant shades of blue. It was impossible to pick a favorite. Oblivious to his thoughts, she continued, "I was working late that one night and you came back to the office to bring me dinner."

"You are not about to tell me that coming up with the tango dancing fleas made you fall in love with me."

"Not exactly," she laughed. "You were worried that I was too stressed and you were trying to make me laugh."

"I love seeing you laugh."

"You've been telling me that from the moment we met."

Tom leaned down and gave her a soft kiss. "That's because it's true. You light up. It's incredible."

"Well…" She shook her head as though she didn't believe him, but her smile was bright enough to outshine the stars. "Anyway, you were kidding around, and then you pulled me up and made me tango with you right in my office. And I just remember thinking that no one ever cared about my happiness the way you did. That's when I realized I loved you."

"You never told me that."

Lynette shrugged. "We'd only been dating for a couple months."

"I'd already bought your ring."

Her eyes widened and she stopped swaying with him. "What?"

"A few days before that, I bought your engagement ring."

"You did not."

He nodded seriously. It was something he'd never told her before, a secret he nurtured inside of himself because it seemed too sweet to spoil with words. He had a feeling, though, that Lynette had felt the same way about the confession she'd just made. "Do you remember that night that you finally told me about your childhood?"

Her eyes dropped for the briefest moment, an acknowledgement without words.

"I knew then that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you."

"Why?" The word spilled out of her, genuine disbelief, as though this was the last thing she ever expected. He wasn't surprised—she'd always seen weakness where he'd only seen strength.

"Because I'd never met anyone so brave. And I remember holding you while you cried, and I knew that I wanted to be that person for you for the rest of your life. The one that you could count on; the one that you could depend on to pick you up when you fell; the one who loved you no matter what. That's all I've ever wanted to be for you."

Lynette blinked, obviously trying to ward off tears, but they'd filled her eyes so completely that instead they spilled over and ran down her cheeks. He raised his hands, cupping her face and wiping the dainty curves of her cheekbones with his thumbs. "I can't believe that's when you knew," she said, her voice tight with emotion.

"You were the most incredible woman I'd ever met. Of course I knew."

She gave him a watery smile, pushing up on her toes for a second to kiss him, and then throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. His hands dropped to her lower back and he squeezed her gently to him. "You know you've always been the only person I've ever been able to depend on?"

"Have I?"

She nodded; he could feel her tears, hot and damp against his neck. "And I don't know if I've ever thanked you for it."

"You don't have to, Lynette." He had no words for the genuine need he felt to be that person for her, a duty borne of compulsion rather than obligation. He did it because he loved her—he existed because he loved her. "I love you."

She pulled back, kissing him again, smiling through her tears. "I love you too. More than anything."

That, really, was all he'd ever wanted from her.