Was it loneliness that brought you here, broken and weak?
Was it tiredness that made you sleep…have you lost your will to speak?

|… T …|

"This isn't working." I sat down and looked across the table at the increasingly gaunter blonde across the café from me. Time with my family and mates meant exhausting my potion cabinet (Malfoy's try-outs on July 4th had taken the last of my stock).The tremors had escalated to full-bodied shivers that took two potions to combat before I'd left the house. Unfortunately, blood-shot eyes weren't easily fixed. She was red-eyed too. She looked strangely lovely, even with lessened vigor. "You know it isn't."

She looked as emotionless as usual.

"We're driving ourselves to illness."

"I can't help the hours that I keep," she shrugged and looked at her nails. "I-"

"Hannah." I didn't mean it to come out so softly but it did, and her she went from blank to animated. Shock, suspicion, and a repulsion warred on her face. I felt the whip of it, felt horrible by her obvious rejection of me saying her name, but opened my mouth resolutely. "Whatever you feel for me…I don't blame you. This is a terrible situation all-around and-"

-I'm so sorry that they made this mistake-

"-and I would make it easier for you if I could. You mightn't believe me but it's harder to watch you suffer, thanks to the magic and all these protective instincts that are so new to me.

Her brown eyes were wider than wide. And how terrible was it that even though she so obviously despised me, this magic couldn't be denied, my now-enhanced natural instinct couldn't be denied? Even with her feelings on her face, I couldn't fight the depth of my concern for her…nor did I want to.

"If you want me to suffer," I whispered as I met her gaze, "that's fine. But you can't do this to yourself too."

Her face melted into shock.

"We have to be able to function," I said. "You can't be an Auror who is slower on her feet than everyone else. If you're suffering a fraction of what I am, then you're shaking and dizzied sometimes, and the pain in your head is unbearable. How can you do your job if you're sick?"

"Don't you dare imply that I can't do my job," she hissed in my face. "I am good at what I do. Good, damn it."

"I'm not saying you aren't," I said firmly. I needed her to agree. "But even the most amazing witch wouldn't be able to fight her deteriorating condition. No matter how you feel about this or about me, you should be healthy."

"I am coping-"

"No," I said calmly, "you aren't. When we first met, your cheeks were fuller and had color. Your hair wasn't limp and your cloak didn't hang from your shoulders. You could hold that teacup the entire thirty minutes, now it looks like stirring the liquid is all that you can manage."

I watched as she struggled to fold her face back into an unemotional mask. It took a long, tense minute.

"What are you saying?"

"We need to move in together."

I hadn't really thought about how I planned to convince her. The thing of it was that I'd been doing so much thinking. If we were locked into this situation until death, then something had to break. And if the bond didn't require emotional closeness but physical closeness, then all we had to do was be close, correct? We just had to be around each other. We didn't even talk at these meager meetings that didn't do anything for our bond. So if we didn't talk now and she had no intention of opening up to me any time soon, then that was it right? Wasn't this the most perfect solution?

It didn't have to be my place or her place. We could get a new place wherever she wanted with the stipulation that we lived together would force us to be around each other at least an hour each day. And that was the bare minimum, really.

It sounded insane, I knew that.

But what could I do?

"No."

"Listen to me," I said urgently, "we don't need to be together. We don't have to speak or sit down and talk to each other. I have said it before and I will say it again…I don't blame you. I don't expect anything from you. I…I just…Merlin, the magic wants us to be bonded but its only limited to physical proximity. If we can't get ourselves enough time now, how worse will it get down the line when you get more cases? When you have to be on the field? Did you know we are required to spend more than an hour a day every single day?"

She wouldn't stop shaking her head.

"No-"

"It'll get worse," I finally gave in and took her wrist. It was terrifying, knowing that I was touching someone who truly despised me, because even knowing that didn't stop all of my heart from wishing she didn't. She hissed when I held her but I held that wrist up.

Both of us watched a muscle spasm run through it.

"Whatever potions you're taking to try and fight this thing isn't going to help in a few days," I continued, pained. "It will get worse. I don't want you to do anything that you don't want to do – I just want you to be…well."

When she met my eyes again, there was such a troubling mixture of emotions there that I dropped her wrist and looked away. And even then, I wanted to hold her so badly it was distracting. When I looked back, something in the downturn of her mouth said she was defeated.

"It doesn't have to be my place or yours," I said quickly. "Whatever you want, wherever you want, cost is not an issue. I understand it, I do, that this would be such a big sacrifice for you but it has to be done so you can get better. We don't have to see each other, ever. We don't have to do anything that you don't want to do, honestly, but you need to get better."

I put her hand down on the table as gently as possible. She looked away for a brief moment and then looked back. Her gaze was unflinching (I'd give her that, she was brave, no doubt) and hard.

"When?"

I hoped that relief didn't pour across my face.

Thank heavens.

"Sooner than later," was all I said.

"…where?"

"Wherever you want. It's the very least that I can do."

Her face folded in on itself before she stood.

"I'll owl you tonight with my house choice to tour tomorrow."

I nodded and watched her leave.

|… H …|

I wasn't an emotional person anymore. Really, sometimes I felt like I'd dried up the night I'd found out that Alfie had died. The maws of grief had swallowed me whole and most days I still feel like I'm in the belly of the beast. Except the beast didn't really work with tears so I had no more. But if there was ever a day that I came close to crying, it was today.

I hit my bed face first, and scrunched it up against every emotion threatening to crawl out.

He was right.

I was driving us to death.

And it was purely selfish, to serve my own hatred. The female papers had long since arrived and I was fully aware of all the bullshit technical terms the Ministry was slapping on this farce. I couldn't deny that I felt spiteful whenever I thought about how he must suffering, how his head felt like it was splitting open at the seams. The way his eyes creased at a particular loud noise in the café or how he kept himself as still as possible…all of it brought me a terrible kind of pleasure. I couldn't pretend otherwise and I didn't want to. But I couldn't ignore the fact that this was getting to me too. There was no way I was going to be suitable out in the field if I got a hands-on Dark Artifact case.

If I could have wept at the hopelessness of the situation, I would have.

Blast it all. He really was right.

I couldn't risk my job. I couldn't risk my position – being an Auror was everything to me. It was the justice that I could get for others; the conviction that I was doing the right thing, the good thing, even if he wasn't here to see me. No matter how much I hated Theodore Nott's father, I would never betray what Alfie meant to me by losing this job.

Never.

I wrote furiously, frustration brimming and spilling in inky words on the page. How in God's name was I going to even begin to find a place? I couldn't help that I wanted him to suffer, that I wanted to inflict that suffering myself. But I could barely stand to stare at him now, so what would I do now? Swallow that hatred? Pretend that I liked him?

…

…

Pretend…

…that I liked him?

I rolled over and stared at the ceiling.

I dismissed the idea immediately. What I needed was a Muggle house listing. If I wanted to be petty, it would be an apartment. But in cramped corners, it would be so much harder to make sure we didn't run into each other at all. And that was the point. And since I didn't care how much of a drain this was on his pocket, I was going to look for the biggest Muggle house I could find within driving distance of London proper.

There was no time like the present to start my search.

Blast it all.

|… | …|

The Muggle realtor led the way in, going on and on about the number of rooms and the optimal location and the quiet neighborhood, while I watched Theodore Nott's face closely. The early afternoon light was dim – another summer rain was coming soon – but the realtor didn't seem to feel the need to illuminate the room further. She said something else about children and I continued to watch him. If he felt either positively or negatively about 'our' new home, he didn't show it.

I wanted him unbalanced and uncomfortable. I wanted him miserable and unhappy. I wanted it to start now.

And by God, I meant to get my wish.

When the realtor looked back at me, I scraped together a very faint smile. She must have taken it as encouragement since she smiled back. Her gaze then turned to him.

"How recently were you married?"

I watched him freeze.

I'd spun some lie about being newlyweds in need of a large new home to get her to show us listings so quickly. I hadn't been very particular about a description but I had stipulated that we would need at least three floors to the place. She'd worked herself up into a titter over imagined wedding bliss before I'd been through with her.

He was literally a deer in the headlights – no smile, all shock, all wide eyes. The vicious glee spreading through me was my reward. I watched him squirm for a full minute before I stepped in.

"The house is his wedding present to me," I said with a wider smile. I deserved an Actor's Guild Award for this. "It's only been a month."

"He waited a whole month to get you a new home?" she asked happily. "I'm teasing you, Mr. Nott – no need to look so uncomfortable. This is such an amazing home in a wonderful part of the city. My, what a brilliant husband you are!"

He couldn't quite get himself to unfreeze and I turned to the realtor with what I hoped was a fawning look on my face. I wanted every word out of my mouth to slice him thin.

"I really couldn't have asked for better." I turned the fawning look on him and whispered the rest. "He's a good man."

He blanched, immediately, blood leaving his face in a rush that was visible to my eyes.

Bull's-eye.

"You're a lucky one, dear," said the realtor as I turned back to her. She took my arm in a friendly manner and led me through the very spacious kitchen to the second dining room.

The constant thrum of hatred was no longer background noise – it surged with a life of its own as I thought about how quickly he'd paled. I smiled. Perhaps moving in wouldn't be so bad. It would give me ample opportunity to find his weaknesses…and exploit them.

She babbled something at my side and I nodded like I was listening, but then she turned to look behind us.

"Where's your husband?"

I turned.

The kitchen was empty.

"He probably went back to the larger home office," I said airily. "After all, he'll be spending a lot of time in there working on his accounts."

"He's in finance?"

"Law, actually."

The realtor looked delighted.

"You both look so young to be married, much less working."

And isn't that the truth?

"We look younger than we are?'

She nodded and touched my arm conspiratorially. "I wouldn't put you past twenty one, myself. And if I had to hazard a guess, the mister can't be older than twenty-three at most."

Well, I couldn't say she wasn't astute. But it would never do for her to know what we were really about. I guided her back through the kitchen and into the foyer

"Young love, or so they say. And young love needs a house as soon as possible so we're going to take this one." She must not have been entirely sure that I liked the place since she looked even happier than before. "How soon can we sign it into ownership?"

No, not happy. She looked delirious with joy.

"If you both would follow me back to the office, we can process the down-payment-"

"Can we pay it in full today?" We both turned to see him looking completely recovered, if a little cautious. "I want to make sure no one buys it out from under me."

I glanced at our realtor…alright, she was possibly on the verge of passing out.

"Yes, yes, yes, of course, sir," she broke away from me and hurried to his side. "You can. It is a lovely house and will be such a good fit for the two of you. If you would just follow me in the car, we can be on our way."

I ended up with the house in my name, 'present' from one Theodore Nott. The deed was tucked away in one of the moving boxes that I had lining the entry way of what was soon to be my ex-home. It had taken me a few hours to pack, after meeting the realtor for lunch and then heading back to work to finish up a report. I'd lived in Muggle places ever since the end of the War, hopping from apartment to apartment in those first four months because I couldn't seem to stay calm. Or maybe it was that I now felt…rootless, like it didn't really matter where I stayed because I probably wasn't going to stay. I didn't really have a reason to.

Was it going to kill me to move? No.

Was this new move permanent? Heaven only knew.

Was I going to miss this new place? I don't know. This last apartment had been more of a home than any of the others, probably because Cho helped me pick it out and move in. So, I guess the appropriate answer was maybe.

The house itself was beautiful and modern, rooms in soft greys and eggshell colors. Four floors, large kitchen and large main dining room, five bedrooms, and one home office. At the leasing office, he had been very quiet but polite when spoken to. I'd been secretly ecstatic that my words had struck him so deeply, which distracted me from throwing any more barbs. I'd taken the day off which meant inquisitive stares from McDowell and Pottleby.

Two keys – one for him, one for me – and an agreement that we would move into the place today around 4pm.

There was really no time like the present.

"That's the last of it, Han," said Cho, poking her head into the entryway to look at me. "Do you want to start taking stuff over then come back to clean?"

I glanced out the window before I turned back to her.

"Yes," I said. "The two taxi cabs are pulling up to the sidewalk right now."

Everything fit in the two vans, and it only took twenty minutes despite the light drizzle to load them both. She got into one and I got into the other to settle in for the thirty minute drive.

The landscape, the gridlock, the raindrops on the rolled up window – everything rather blurred together into a single image for my eyes. I wasn't thinking about anything in particular. My whole life was in this van and the one behind it. How interesting was it that my whole life could be summarily fit into a vehicle? Into any vehicle? How interesting was it that everything that made me, or everything that I called mine, could be packed up and moved in less than a day? Maybe there was some morbid lesson there that I could be learning, about how transitory life was. But didn't I already know that? I already knew that. I'd already learned that on the day I'd been pulled out of class and called to Professor Dumbledore's office to learn that my mother was dead. And if I hadn't learned it then, I'd definitely learned it in the War proceeding.

My mum had been wonderful. She was easily irritated when tired, and funny, and a decent cook, and a really good hug-giver. As her youngest, I'd gotten a lot more babying than Alfie had, and I'd reveled in it. She used to call me her 'handbag', I'd never been far from her skirts when I was little. It helped that we looked exactly like too – everything except the blonde hair which I got from a father that died before I was old enough to retain memories. Interestingly enough, big brother's genes were more evenly divided. He had Mum's eyes and chin, our father's nose and ears. His hair was darker than either of them, though, and had a curl that defied gravity sometimes. I remember when I was little and he was in a good mood, he'd put me up on his shoulders and I'd play with his hair, fascinated by how it waved at the ends-

I closed my eyes.

A nap, that's what I needed. A nap.

|… | …|

When we pulled up, I was jerked awake before I'd even known I'd fallen asleep. The house was even nicer looking against the backdrop of soft grey skies and a little rain. I'd been careful to spell the boxes before we'd packed everything so if the taxi cab driver noticed how dry the boxes looked, he kept it to himself. I went ahead first to unlock the door and push it open. That's when I heard soft music playing.

"Hello?" I stepped gingerly through the doorway. "Anyone here?"

Well, obviously someone was here and that someone was probably the man who'd purchased this place. I looked back to see the taxi driver opening the trunk to begin putting things on the sidewalk. Cho was coming up the walk with her purse at her side. I waited.

"He's here, isn't he." I shrugged. She handed me her purse. "I'll be out here with the boxes."

I padded down the hallways, wondering what exactly she thought I was going to say to him when I saw him. It wasn't like we were in the habit of deep conversations, much less greetings. The music led me out of the entryway and up the stairs. I hesitated on the landing before swallowing whatever emotions were burning in my throat. The staircase was in the middle – a single hallway on either side leading to different rooms. The music was coming from the right so I turned without thinking. I was quiet, I think, but it was habit thanks to Auror training. If I remembered correctly, the first room should have been a living room.

And then I poked my head in and-

-he was fast asleep on an armchair near the fireplace. It was almost picturesque really, the dark colors of the carpet and the dark wall and the flickering of firelight across everything. He still had a black woolen coat on, unbuttoned, and wore black beneath. His dress shirt was cracked at the collarbone, like he'd been hot before he'd fallen asleep. His head was angled upwards and his neck bare and stretched at what looked to me like a rather uncomfortable angle. I was surprised to find that he looked exhausted even while sleeping (that wasn't a pang of guilt fighting its way up my throat); he had the same smudges under his eyes that I did, more like a firm black fingerprint than a vague dark smudge. He looked so childlike, so harmless like this. All his dark hair was in slight disarray, a particularly stubborn patch curling over his forehead. I'd never noticed how thick his hair was. Even losing weight and paling, his hair looked thick and healthy. Five o'clock shadow on his chin and along the sides of his strong jaw, and my hands reaching out to-

- I snatched my hand back in absolute horror.

Oh, God.

When had I stepped into the room and crossed the carpet?

I backpedaled in panic.

When had I crossed the carpet to stand in front of him?

My back hit the wall with a very soft thump before I turned blindly and jogged down the hallway.

Damn this magic and damn this bond.

I sucked in air at the landing.

Damn it.

|… T …|

For all intents and purposes, I was moved into the new house that Abbott had picked. I'd left half of my bedroom at home but I was making a good faith attempt to stay in this place. I tried not to think about how hard the next few years (the remaining years) of my life would be, as I tried to stay out of her way and tried to figure out how to mend a rift that was as wide as a continent. I tried not to think of her hatred, or the fact that Zabini had been unable to find out conclusively how her mother had died, or the deadness in her eyes during most of our meetings. What was important, I kept thinking resolutely, was that we were moving in so that we could both be well. We could both function. And moving in meant I wouldn't have to subject her to meetings where she wanted to escape. The blessing of physical proximity should work to keep her healthy without forcing us to form an emotional bond.

Somewhere in my mind I knew that I was trying to cheat the magic and the Law.

The rest of my mind really couldn't care.

It was enough that I was already feeling protective of her. I couldn't keep fighting myself and her. So moving in together would leave me free to try and work out just what the hell I was supposed to do next.

When I woke up, she was already in the house. Even if the emotional bond wasn't formed, the instincts were flaring to life. I could feel her as if she was in the room, even though I couldn't hear anything over the roar and crackle of the fire.

Should I go to her, I wondered, should I say something first?

I should.

I remembered her saccharine sweet words to the realtor yesterday. I suspected that she'd known what she was doing, and had twisted the knife on purpose. I didn't blame her. She was a pretty good actress, pulling enough warmth into her voice to fool the Muggle woman into thinking that we were a happy couple only intent on finding a house to call home. She'd even called me a 'good man' with a facial expression that had looked like she'd meant it. It had been a punch in the gut because she had never exhibited any sort of emotion around me, and certainly nothing warm and inviting.

Should I?

I should.

I had to keep trying.

I left the room to check downstairs first. I found her in the kitchen, poring over some parchment. When I cleared my throat, she looked up with a startled air. Merlin, this was the second time she was showing her feelings on her face. As I watched, her surprise settled down into a forced blankness of expression.

"I trust you've settled in?" I asked politely, moving to the island counter. "Which bedroom did you choose?"

"I did," she said coolly, "and I took the one at the end of the left hallway on the fourth floor."

The unspoken 'as far as I could get from you' still hung in the air like it had been uttered. I ignored the flash of pain in my chest and nodded.

"Have you eaten yet?" I asked. "I hope pasta is alright."

Her jaw didn't drop but it was fairly close.

"You cook?" she asked, then immediately looked mortified that she'd asked the question.

"I do," I said quietly. "It was more of a necessity than anything else. The Muggle way too. I know, it's quite unusual but…well, I do."

She looked at me like I wasn't who she'd thought I was.

"I hope pasta is alright," I repeated.

"You don't ha-"

"I know," I interrupted, "and I want to. Cooking for two is better than cooking for one."

Clearly, everything out of my mouth was as much of a shock to her as Muggle electricity to her system. I turned towards the pantry mechanically and starting getting out the basic ingredients. I didn't look at her again until everything was on the stove top and cooking. She was still staring at me like I was a brand new person. I didn't say anything and I didn't quite avoid her eyes but I left the room while the sauce simmered next to the cooking noodles.

I returned with a book to read, dished out dinner, and tried not to watch her eat in relative silence.

"Do you-"she cleared her throat, "do you cook often?"

She was asking me about myself?

"Not really," I said thoughtfully. "It offends my house-elves if I get into the kitchen on a regular basis."

What looked like the granddaughter of a smile slipped unto her face. Merlin, I'd never been graced with even a positive look before and that poor excuse for a smile almost had me sitting down in shock. I don't think anything was revealed on my face but her face morphed back into blankness. I scrabbled to keep the conversation going.

"A report for the job?" I indicated the parchment with my chin.

She looked like she was debating whether to respond or not. I held my breath and waited.

"It is."

"Do you usually bring work home from your office?"

I watched her face shutter and knew that somehow, I had said the wrong thing. She rolled both scrolls up and put her plate in the sink.

"Just leave your plate in the sink and I'll wash everything."

"You don't have-"

"And thank you for dinner," she said politely over her shoulder. "I think I'll just wash up now."

What had I said?

|… | …|

Work was easier the next day. I owled Crabbe in the morning when my owl returned with a letter from Goyle. I told them to get Plunko's notes but they were being lazy about it. It would be much quicker than this messing around with Owls. Obviously, I was on to something with the moving in together idea. I didn't feel like I had before the Marriage Law's fatigue act but I felt much better than a walking corpse. When I came in, Zabini was already hard at work over the Moorehouse account.

"How long have you been here?" I asked curiously. "You 're making me feel like a sloth."

He laughed and made room for me at the joint work table.

"Your brother sent you a letter to the office. It's on your desk."

"Honestly, mate, how long have you been here?"

"Since around seven," he finally responded. "And I…well, you're entitled to the last week."

"I've been dead on my feet," I said wryly, "you can say it. But…"

"But?"

"Bought a house."

Zabini quirked an eyebrow.

"For…?"

"For her." Now both his eyebrows were up. He looked quite confused. "We moved in together."

"…you what?"

"The fatigue act was killing her, I could see it," I said slowly. "And-"

"It was killing you," Zabini said firmly. "And while this will sound rude, I would be worried about your own arse and not hers."

"The protective instincts-"

Now, he looked shocked.

"You already feel it? But you don't even like each other."

And that was a damned lie. I couldn't have hated her if I tried. It was that she hated me and there wasn't much I could do about that. My feelings or non-feelings didn't really enter the equation either way. I shrugged and he let it go.

"I'll be back to myself in no time," I switched subjects, "and I'll get a head-start on hiring an assistant."

I ignored his piercing stare and pulled the Moorehouse accounts towards me.

"Now where were you on this?"

|… | …|

The next two weeks, Abbott and I fell into a pattern. The first day, I left a note on her bedroom door with my office's address and ways to reach me if something happened. Her hours were much more erratic than mine. While I usually headed into my office around ten in the morning and got back a little after six in the evening each night, I had little idea as to where she would be at any given time. Mondays and Wednesdays seemed to be her long days – she was out of the house by eight and could be home at any time between eight and eleven. Tuesdays and Thursdays she might still be in the bath when I left and there was no real pattern to her return.

I cooked.

It was literally a toss-up as to whether I'd find that food on the table the same way I left it. Tuesdays and Thursdays I left breakfast for her and Mondays and Wednesdays I left dinner on the kitchen counter. Usually, there was a note beside it that usually wished her a good day or something equally as pleasant.

I never expected a response and I never got one. I was just grateful for the times when she did eat.

Fridays, I had no idea what she did. I just knew that the house was empty when I went to bed.

My health got better steadily. The color came back into my cheeks (Goyle joked I'd been looking as pale as Malfoy for a bit, there) and the headaches were gone by the end of the first week. I could sleep through the night now, and the tremors dissipated towards the end of the second week.

Since it was a Muggle house, I couldn't really use magic the way I usually would. I made sure to change enough for 500 pounds of money, knowing I'd be taking Muggle cabs every day to get to somewhere I could Apparate to Diagon Alley.

The first Saturday after we moved in, I went in to the office. The War had ended about six months ago and while everyone had been busy picking up the pieces, we were busy studying. On our own, Zabini and I had begun to study what we could about the intersection of law and finance. We'd long since come to the understanding that there was no difference in wizard or witch in blood, so we looked to Muggle universities for courses that expanded upon Arithmacy and Mathematics. Zabini had always been good with numbers – all his logic put to good use with finance, while I looked to law. Wizard Law wasn't that complicated – repealed Umbridge mandates aside – and the Ministry was looking to find a way to write a governing constitution that would give fairness and peace to its people.

We were still learning but the learning curve was rather steep.

All of the second Saturday was spent in the office, a full twelve hours of work. The Moorehouse case was actually a bit complicated. William Moorehouse nèe Appleby was a forty-seven year old wizard who had lost his wife three years ago. His property, according to wizarding law and a very complicated will, was to be passed on to his beloved daughter upon his death. He was trying to get his affairs in order but his accounts were a convoluted mess. Zabini was trying to make sense of the discrepancies he was finding. I was just trying to figure out how the hell his family's will worked, and if there were any loopholes that would allow the property to pass into his sister's hands without problems.

By the time, we left the office we were both slightly frustrated and more than a little tired. And the storm, which I'd thought would be a mild one, was not helping.

The house was dark when the Muggle taxi cab pulled up to the house. I stood in the entryway for a moment. I couldn't help the slight melancholy that bubbled up when I pushed the front door open to silence. Whatever, I pushed it away and closed the door. Not being able to use magic meant I'd have to manually dry off. I trudged up the stairs to my bedroom to get a towel and made a mental note to leave a stack in the kitchen. When I was suitably dry, I trudged back down to figure out what to do about dinner.

When I made it back to the kitchen, I couldn't work up any enthusiasm over eating. I wondered where Abbott was then wandered out to the first living room. I meant to sit down for only a little bit after getting a fire started but was out like a light. When I woke up to weak sunlight Sunday morning, there was a blanket tucked around me.

I didn't know what to think about that.

Week three swam along much like week two. We were making headway on Moorehouse's case, and had taken up two more cases, and interviewed three people for the secretarial position. I didn't see hair nor hide of her from Monday until Friday, but she was obviously around since I felt normal and healthy. My mind kept straying to where she could be, wondering if she was alright and taking care of herself…wondered if we'd ever get to a place where I didn't feel like I was committing a crime by writing a note that wished her a good day. She was never very far from my thoughts. The need to see her was so terribly intense. Saturday rolled around again and I was at the office for another long haul. It was almost odd how much this mirrored last weekend.

"What's on your mind?"

"Moorehouse and his family's ridiculous complicated will," I said drily, "and the fact that we really do need an assistant at some point."

"That we do, mate."

I glanced outside, at the incessant rain and the wild wind.

"We should probably get going," I sighed. "You've got lock up?"

Zabini nodded, clapped me on the back.

"See you Monday morning."

Another night where I returned semi-drenched to a house with no one else in it. The cab drive through the rain was slow and cautious, like the cab driver was unusually wary of the storm.

"Wilder than usual, innit?"

I nodded and opened the passenger door. He tipped his hat.

"You have a good night, sir."

"You too."

I nodded with what I hoped was a smile and closed the door behind me. I was soaked before I got to the door and fumbling for keys with stiff hands.

"Oh!" I was shocked into dropping the keys when I turned to see Abbott standing behind me, looking just as drenched. Her hair was darkened with the rain, and down around her shoulders instead of its usual austere bun. The sight of her was so welcome that I couldn't do anything more than gape. "Let me get that."

She got to the keys before I did and moved past me to unlock the door. I stared at her back before I remembered myself.

"I'm sorry-"

She pushed the door open with her shoulder and motioned me past her. I went like a puppy being led on a leash. She closed the door behind me, and it was the first time she'd been less than a foot away from me and I was acutely aware of it.

"You are drenched," she said with an odd look on her face.

"So are you," I said.

"I moved the towels to right beside the door," she said with a nod behind me. I was distracted by how dark her hair was up close, and the way her lashes looked like they were clumping together. She said something else and stepped back.

"I'm sorry?"

"I said that…well, you should dry off." I blinked and she looked at me oddly, again. "The towels are behind you. I'm going to the bath."

I turned blindly and listened to her footsteps move away.

Where the hell was all this attraction coming from?

|… H …|

For a minute there, Nott had looked completely surprised to see me on the stoop. It was understandable since we never saw each other but I'd been a tad bit miffed by his surprise. Did he think I was never here? Or that I was not honoring the verbal agreement? Who did he think ate all the food he set aside for breakfast and dinner? When he'd dropped his keys, I'd been propelled into movement. He seemed even more shocked when I'd opened the door. I hadn't had the time to figure out what was happening with him before I headed upstairs for a warm bath.

Hatred was exhausting.

Don't ever listen to any one's lies about revenge. It might be satisfying but it was tiring to feel so much for someone perpetually. What had initially been a huge net of negative feelings slowly constricted and folded into a more-manageable-but-not-really chunk of…stuff. At work, I went back to purposefully putting the situation out of my head. At home, that approach didn't work too well. He was damnably easy to disconcert, that much was obvious, because he was so unfailingly careful of me. Sometimes, I'd reason that it was a waste of food if I didn't eat it. At others, spite would swell and I'd ignore the kitchen altogether. I made sure to always catch dinner before work or with Cho, before I got home.

Tonight was the first time in days that I'd seen him face-to-face. A kernel of politeness demanded that I do as he bid and show up to dinner after the bath.

It had been awkward and restrained and polite and I'd almost forgotten that he was the son of a murderer before he'd called this place 'home' and I'd gotten away. He was so determined, so transparently gentle with me that it was much easier to just stay out of his way and ignore the kindness from afar than it was to deal with it head-to-head. I hadn't asked for this, any of it. And it made me uncomfortable and angry when he was polite…it made me feel like I was the bad person, like the heaviness of my emotions were of my own creation. It made me a feel a little foolish for my initial shock that he'd known what electricity was, known how to turn use the electric stove, and also known how to hail a cab. I'd expected living here to be an impossible challenge for him but he was taking everything so much in stride that I would have accused him of being Muggleborn if I didn't know who he was. It made me briefly consider writing thank-you notes for the meals he cooked. It made me tuck a blanket around him when I found him exhausted and passed out on the couch. And all of that made me even angrier. This dinner just underlined everything that had happened in the first one. This was almost the same, except I kept glancing across the island counter at him. For God's sake, it wasn't as if I didn't know what he looked like, it just…

…well, I don't know why I kept looking at him.

I hated that I kept looking at him.

I had every intention of leaving as soon as I'd washed the dishes.

"How was your week?" he asked, just as I turned the tap on to wash my plate.

"Busy," I said shortly. I gripped the plate in my hands hard, and scrubbed at imagined stains before shoving it under the rush of water.

"A lot of cases?" he prodded.

God, he just wouldn't give up. His determination to be everything polite was aggravating and insidious and damn it, I just wanted to get out of this kitchen without slipping into conversation with him.

"Or a lot of paperwork?"

"Both."

I dried the plate and cup with a clean rag. I placed them in the dish rack. When I turned, he was close – closer than he'd ever been – and I froze more on instinct than anything else. It was like every single point of our bodies was touching, reacting, without my express permission. His eyes – Jesus, had they always been that blue? – were unusually bright and he was staring at me. And I knew I was staring back. And I was on fire.

He dropped the plate inside the sink and the moment broke.

When he stepped back, he wished me a good night. I couldn't even do anything but nod and watch as he left, clutching the counter behind me for sanity.

Curse this bond.

|… I …|

I bumped into Granger at the grocer's last week. Lunch at Charmed was a warm but somewhat awkward affair. The giant in the room was, of course, the Law that had turned everyone's life over in the space of a day. I told her about my studio outside of Wiltshire, and how her name merited an entry in the gab mags. She looked so surprised that I was amused. When she told me that the world was on the mend and asked after Theodore Nott, Nott Senior's face flashed across my mind and I struggled to cloak my emotion in a smile. We parted with a promise to keep in touch.

I went to visit Mum and Alfie twice a week, usually Fridays and Sundays. I hadn't been able to bear the house without the two of them in it, but I would never let it go. When I came, I cleaned the house from top to bottom before I walked the little ways to get to the small family cemetery. Anyway, it was like I liked to end and start the week with them. I always bought flowers on my way there. Every single time, I thought it would be lovely if I could grow the flowers that I brought to the graves myself. Fridays were a short visit during lunch, usually, but Sundays were a longer affair. Cho came with me once, and asked me if I was aware that I rotated the types of flowers I brought. I hadn't been aware that I did that automatically. Cho had smiled at me and patted my hand, then slipped the address of a very cheap but very nice florist that I used to this day.

She also asked me if I talked to them.

I'd told her that sometimes I did, sometimes I didn't. She understood.

I kneeled between the two headstones and carefully arranged my two bouquets on each.

The grass was thriving with all this summer rain, and wet. I didn't mind getting my cloak wet though. It didn't really matter in the long scheme of things.

"I-" I cleared my throat, feeling unaccountable guilty, "I should probably tell you both what I haven't told you yet…it's Theodore Nott."

My throat closed up and I fought to suck in some air.

"That's who my betrothed is."

It was all I got out before I tilted myself backwards. It was a good enough effort of talking today.

When I returned to the house around three, music was twinkling out of the room he'd remodeled into an office. I practically flew up the stairs to avoid any potential conversation and sighed in relief when I made it to my bedroom unscathed. I spent the afternoon there, writing in my journal before reading over yet another report for grammar and discrepancies, and moved to the bed when my work desk became too uncomfortable.

I sat up straight. Then I was slumped into the pillows. And then I was on my stomach, reading the report with my chin cradled in my fists.

Then I was asleep.

I'm running on little feet, little legs, lots of energy. I know this place is my house so I take the steps as quickly as I can and bang on the door. Mum and Alfie are already supposed to be outside – what could they be doing? If we're going to the park, then we should go now because now is when all the children come to play. I want to play!

"Mummy, Alfie, hurry up!"

I hear a noise on the other side of the door but I don't back up quickly enough. The door swings inward and I'm a pile on the floor. When I look up, Alfie is laughing really hard. He stops when I scrunch up my face in the beginning of a loud scream, and drops to his knees.

"Up you go, Hannah Banana!" He pulls me to my feet and then pulls me into his arms and then laughs.

"What happened?"

Mum is behind us with a look on her face like she knows exactly what happened. Mum knows everything though. She really does. Once I'd stolen an egg from the icebox because I thought if I kept it warm enough I could make it hatch. She'd known where the egg was when she came into my room, without even looking! See, Mum, knew everything.

"Nothing happened, right Hannah?"

I nod a lot so Mummy doesn't slow down. If she slows down, we'll never make it to the park!

"Park, park, park," I keep saying, so they don't forget. "Park, come on, park!"

"We're going, we're going," Mum says with a smile that makes me feel warm.

Alfie puts me down and I go back down the walk. They should be right behind me, I don't know why they always move so slow when I wanna go to the park! I push the gate open and zoom through it. When I turn around, my home is gone. Why is my home gone?

I stand there confused. My house was just here!

"Alfie!" I call out. "Mum!"

If the house is gone…then are they gone too?

"Alfie? Mum?" Now I'm scared because I don't care if the house is gone but I want my mum and my brother. "Alfie! Mum!"

When I try to push the gate, it's locked and it won't let me in. I am frightened, like really frightened, like more frightened than that one time when I couldn't wake up Alfie so I ran to get Mummy. When I push at the gate, it pushes back.

"Alfie!" I scream. "Mum?! Alfie?! Mum! Where are you? Mum! Mum-"

I came awake screaming and disoriented. The light was off and the storm was going and Theodore Nott was at my side, looking deeply concerned and a little bit frightened.

"Are you alright?" He doesn't wait for an answer but pushes a glass of water into my shaking hands. "Drink it, it's just water, drink."

I was still so disoriented that I obeyed blindly. All the walls that were usually up between us had been decimated by the nightmare and his worry. That's the only explanation I have for why I didn't recoil when he sat down and started to rub my back.

"Drink it all, Hannah," he said while one of his hands rubbed comfortingly across my back. "Just breathe, and drink, you're okay. You're alright."

Wasn't I breathing? Jesus, was that rapid breathing me? The minute I became aware of my breathing patterns they galloped along even faster. His concern was rising with each gasping breath I tried to take.

"Breathe, breathe, just one deep breath at a time," he continued in a low voice, "you are okay, you are alright. You are safe, no one can hurt you, you're okay, just breathe slowly."

I tried to calm down. I swear to you that I really did try to calm down but it was like I was so far gone I couldn't even gain control of myself. He took the glass of water from me and set it on the bedside dresser. I couldn't get enough air, I couldn't.

"Hannah, please," he whispered and cupped my face, "you need to breathe. There you go, cry if you need to. You're okay. You're alright. Nothing will happen to you here. Just breathe."

I don't know what happened but I suddenly went from sputtering for air to sobbing. I didn't even know why I was crying, or what I'd dreamed about, or even how he'd known that I was terrified when I woke up, or what was going on. It was just emotion exploding and his body suddenly curled around mine under the covers and my face tucked into his shoulder and I was weeping like I wouldn't stop.

And that's the last thing I remember before slumber washed over me.

|… | …|

The sun was on my face. I cracked an eye open, was immediately blinded, then rolled over. My eyes felt puffy for some reason and my throat felt…gritty, like I'd been talking for hours on end. Wait a minute, the sun was on my face? I never woke up to enough light to bother me.

I rolled over and looked at my bedside clock, before I sat straight up in bed.

It was eleven o'clock.

What in the name of God?

Had I forgotten to set my alarm clock last night? I never ever slept in this late, not even when I was sick, and I couldn't understand what had happened to my internal alarm clock. Or the one on the dresser, for that matter. I scrambled off the bed, reaching for a button-down shirt and dress trousers, almost tripping and falling over something on the floor. While I wriggled into clothes, I made a call for a cab with the bedroom's house phone and urged them to get here as soon as possible. In record time, I flew down the stairs and into the kitchen with the intention of just grabbing some fruit and getting out of the house but was stopped by a larger note (and larger breakfast plate) on the counter than normal.

I wasn't sure whether or not to wake you but you needed it. I owled your boss on your behalf, asking him to give you the day off. I hope you slept in. Rest well.

Wait…what?

"What in the-"

And that's when last night came rushing over me. The crying, the water, the holding, everything.

Shit.

The house phone rang.

"Cabbie calling," said a heavily accented voice when I picked up, "I'm outside your place."

Shit, shit, shit. I couldn't remember what I'd dreamed but it must have been enough to have me disoriented enough to cry in front of a stranger. Shit-

"Ma'am?"

-I cleared my throat.

"Yes, I'll be right out."

Bloody hell.

I replaced the phone in its cradle. Wait, if he had already applied on my behalf for a day's leave, what had he said? Could I still walk in without needing a secondary explanation?

Shite, shite, shite.

I twisted the problem around and around on my way to work, while I was in line at the entrance, while the elevator dropped down to my floor. I grappled with it right up until the moment where I strode in through the door and everyone in the office looked up. The expressions ranged from surprised to worried to amused (Auror Pottleby), and the wide variety made me halt where I was.

"Yes?" I asked, slowly. "I realize you all received a note this morning-"

"Abbott, you do look sick." I'm certain my eyebrows lifted at that. McDowell could never be accused of subtlety or delicacy, that much was sure. "And you're…hm…more animated this morning."

"I beg your pardon?" I said even more slowly.

Half the people in the room nodded.

"Go back home," he said not unkindly. "You're ahead on your reports and we'll survive a day without you."

I blinked rapidly, trying to process what was happening and why, but couldn't really come up with a plausible explanation. Perhaps I looked much worse than I'd initially thought. But since I hadn't looked in the mirror, Merlin only knew. Shite. Alright. Well, I'd been summarily dismissed so there wasn't anything I could do about it. I nodded slowly and turned to leave.

"Rest up," someone called behind me.

I was too busy leaving to acknowledge the well-wishes. I took a sharp left to duck into the bathroom and was confronted with why they had looked so alarmed. My eyes were indeed puffy and slightly pink, my nose was red and swollen looking like I'd cried for weeks and not a few hours, and my hair wasn't in anything approaching a bun.

In essence, this was the least put together I'd looked since I'd become employed as an Auror.

Yes…I could certainly see cause for shock.

I briefly thought about fixing everything with my wand but since I should have done that before I went into the office, it would be a waste of time and energy. I left the Ministry and was back in the kitchen within thirty minutes. When I sat down at the island counter, I tried to figure out what on earth had happened last night.

Toward the start of the war, I'd suffered from nightmares. It's so strange to think about how soft I used to be, emotionally, and how much I'd been open to feeling. They were weekly – sometimes once a week, sometimes two nights in a row – and consistent. More than half of the time, I woke up hysterical and breathless. Alfred usually did wonders for my nerves afterwards but he was rarely there because of his role in the War efforts. Cho, on the other hand, had been my roommate. Our friendship was cemented not only by brief hugs and long dinners, but by tears and water and teasing and comfort. The nightmares had been terrible, nothing that I could ever really remember but as terrifying as a vague darkness where there should be light. The one time I did remember my nightmares, they were grisly and filled with death.

Once Alfie…well, once I lost Alfie, I suppose my mind didn't need to manufacture nightmares anymore.

So…

…the fact that I'd had one was truly worrisome. The fact that I didn't immediately remember what had happened was also worrisome. Yes, I'd woken up in virtually the same position as I'd fallen asleep while studying but that was no excuse for my mind just shoving it to the back. And what I didn't want to begin to examine – from close or far – was the glaring elephant in the room.

I'd cried. And I'd let him comfort me.

A wave of guilt overwhelmed me. I'd let him comfort me. I'd been so good so good at maintaining distance from him for so long and that had crumbled in the dark of the night. And not just the emotional barrier but the physical barrier. I'd been careful to make sure I didn't touch him in any way-

-his warm hand rubbing circles over my back-

-and that was all up in smoke now too. One would think that my survival instincts and the way I felt about his family would ensure that I cut him to the quick every single time. But I'd never been able to get over nightmares on my own-

-his fingers tangled in my hair and holding my face to his shoulder-

-but heavens, this couldn't have gotten any worse. What should I do? What did I do right now? I tried to summon up the familiar hum of hatred that had been friend day in, day out. It was nowhere to be found and that threw me into the beginnings of a panic that I knew would lead to self-reflection. What do I do? Wait, what did he say in the owl to work? Did it even matter since I'd already been kicked out? A new feeling immediately kicked me in the heart - did he sign it? Did they know who he was? Of course my coworkers would recognize his name-

-his steady breath and steady stream of words-

-but did he sign it? So many things that I wouldn't know unless I asked. What did I do right now, though? Did he usually come back for lunch? My head snapped back at the thought so I could wrench my neck around to look at the clock. Twelve fifteen, otherwise known as the universal hour of lunch time. He seemed like he would be the type to come home for lunch.

This dreadful feeling of cowardice had me walking – actually it was much closer to jogging – up the stairs.

Where had my hatred gone? Why couldn't I sum it up now? Why hadn't I been able to summon it up last night? Why hadn't it automatically insulated me against his particular brand of concern? And why, in the name of heaven, did this happen? Did this mean the nightmares were back? I thought of nights with no sleep and prayed fervently as I jogged down the fourth floor hallway that that wasn't the case. When I got to my room, I stood indecisively for a long time. Cho would be working, probably, so it wasn't as if I could escape to her place. Maybe I could just go back into Diagon Alley…no, that sounded like an unnecessary waste of money. I didn't feel like going for a bit of a run so perhaps that was out too. All the worrying and overthinking-

There was a knock at the door.

Oh, God, why?

I jumped, startled out of my skin, then spun around. Should I say something? Or should I open the door since I was already standing? Oh God, I wasn't ready to see him or say anything or do anything or-

"Yes."

-and there went my mouth.

Oh, God.

The door opened a little way, and there he was.

It was like knowing that I'd been in his arms had made it impossible to ignore what he looked like. Maybe he knew that he was one of the rare ones whose hair was actually almost as dark as night and that's why that color made up the bulk of his wardrobe. It was certainly a purer 'black' than most Englishmen. He was impeccably dressed, silk shirt cracked at the collar, and silver cufflinks flashing at his wrists. That curl of hair above his right eye was so intriguing that my eyes almost got stuck there. He looked as calm as he usually did.

I had no idea what my face was doing.

Please, God, let me get angry.

Please.

"I just wanted to check on you," he said. "But I can see that you're up and running."

It was really hard work to keep my eyes on his but I nodded dumbly.

"Your shoes are on. Did you end up going in?"

His lips quirked up into a faint smile and my eyes suddenly had all the trouble in the world remaining on his. I nodded, cleared my throat, spoke.

"I thought maybe I could get some work done." Not even a hint of anger. I tried to recall my loss, his father, the way it had felt to wish him ill before we moved in together. I came up with a whole lot of nothing. "But they sent me back so here I am."

"Here you are." His faint smile became more pronounced. I struggled to keep from staring. God damn this bond. I breathed easier when his smile faded away. "Would you…well, would you care for some lunch? I don't usually come back-"

"No," I blurted out.

His surprise was quickly followed by a flash of disappointment, then a studied blankness.

"Rest well."

He closed the door. I caught my breath.

|… T …|

I don't know why I'd thought things would be different after last night. Last night had been…different. Unusual. Absurd, really. Physical proximity was waking up every other thing inside of me, without the presence of an emotional bond. I could feel her when she was in the house. I was starting to be able to figure out where she was according to this stupid mystical feeling, and even though I really couldn't decipher her moods and emotions, I had woken up to a vague sense of unease. I went down to the kitchen to get a glass of water to take back up to bed with me. On the stairs, the unease ballooned out of control, right before I heard a strangled sound.

I have never moved so fast in my life.

It looked like she came back into consciousness right as I rushed through her bedroom door. Her eyes were wide and unseeing, terrifying with how blind she looked even though she was looking at me.

"Merlin-"

She was breathing too hard, too fast, too erratically. I broke our magic rule and did something wandless to check if we were the only ones in the house. We were. So this was a nightmare?

"Abbott, what on earth?"

Her breathing sped up – it sounded impossible, there was no way she was actually pulling in enough oxygen with these shallow breaths – and I crossed the room to sit on her bed. I know I pushed the glass of water into her hands and made her drink. I don't recall quite what came out of my mouth but it took a very long time for her to calm down. The most shocking moment came when she just up and burst into tears, still looking terrified, and I felt like my own eyes were about ready to fill.

I didn't think about making her feel better, I just…well, I don't know but whatever I did must have worked. I held her until she stopped crying and when she stopped crying, she fell asleep. It might have been minutes after she fell asleep or an hour, I didn't really know. But her breathing was so even and she was so warm that I couldn't totally bear to leave her. I kept rubbing circles into her back. Her hair was everywhere, sort of curly towards the ends. Or not curly, rather, but definitely not straight, but then again the twilight made all the shapes crazy. It was soft. She was softer. She breathed in, her nose still buried in the crook of my neck, and then expelled it all in a sound that reminded me of puppies.

How terrifying is it, to hold something, to get a glimpse of what Abott and I might actually have been like if I wasn't who I was?

I wasn't much for emotion but I felt…

…impossibly sad.

I'd lost this, whatever potential for a happy ending I might have had before I'd even had the chance to grab it. It was my choice to join the Death Eaters. It was my choice to take the Dark Mark, to stand by as countless people were tortured in front of me. And the lives my father had taken…

I closed my eyes.

How awful it had been, to hold her in the dark and know that waking up next to her was simply out of the question.

I hadn't left for another hour and it was torture extracting myself.

And now here I was, on the other side of her bedroom door wondering why for a second – just a second – I'd forgotten our places in this relationship.

The door swung open.

"I…I-uh," she looked sheepish, "I don't know what I was thinking. Yes, I would lo-…I mean, yes, I will eat lunch. With you."

"Yes," I said hurriedly, "I mean I'm still making some. Well, nothing fancy. But sandwiches, so I can get back to work."

"Of course," she said with a nod.

Of course.

Hm, she was sheepish? Nervous?

It was making me a little nervous too.

"Do you ever get the chance to sleep in?" I regretted the words as soon as they left my mouth, Maybe she didn't want an immediate reminder of what had happened last night. I hastened to amend my words. "It seems as if you work a lot, but like to get out rather early."

She didn't seem to stop walking so I supposed it was alright.

"I-…yes, well, no." Perhaps she was nervous. "No, I don't really sleep in during the week, anyway. I've gotten used to being up at first light."

"What about weekends?" I asked when we got to the kitchen. I moved to the pantry and she sat. "Do you sleep in then?"

"No." Her voice sounded a tad bit thoughtful, as opposed to her usual coolness. "I mean, sometimes. But my internal alarm clock doesn't seem to allow for sleeping in. Even when I'm ill, I still wake up early."

"I don't know anyone who can't sleep when they're ill," I said over my shoulder. "Usually, it's quite the opposite. Did you want slicked chicken or turkey?"

"Chicken, please."

I put everything together for her first, then placed the plate in front of her. I wasn't trying to watch her eat (okay, well, I wasn't not trying to watch her eat). If she was feeling somewhat warmer towards me today, I would grab the opportunity with both hands. I waited until she swallowed her first bite.

"Did I see a Plunko's note on the table? Do you use those too?'

Finally, a faint smile on her face.

"The Weasley twins' are so amazing," she said. "Even as I'd bought my first set, I didn't really think it would work."

"Definitely one of the most useful inventions yet," I agreed. I got a glass of pumpkin juice and put that in her front of her too. "It's almost like what the Muggles do with telephones, except its instant writing instead of talking."

"Once I convinced Cho to buy one, she was hooked too." This time, she definitely smiled at me and I resisted a bubble of happiness. "It's really useful for when she's gone."

So, she was very close to Cho Chang. I wondered if that was the only person she was close to, but wasn't sure whether we would be okay to discuss that much this early.

"I actually don't use them very much, but I know they are quite popular." I shrugged. "I see a lot of them in the Ministry on the rare occasion I find myself in there. I have a feeling they'll be more and more popular."

"I do too. I've never asked but where is your office?"

"Diagon Alley," I answered easily.

She looked mildly impressed.

"And did you and um…your partner…know where you wanted it to be or was it more of an accident?"

"The location rather just happened," I smiled, "Zabini is quite logical. He's also very persuasive. He could talk a heiress out of her inheritance and leaving her feeling pleased and happy about the loss."

She smiled again and it was like a gift.

"Cho's something like that. Except she never appears insistent – it's more that she says exactly what she wants and the world seems to scramble to give it to her." She finished the last bite. "It's actually a little awe-inspiring, watching her get her way."

"We usually just let Zabini talk our way into good deals," I agreed. "It's a gift."

There was a moment there, where we just smiled at each other, where it felt like everything in the world was slipping away and there was nothing else but her eyes and the quirk at her lips. And then the muffled ring of the grandfather clock upstairs broke the silence. I took her plate to the sink but she stopped me with a hand on the other side of the plate.

"I'll wash it," she waved me away from the sink, "make your sandwich. You probably have to return to work."

I acquiesced quietly, made my sandwich, wrapped it up, and put everything away, and turned to catch her gaze moving to some high corner of the kitchen.

"I'll," I stopped and cleared my throat, "I'll be seeing you. Enjoy the rest of your afternoon."

She didn't smile but she nodded.

It was an amazing start.