Petra

Milos was in what could only be described as an unceasingly foul mood. He was short tempered, growling at everyone but the girls and me. Even with us he would relapse into a morose silence, drifting around the apartment like a sullen ghost. He went aimlessly from the study to the couch, carrying a never ending pile of books with him. The Sound and the Fury, The Trial, Wuthering Heights. He read them all voraciously, desperate to avoid a reality he couldn't seem to cope with.

Not that anyone could blame him for being cantankerous, not when he'd been waking up two, three, four times a night with nightmares for the last month. They were worse than before therapy, more frequent than when he first returned home. A week and a half ago had been the anniversary of when Milos left for Russia last year. Tomorrow would the one year anniversary of when he woke up in the Homestead. For the first time since I had known him, up until a month ago, he had been sleeping a decent amount, falling asleep beside me at night and waking up only marginally earlier than I did if the twins were with Rafael. That was gone now, replaced with nights where he came to bed after midnight and was awake again long before the sun rose. I wouldn't even know he slept if it weren't for the nightmares, being awoken by thrashing and shouting, watching him sweat and hyperventilate while I held him and talked to him.

He had offered to sleep in another room to avoid waking me after the first few days, but I had turned it down. I wanted-no, needed to help him. Especially with Anna and Elsa at Rafael's for another day, he had nothing to focus on. Just whatever he was feeling, his memories, the resurgence of nightmares.

I got out of bed and pulled on my robe. It was still dim in the morning twilight, but I left the room to find him. I didn't have to go far, Milos was already dressed in his suit, sitting on the couch with his newspaper. He looked tense, dark circles under his eyes.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked gently.

"No." He answered flatly, not looking away from the newspaper I suspected he wasn't actually reading.

"It will make you feel better. You can't possibly feel worse than not sleeping because-"

"Not today, Petra." He snarled, reaching for his coffee mug and bringing it to his scowl. "Just not today."

My mouth snapped shut. I waited a beat, but no apology came. So I turned and left.

Milos

The second the words left my mouth I regretted them. Why was I lashing out at the only person who had ever bothered to care about me, what was I thinking?

I couldn't stop looking at the date on the newspaper. Petra was walking away. I wanted to ask her to come back, I needed to apologize. But I couldn't stop looking at the date on the newspaper. It was two in the afternoon in Tunisia. One year ago exactly I was two hours away from being captured. I replayed my last hours of freedom over and over in my head. I couldn't go after Petra. I couldn't stop looking at the date on the newspaper.

I thought about the breakfast I skipped, water I turned down. I had just wanted to get back to Florida. I relived running sixty million dollars in glittering diamonds through my fingers at the meeting's close. I could almost taste my wife on my lips as I left the meeting. It should have been a twelve hour flight to Miami. I should have been home for the birth of my children, helped my wife through her depression. Instead I happened to look across the street. A small child looked back at me, a frightened expression on his face. Then there was pain. Then there was nothing.

Six months of cold, of starvation, of agony. I closed the newspaper and left the apartment, the hotel felt stifling. Soon I found myself wandering through the streets of Miami. It was seventy degrees outside, but I was chilled to the bone. I left without money, without my identification or the phone Petra insisted I needed. It was ridiculous, no one called me; everyone I had associated with thought I was dead. Sometimes I would just stare at it, haunted by a phone that never rang, remembering my phone that never stopped ringing. It didn't matter I didn't have it with me, she wouldn't be calling. Not after my behavior. I didn't deserve her concern.

Eventually I stopped before a building. I rolled my eyes at the marble façade.

"I didn't realize we had an appointment today." Doctor Martin said from behind me.

"We don't." I snapped.

"Are you sure about that?" She asked like I was a misbehaving child. "Come in, Milos."

I frowned. But I followed her anyway.

I came home more than ready to apologize. Guilt weighed heavily on my conscience as I entered the apartment to find it dark. There was a covered plate on the dining room table, a note on it in Petra's elegant script. Milos. Of course she made sure I had dinner. I'd been foul to her and still she still cared for me. Guilt gripped me tighter. I lifted the lid, peaked at the food inside. Cold pizza, my favorite thing to eat when preoccupied with work. She understood my feelings before I did, apparently.

A dim light caught my attention from the bathroom. I turned towards it, hoping to find Petra and apologize.

As I entered room I was greeted by the sight of a dozen candles scattered around the bath my wife was elegantly reclined in. Candlelight glinted off the water, off her wet body. My hand clutched at the door frame, it was visceral, I was suddenly desperate for her. She was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen.

Her eyes opened, looking at me warily. "Are you alright?"

"I'm so sorry." It rushed out of me. "I should never have said that. I spent the day yelling at Doctor Martin. I was so angry, I didn't even know how angry I was until the yelling started. All the things I missed. All the injuries. I was cruel to you. I'm sorry."

She nodded thoughtfully, still reserved. "Join me?"

I nodded, pulling off my tie and dropping my suit jacket to the floor. I needed her, I would trade air or water just to touch her. My shirt followed, then my undershirt, my pants and boxers. I could see her surveying my form from under her lashes, I wondered if she was looking at my scars or my body. I had put a modest amount of muscle back on, but I certainly didn't look like I did a year ago.

Petra spread her legs as I finished pulling off my shoes and moved to join her in the tub. "Lean against me?" She murmured.

"Of course." I agreed, sitting between her thighs and leaning my head under her chin. Silence stretched between us. Petra began to rake her fingers through my hair. "Twelve hours and one year ago, I was knocked out and captured. It meant that I missed my children being born, that I wasn't there to help the love of my life the only time she has ever needed me, I've dealt with near constant pain for ten of the last twelve months, I can't even make love to the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on. I can't stop thinking about it-Being captured, though I would not object to making love if it wouldn't potentially cripple me."

"Oh, Milos." Petra murmured. Her hands moved over me as I reclined against her. They ran through my hair, massaged my neck, my shoulders. "The birth was terrible. You would have hated seeing me in that much pain and you couldn't have helped. It's probably better that you weren't there."

I could feel her breasts on my back, her breath on my ear. "That doesn't change that I should have been there to try. I should been there to comfort you, I should have been there to see Anna and Elsa join world. I should have seen their first smiles, their first time rolling over. I have so much anger that I missed all of it."

She nodded. "I can understand that, but I missed a lot of those things, too. You only missed five months out of their entire lives, they honestly weren't doing much. You can't fixate on what has gone by, Milos. It's too late for that."

"If I had been here with you, maybe you wouldn't have missed those things, either. At very least I could have gotten you to a doctor like you did for me." I insisted.

"With post partum depression, who knows if you could have convinced me to see a psychiatrist. I mostly saw someone to get Jane off my back." Her hands continued to trail over my neck and shoulders.

"I still should have been here to try." I said regretfully. Petra didn't reply. My guilt multiplied, I didn't want to upset her. "Speaking of Jane, does she still think I'm the monster that lives under your bed?"

Petra shook her head. "No, or she wouldn't have invited you to Thanksgiving. Have you two actually ever talked?"

"No, I wasn't saying much in November. It still hurt to be upright. I was supposed to use that ridiculous cane." I reminded her.

"If only they made medication for pain." She quipped lightly. "Or your ego."

Tentatively I put my hands on her legs. They were soft and smooth, just as impossibly long as I remembered. "No man's ego could survive meeting his new extended family using a cane. I'm forty, not eighty."

"And still and old man." Petra teased.

She brought out the best in me. There was so much darkness in my soul, so much pain and anger. Something in her brought out the best in me. She made me thoughtful, she made me laugh. She made me happy, something I hadn't been sure I was even capable of.

"Old man? You're not that much younger than I am." I pointed out.

She laughed. "Eight years! And I've never had to walk with a cane."

"Neither have I." I challenged her.

"You're right, you're right. You never actually used it. You win." She demurred before changing the topic. "Any news with your gym?"

"Yes, actually. We finally reached a number. We're just getting the papers drawn up." I was in the process of buying the marital arts gym I belonged to. The owner was under water, but the gym was in a great location with a huge and devoted membership. It was a great opportunity, and I needed to work. I had been working every day since I was ten. I needed something to focus on.

"Did you get him down to eight?" Petra asked, sounding genuinely interested. She'd been following the process closely, I suspected she enjoyed hearing about the negotiations. She was an incredible haggler, and not just with Dannig and the grenades. It was one of the things I loved about her.

"Seven." I said with a smirk. "I promised no one would find out there was a new owner. He can continue to strut around like he owns it."

"Using his own hubris against him. Good for you." She sounded so proud. "When do you think it will go through?"

"Some time next month. Probably just after the twins' birthday party." I answered.

"We should celebrate your gainful employment. Do a long weekend in the Caribbean before you have to start working again."

I smiled. "I would enjoy that."

Slowly her arms wrapped around my shoulders, holding me to her. For a moment I had this fleeting thought, she loves me. She took care of me after my return, she seemed to enjoy being around me, we laughed together and slept together and were raising children together. She had to love me. Except that she didn't. I closed my eyes. It had been almost six months since my return, and she still hadn't said it. We hadn't even kissed. Maybe I was just too broken. Maybe I wasn't worth loving.

"Hey, are you okay? Your shoulders just got really tense." Her touch was tender, her voice was sweet. My heart ached. What if she wanted me to go? I couldn't leave her. I couldn't leave my daughters. I survived Hell for them, I couldn't live without them. I had no reason to live without them.

"No." My rasping voice surprised me. "I'm not. I want to be."

"Good." Petra agreed softly, wrapping those long legs around me in a gesture that reminded me of Natalia. "I want you to be okay. I would be devastated without you, Milos. You must know that. When I thought you had died, it was frankly one of the worst days of my life. I felt so empty, like something inside me was missing. It was this horrible black void, and nothing made it better. But you didn't die, you came back to me. It was the happiest day of my life."

"What about Anna and Elsa being born?" I interrupted her, incredulous.

She shook her head. "Labor was awful, Milos. Post partum depression set in quickly for me, I didn't know what do with them. I didn't want to hold them. It was all very dark then. Of course I loved them, but it wasn't magical like everyone said it would be. I'm sure that didn't help things. When you came home, it was a miracle. The second I saw you, it was like seeing the sun."

"I've certainly never been someone's miracle." I replied more earnestly than I had intended.

"Anyway, I've missed you this month. I've missed having you in bed with me, I've missed talking with you over breakfast and dinner. I can't think of anyone I'd rather spend my life with, to be honest." She said the last sentence it like it was a joke, but I felt her deep swallow after. I could feel her pulse racing where my head was leaning on her throat.

She meant it.

And she loved me.

Whatever her reasoning was for not saying it, I could respect that. I loved her, too.

We laid in the bath together until we were exhausted, until laughing hurt. I stopped counting the hours, I stopped thinking about where I was one year ago. We collapsed into our bed together, a tangle of limbs, and pulled the blanket over us. That night there were no nightmares, no visits to the Homestead. Just a deep, contented sleep that lasted until long after the sun rose on the next day.