The smell of vanilla and sandalwood fills the air as you finish freshening up. Under the bathroom lights, the few clothes you still have on shimmer, a far cry from the button-up shirt and pencil skirt resting in the hamper. The porcelain tile feels nice and cool under your bare feet, and you're almost tempted to just lie down on it with how sore you've been all day. It's one of those days that you find yourself wishing that Kirby chose to live with the two of you instead of on his own. You miss him a lot – you always will, you practically raised him – but he's always just a Warp Star ride away if he ever feels lonely, and you're not going to infringe on his independence.

Besides, it makes things like this much easier.

You open the door, and walk into your bedroom to find Meta Knight waiting for you on the bed. Completely bare except for his mask, your husband is curled up into the sheets reading an ancient-looking book, with a few notebooks on the side table. He looks so engrossed that you almost don't want to disturb him, but you know he'll enjoy what you have in mind just as well. There'll be time enough for reading later.

You clear your throat, and Meta Knight looks over at you – and just keeps on looking. Small wonder why, considering what you're wearing. It's not much – it's just a silky gray bra and panties – but the bra has the shape of Meta Knight's visor embroidered onto the cups and the panties have his emblem on the back. It's silly, and indulging his slight narcissism probably isn't healthy, but the reaction when you wore this on your second anniversary all those years ago was worth it. To this day, your mother has no idea why you asked her for embroidery tips – it's just as well she doesn't know.

Meta Knight's embarrassed laughter is exactly the reaction you're looking for. "Really? You haven't brought that out in a while." He adds another bookmark to the half-dozen already jutting out of his book, and sets it on the table. "What's the occasion?"

You give him a half-lidded smile. "Maybe I just wanted to surprise you." Actually, this one's new – it's been years since you've been able to fit in the old one – but you're sure he knows that, and you're not about to ruin the mood by being pedantic.

You hop onto the bed – oof, and you wince a little. Meta Knight immediately notices. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine," you say, "just a little worn out." You play it off like you're not really worried, but you've been feeling "worn out" for longer than you'd care to admit to him, and your lower back's been aching badly. Maybe you could ask him for a massage later? He still looks a little apprehensive, so you come closer, one hand on his back, the other slipping under his mask, and you whisper, "Maybe you could wear me out a little more."

That did the trick – one of his hands comes to rest gently on yours, and the other comes in to caress your face. You know he's ready. Slowly, tenderly, you slip off his mask – even after all these years, he's still uncomfortable taking it off, and he knows how much you love doing it. With the mask out of the way, you can properly see the handsome, childlike face of the man you love. It's not a face that hides emotions well, and he still looks a bit concerned for you.

Well, you know how to make that concern melt away.

You pull him into a kiss. This isn't one of the fiery kisses of your youth – you know he's not going anywhere, and you have all the time in the world to love him. You pull away, staring into his milky eyes, and then go in for another. Between kisses, he asks you how your day was. You tell him about your work at the lab, and how you've totally for sure this time convinced your bosses to send you on a field research expedition. It's about a suspected new species of sunfish; you brush off Meta Knight's jokes about Kine with another kiss. You ask him what's he's been up to, and he tells you about his little project – a comparative study of aerial combat on the planets Skyhigh and Halfmoon. The book you caught him reading was written by a Halfmoon general over 500 years ago; smirking, you ask him if he bought it new. Something in his face changes at that, and you're about to ask him what's wrong, but then he pulls your tongue into his mouth and your brain fogs over.

His hands start traveling lower, and you're all too happy to oblige, undoing the clasps on your back that he can't reach. Now the bra is gone, discarded on the bed, and you both go in for more. The shape of his body makes it a bit tricky for him to kiss you and grope you at the same time, but he manages – one hand creeping up your side, the other latched onto your breast. He's been getting more aggressive like this lately, and the remaining rational part of your brain wonders where it's been coming from; you remember a time when he was the one telling you to slow down. But you're not complaining now, not with him grabbing and kneading and his tongue pulling from your panting mouth and latching onto your neck-

You can't take anymore – you need him now.

You give him a few gentle nudges to get onto his back, and then you lunge at him – and now you're panting for a different reason. That sudden action was a little too much for your body, especially as out-of-breath as you are; your head is spinning, and your back is aching. Meta Knight would surely start looking concerned again, if his face wasn't trapped beneath your breasts. As it is, however, he has no idea, and you're not about to stop now. Arms wrapped around him, you lean in close, and you whisper every filthy thought racing through your head – everything you want to do to him, everything you want him to do to you. He makes a few half-hearted attempts to push you off, which is a surer sign that he loves it than anything he could say – you both know he's strong enough to do it if he really wanted to. Which is why you're pressing a little harder now, breasts smushed against his face, and you're pleading with him, telling him how much you need him to just pin you down and-

And then Meta Knight does push you off. It's not very hard at all, and you're cackling as you land on the bed, twisting a little so you don't hit the headboard-

And then your back bursts into flame.

For a horrible second, there's nothing but you in the room. You can hear yourself crying out, you're dimly aware of Meta Knight calling out to you, and you vaguely hear him rush out of the room, but all you can focus on are the stars dancing in your eyes and the searing pain in your back. You lie there for a bit, immobile, as the stars slowly fade and the searing dulls to a smolder. Then you tentatively try moving your feet – thank god, you're not paralyzed – rotating your shoulders – okay, you think it's just a twisted muscle – and sigh with relief before you start berating yourself. Stupid, stupid! That was such a stupid thing to do! Twenty-year-old you would have been able to get away with it, but you're forty-eight, out of shape, and just all-around too old to be pulling something rough like that out of nowhere. Especially with how sore you've been – you really need to get a better chair at work or ask Meta Knight for some exercise tips or something, because there's no way you can keep-

And that's when you realize Meta Knight's in the room.

He's holding an ice pack and a heating pad, but you hardly notice because of the look on his face – why does he look so spooked? Do you really look that bad?

"Meta Knight?" You reach for the ice pack. "I'm fine – ow – seriously, I'm fine."

Wordlessly, he crawls back onto the bed, and presses the ice pack against your back – you sigh with relief as the pain numbs. But when you turn a little to look at him, you see his expression hasn't changed. You know that he knows you're not hurt that badly – what's going on?

"I just landed weird and pulled a muscle or something, that's all. You don't – ungh – don't have to worry about me."

He mumbles some acknowledgment, still staring at you with that strange expression. No, that's not it – he's staring through you, like you're not even there, and now the chill from the ice pack seems to flood your entire body.

Slowly, he turns to pick up your discarded bra. He fingers the lacy trim – it's not exactly the same as the trim on the old one – and you see his face tighten when he realizes that it is new.

And suddenly, you realize why he's so upset.

"...Ah." His voice comes steady, honed through a lifetime of military training, completely at odds with his face. "It makes sense that you'd have made a new one, I suppose. You haven't worn this in five years, so-"

The word "ten" slips out of your mouth before you can stop it, and you mentally scream curses at yourself when you see him cringe. He stares at the bra a little longer, then tosses it off the bed and moves behind you, massaging the ice pack against your back without a word. You stay there, lying on your side, trying to figure out how in the world you're going to talk to him about this. When really, the two of you should have talked about it a long time ago.

Years ago, when the two of you promised to be together "till death did you part", neither of you had any illusions as to whose death it would be. No matter how much your marriage meant to both of you, your simple Cappy lifespan would bring it all to an end. For years, neither of you had ever really brought it up; why would you? He didn't want to be reminded of it, and you didn't want to remind him. So you both lived as if the problem didn't exist, finding it surprisingly easy to avoid the issue. Sometimes it would come up unintentionally – he would make some reference to a centuries-past event, or you would make some comment on something you'd never live to see – but even when it affected him, the two of you would never mention it. Companionable silence was the preferred remedy for someone like him, so uncomfortable talking about his emotions.

But now you look at the man you love, almost robotic in his motions, staring dumbly at the wall, and you decide this can't go on anymore. You two need to talk about this, now.

Gingerly, you start to get up, and it seems to rouse him from his stupor – but his next words aren't exactly encouraging. "I apologize. My behavior was inexcusable," he says, tone practiced and smooth. "You could have been hurt badly because of my careless actions. Please, forgive me." You frown – you've been married to him long enough to know exactly what he's giving you right now. Distant, canned responses so neither of you has to acknowledge how he's actually feeling.

And you know how he's actually feeling, since he's hiding his face from you.

You stretch, and something pops in your back – Meta Knight winces – and the pain recedes to a dull throb. Satisfied that you're not injured, you grab his arm and lead him onto the edge of the bed, the ice pack forgotten behind you. You take his paw in your hand, and he grips it like you'll dissolve into smoke if he ever lets go. He turns away from you a little, as if that would somehow keep you from realizing how he feels, and you find yourself stuck for words.

How do you even begin to talk to him about this?

You have to say something, right? "…You didn't hurt me that badly, you know."

"Irrelevant. That I hurt you at all is unacceptable. My desire for you hardly excuses my disregard for the limitations of your age."

You bristle – you can't help it. "Seriously? I'm not exactly falling apart here. I've still got, what, forty years left-"

His grip tightens, he turns even further away, and you wish you could strangle yourself for that one. "Forty years," as if he hadn't spent longer than that just traveling to your planet. Your mouth opens as your brain scrambles to salvage your mistake, and you find yourself saying, "I- I mean- it's not like I'm the first person you've outlived. You've dealt with this before, haven't you?" It's still insensitive, but you have to get an idea of his perspective somehow. Knuckle Joe's dad, Sirica's mom, everyone else he had befriended in the war with Nightmare – how had he dealt with their deaths?

You see him relax a little, and it gives you hope. "...Yes. I've lost a great many friends over the years..." He nods, and you're suddenly not so hopeful. "You are right. I suppose I already understand how to deal with loss of this nature. It just came upon me so suddenly, I could not think clearly." He moves to get up. "I'm very sorry for worrying y-"

You pull him back down so roughly that your back starts protesting again, but you're too frustrated to care. God, ever since you were a kid, his evasiveness made you want to scream. He's still trying to leave, so you drop the ice pack and grab his face with your other hand – too angrily, you realize, and you give yourself a second to let your blood stop boiling. "Meta Knight. Please." Talk to me.

Finally, after you-don't-even-care-how-long, he turns back towards you, and the last of your frustration melts away when you see the expression on his face. Your hand drops, your other hand holds his paw tighter, and the two of you resume your positions on the bed.

It's another long while before he starts speaking. "...Right. Jecra. Garlude. It's true, losing them was agonizing, but I think, in their cases, I was more prepared. We were fighting Nightmare's army, after all. Any of us, myself included, could have died at his hands at any moment. Besides…" he says as he looks down at your hand, and the ring on your finger, "...our situation is a bit different."

"Yeah." You look down at it too, a constant reminder of the best decision of your life, and you feel your face tighten. "It's not fair."

"Hm?"

"I get to spend the rest of my life with you. You deserve that much, too." He looks back up at you, and you meet his eyes, daring him to tell you otherwise. "You've given me – Kirby, everyone – so much. Do you know how much it kills me that I can't give you this?" Oh, god, you hadn't even thought about how Kirby would have to deal with outliving you, too. He's your child, so it's more natural he'd outlive you, but the idea of both of them mourning you for millennia makes you sick. You see Meta Knight staring back, with a face that hasn't aged a day in thirty years, and you're suddenly horribly conscious of your wrinkles, your greying hair, your sagging everything-

You shake your head. This isn't about you. This is about him. Your back's starting to ache again, so you reach for the heating pad on the side table – already plugged in, you hadn't even noticed – and press it against you. The warmth spreads through your entire body, and it instantly calms you down enough to think. Meta Knight's book catches your eye, and you think back to your conversation earlier. Your stupid joke, and his reaction. His burning passion for you, like he was afraid you'd never make love again. God, how insensitive could you be? You keep looking at the table – funny, you were just angry at him for being evasive – and you sigh, a wavering sound betraying the tears you're forcing down. "I'd give anything to spare you from that pain."

"Tiff."

You turn towards Meta Knight, and you're struck by the look on his face – tender, but resolved. "This isn't your fault. You have given me nothing but happiness for thirty years and more, and I would not trade it for an eternity with another. If this is the price I must pay for this honor… then so be it." The first tear, hot and shameful, rolls down your cheek, and your husband wipes it away. "I admit, the sudden reminder of your mortality was… jarring, but it's nothing that I cannot handle with time."

"Meta Knight, I stopped wearing this lingerie ten years ago, and you thought it was five." He looks down briefly, and you finally remember you've been topless this whole time, but you're sure that sex is the last thing on his mind right now. "You don't have to pretend this isn't moving too quickly for you."

"I… it's not as if we can do anything about it, Tiff. I knew what marrying you would mean." He brushes away another tear, and another. "If you think I regret this, or that you're hurting me by aging, you are sorely mistaken. We're not the only couple in the world fated to be parted by age." He turns away again, but only briefly. "...Your parents, for example."

Your parents? He was right, but… "Yeah, but I think our problem's a little bigger than a twenty-year age gap. Mom's old, too. It's not like she's going to spend an eternity without Dad." Honestly, your mom handled your dad's death better than you had. At least on the surface – you know she's still hurting, and knowing that you'll put Meta Knight through that one day is…

"Twenty years, twenty thousand, it makes no difference. Lady Like still had to bury her husband, and yet she does not wallow. You do not wallow. If the two of you can learn to live with Sir Ebrum's memory, then surely I can learn to live with yours." It's coldly logical, and a younger you would have rebuked him for it, but you can't say he's wrong, even if thinking about Dad right now is just making the tears worse. But Meta Knight is still there, finally letting go of your hand to cup your other cheek as he locks eyes with you, voice going so quiet you almost fail to hear his next words. "Though I suppose… I could use some help."

"Of course." Your ring gleams in the lamplight as you take his hand in yours. "I'd do anything for you."

"Thank you." His eyes are starting to gleam, too. "I already promised to love you my whole life long. At least that makes you immortal, no?"

And that's how you spend the next half hour – with you cradling your husband into your chest, crying softly into him. He stays quiet, stroking your sides, holding on to you – but this time, it's gentler, less panicked. When he starts shaking, you just hug him closer, not saying a word. The two of you stay like that, until he lets go of you and you've stopped crying enough to speak.

"You jerk. I was supposed to be comforting you."

Face sticky with tears, Meta Knight smiles. "I know. You've made me feel much better."

"And yet you did most of the talking. See? Talking helps." He says nothing, and it takes you a second to realize he's just rolled his milky eyes at you, but now you're laughing as if the rest of the night hadn't happened. What a dork. "So, Mom's your inspiration, huh?"

"Yes. Her courage is remarkable, and I can do no better than to emulate it."

"Do you wanna talk to her about it? It might help you." His face flushes, and now it's your turn to roll your eyes. "Come on. You're the one who said her 'courage is remarkable.' She can help you with this more than I could."

"Yes, yes, talking helps. I know. I'll… think about it."

"Yeah, you will." It's the best answer you can hope to get out of him right now, you suppose, but it's far better than nothing. "It'll be good for you. I promise."

"You seem unconvinced." The smile returns. "I was strong enough to open up to you. I'm certainly strong enough to open up to your mother."

He's not doing what you think he's doing, is he? "Oh? You're strong enough? Is that a fact?"

His smile spreads into a smug grin. "Of course. Do I not wield Galaxia? Did I not face the demonic hordes?" Oh, come on, now you know he's doing it on purpose. You laugh, and he laughs, and you both bask in the warmth, almost forgetting the chill that brought you here.

He comes down first, and he's still smiling, but you can see the tears threatening to break through again. He pushes you back down onto the bed – gently this time – and curls into you, cheek pressed into your tummy.

"I don't want you to die."

You pull him in closer.

"I'll do my best."

His smile is still there, mingled with tears, and now it's your turn to wipe them away. He doesn't thank you verbally, but plants kisses down your stomach as you hold him against you. You're ashamed to think about it, but there was a time, shortly after you became his wife, that you wondered if he could ever really love you at all. He had lived for eons, and would live for eons more, and all the psych books you'd read said that the perception of time sped up with age. Was he even physically capable of loving you the same way you loved him?

Now, thirty years later, you know the answer. He loves you, more deeply than you can ever fathom, and he's dreading the day when it all comes to an end. You wish that day would never come – he deserves that much – but before it does, you'll give him enough love to last his whole life through.

Even if you can't give him forever, at least you can give him this.

Then you feel his mouth moving lower, and you decide your thoughts can wait.