It's hard when Arthur first goes back to work. He plans to put in a good few weeks and make sure things haven't fallen apart in his absence and then make arrangements to work from home at least part of the time.

His colleagues are congratulatory, supportive, and only a little annoying when they make jabs at his expense.

And when he leaves the office his foot is heavy against the gas pedal and he has to remind himself not to rush. Every minute he misses his wife, and the wondrous little creature he's only just met that has stolen his heart.

Sometimes he's forced to stay late, and the guilt gnaws at him. He calls Gwen a couple of times throughout the day, just to hear her voice. Just to ask if Scout has smiled yet, or has she been sleeping, or does she miss him too?

When he gets home he's shattered, but never as much as Gwen. She's usually asleep if she's lucky, or if not she's sitting by the crib or rocking their small daughter to sleep or doing some chore that's been put off.

On this particular night, he enters the house quietly. It's dark, but for a few night lights. He takes off his tie and belt in the living room and hops on one leg, pulling his pants off and unbuttoning his shirt on the way to the bedroom.

He pauses at the nursery to look in on his sleeping daughter, and then turns to the bedroom.

Gwen's just a bundle underneath the blankets, curled into herself, hair tied at the nape of her neck and face relaxed.

He pulls back the covers on his side of the bed and slips beneath, hoping his weight on the mattress doesn't wake her.

He's almost in the clear as he settles in, but she's stirring, so he brushes the hair at her temple and murmurs for her to go back to sleep.

But instead her dark eyes are blinking open and gazing steadily at him, and his heart thumps with affection. She unwraps an arm from around herself and reaches to rub her hand up and down his arm.

His eyes never leave hers when he takes her hand and kisses it. "Sleep, love," he urges with a whisper.

She doesn't retract her hand or turn over or even snuggle into him. Instead she leans forward to kiss him, and it's not a goodnight kiss.

He wants to protest that they both need sleep, and that it's so very late, but it all falls away at the touch of her lips.

Because it's quiet, and the baby's finally sleeping, and it's the kind of late in that small gap before the predawn hours that feels like free time; like there are endless possibilities to fill the distance between now and then.

And she's here, and he's here... and thought stops there.

She's kissing him more fervently and he gives in, moving to pull her body against his, to feel where it dips and molds to his and makes him feel whole. He delights in how it's changed; how it's softer and wider in some places, and the subtle changes in the way she responds to him.

And even though it's late, and even though he knows he needs to rise early, and that Guinevere has an appointment in the morning, and that the baby might wake at any moment, they take their time with each other.

And they cling so tightly to one another, as if they might merge somehow. And then they do, in a way.

He's rocking into her, and her gasps are lost somewhere between his ragged breaths.

There are no words, but touching and looking and joining and skin sliding against skin. His mouth explores blindly over shoulder and collarbone and soft, soft skin.

Her hands are clutching, and stroking, and always pulling him nearer.

He loves her so much it makes his chest ache with longing even when he's in her arms. So he loses himself in her warm, loving eyes and tender curls; her sweet mouth and freckles and delicate arching curves.

When she quakes beneath him with a silent cry he stills for a few precious moments to admire her glorious undoing, and then she's curling herself around him and urging him on to his own release.

Her graceful hands smooth over his fluttering abdomen as he sucks in shallow breaths, dizzy with the high of his powerful climax, and she's lulling him back to earth.

He feels the depth of her love for him in the texture of her fingertips against his skin, and the way the soles of her feet slide against his calves and her breath comes in lengthening puffs against his shoulder.

There's a stillness that settles over them when they're perfectly wrapped in each other and neither is moving nor speaking.

Heartbeats and breathing restored to normal, they become deep and drawing as they sink away into dreams.

Neither can say who falls asleep first, because this time it happens together.