A Guy Could Hope
She never ceases to surprise me, Lee thought. He'd spent almost every cold, lonely night of his long exile fantasizing about being reunited with his wife, imagining their first words to each other. Well, their first words after they got past the inevitable initial explosion. But that explosion didn't seem likely to happen this time. Still, he'd imagined something more...personal. They'd been through this general scenario before, far too many times, and it had always been understandably volatile. Her calm silence toward him so far had been profoundly unsettling.
Lee was grateful that at least she'd finally acknowledged his continued existence. It seemed like she'd intentionally avoided addressing him by name, but he felt oddly vindicated that she admitted he'd been right about those heaters. It may have just been the coincidence of needing to run two showers at once, but the convenience versus the expense of installing them to replace their dying hot water tank had been the subject of their last major disagreement before... Well, Before. With a capital "B".
As with Oliver and the bathroom, he hoped this was some kind of sign from the universe that his world was trying to knit itself back together. He hadn't suddenly started believing in that kind of nonsense, but a guy could hope, right?
He also almost hoped the expected yelling, crying, explaining, and apologizing -ideally culminating in a long, much-needed night of passionate lovemaking- would come once they had some time alone. And after he had a chance to rest. And after they stopped the bad guys.
Dammit Scarecrow, it's always something, isn't it? Always more worried about saving the world than fixing yourself.
He knew he was running on fumes, but he also knew the next two days would require Scarecrow's full attention, not Lee's. He wasn't even sure he remembered how to be Lee Stetson. It would be helpful, he thought, if she could be his partner, Mrs. King, for those crucial days, rather than Amanda Stetson, his wife. He knew it was a lot to ask, and that he had no right to ask it.
Or maybe he had that backwards. Right now, she was most definitely Mrs. King: Cool, logical, systematic, in total control of her emotions, adapting -so far- unquestioningly to a situation that would have sent a lesser woman screaming for her therapist. And her lawyer. After the extended hell he'd put her through this time, did he still have the right to ask this amazing woman to be his wife? His partner. Hell, his Everything. His Amanda.
Again, a guy could hope.
He did want to ask her how she'd ended up here but was half afraid of the answer. He certainly understood that she might not have wanted to stay in their old place after he...well, died. But what had it taken to uproot her from the rest of her life? And why here? Why this place that seemed to be everything she never wanted?
Sure, Amanda liked nice things, but had always been more practical when it came to what she considered luxuries. It was her sensibility that had kept their house feeling like a home rather than...something like this place. He somehow had trouble reconciling this luxurious showplace with the woman he'd spent almost half of his life with. It was like finding a perfect little daisy in a rose garden. Bad comparison. He still had no great love for roses.
Looking around briefly as Francine led him upstairs, he wondered if Amanda was happy living somewhere so opulent after decades of keeping his more extravagant whims lovingly but firmly in check. He could easily picture Francine living here, but it was obviously his wife calling the domestic shots. He supposed...hoped...he'd understand in time, and that there would still be a place for him in her life.
But for now, a long, hot shower sounded like the height of luxury. The longer and hotter, the better. The rest would sort itself out in time, one way or the other.