Mister, Missus, Babies, Cats, and Dog.

The upheaval of her formative years had hardened the façade of the young woman, slicing in wounds that had clumsily healed her into pieces that had not been united but left fragmented within her, only hurting further. Realisation that all she had once loved was lost broke within her and for a second she was entirely alone in the world without an anchor to keep her grounded. What she’d not realised or perhaps had and never fully appreciated was that she’d long had a new one whose hands were around hers to tighten the grip upon the world that she felt slackening. Keiran had been there. He would always be there. After all they’d been through nothing would keep them apart, not even the desperate loss felt in the absence of those they loved as fiercely as they loved each other.

Though the tears continued to fall and the sobs continued to shake the willowy frame of the blonde woman, eventually they came to their natural end as weariness took over and she lulled her head more heavily against her husband’s chest. Her hands felt for his, her shaky fingers curling into his palms, and it was onto him that she held tightly, as though to let go would send her spiralling into nothing, or worse into the pensieve to drive herself into long overdue madness. She had images of him having to lock her away, the mad Bertha Rochester a plague on her husband’s happiness. It was a suitable provocation to make her sober but the proverbial floodgates had been let open and all of the clichés came spilling out on the wave of her tears. She’d not realised how long it had been since she’d cried for her father. Had she ever, she wondered?

“It was meant to be a happy memory,” she said between sniffs. It had been, too. What she had forgotten was that interspersed in the misery of their final months together, she had happy memories with her father. There were showings of her character, of the spark that had made her who she was that he’d coveted against the fervent behest of her mother. He’d made her what she was and his absence had marked her in ways that even her most personal of later tragedies could not aspire to. Without him she’d lost her reason and her sense of agency and responsibility. It had taken old friends barely acquaintances to draw her back and sit her down and make her care for herself once more. None of it had mattered. It had always just been about shaking away the ill feelings and dealing with existence. She didn’t know what this was now.

But of course, purpose had returned with life. Life went on and life was born, giving her this renewed sense of invigoration that she couldn’t explain and properly describe. Two children she’d not ever been ready for and, in truth, still far from was, had lit up her life and set it on fire and made her want to live again. There was a desire for existence, existence for them, which she’d not ever felt. In her mind she’d gone three-hundred and sixty degrees. Where once she had relied on her father, now she had children who relied upon her. They were the good, pure things to come out of a ruinous governmental policy. But, of course, she’d also been gifted love. Him. She’d been gifted Keiran. And thus, she’d regained her reason – only, she’d not realised it at first. For their children she desired existence, to be for them what she had lost. For him, she desired to love. For their family, she desired to live.

She wanted to apologise but knew he’d tell her off for it, an idea that made a ghost of a smile appear at her lips and lift them upwards despite the rotten tumult turning within her still. She cuddled in tighter to him, releasing one coveted hand to wind her arm around his waist. Instead she whispered ‘thank you,’ not least because he probably knew that she never would have had this response of her own vocation but also because he knew she that she needed to and with great grace he accepted that there was no other course but to just let her cry and be there for her because she needed him. She did need him.

“Can we go downstairs and make dinner together?” She hedged, looking up at him. “I need…” she took a steadier breath. “I need you.”

It was now about getting away from the way she felt. Feeling it wasn’t nearly as easy as the catharsis made it seem. Instead it just hurt, an open ache within her that she couldn’t control. It was also about indulging the feelings and eating them away or eating them into being soothed once more. She also just wanted to be with him and to stay near him and to help in any way that could make her mind stray away from the hurt still rumbling through her. She wanted it gone again, but in truth she’d never felt this free. She felt as though something had lifted from her shoulders, even if she couldn’t ascertain what that was.

In the kitchen the fridge was stocked, something that the witch had seen to a few days prior. There was nothing in particular that it lent itself to but any whim could be catered for and breadsticks immediately caught her eye once they were downstairs. She stayed close to Keiran, quietly relishing in the comfort he brought her, and her hand felt for his as she lifted the other to offer him a bit of breadstick, the top of which she had already bitten off and was crunching between her teeth. A gateaux on the shelf in the fridge was also appealing to the witch but it required dinner to be sorted out before it or ice cream could be indulged in so she leaned against Keiran, looking up at him expectantly for some sort of idea about what he wanted to eat.

“I kind of just want to chop something,” she mumbled with a wry little smile, adding in a more solemn tone that, “I hadn’t expected it to hurt like that.” She let her arms fall to her sides and she looked down at the floor. “I thought I was better but I guess I just learned to cope rather than to deal with it. I …” she wanted to ask about him, about his father, but if there was one thing she didn’t want to do then it was to upset Keiran. Instead she took a mournful bite of her breadstick and turned into him, pressing her face into his chest to half-hide, half-try to coax some countenance from him and into herself. “I love you,” she whispered.

Keiran was entirely able to understand the strange combination of happy and sad, adding up to bittersweet, so he just nodded in agreement. He understood, Keiran tried to explain to her silently. He knew what she felt, at least in part, and he couldn't begrudge her a few more moments of attempting to compose herself. Perhaps he didn't really want to go back and see Aiden again. It wasn't that he didn't have good memories of his father, of course, but rather that he wasn't sure what to look for, wasn't sure which day, which moment, he would pick. Nothing came to mind, in particular, so he supposed he perhaps just wasn't ready. Or maybe he just needed to ask Bridget if he could borrow their albums.

And, Merlin, but he didn't even want to think about what would happen when Bridget passed away. What would they be left with, really? Lavender certainly didn't count, if you asked Keiran what he thought. But that wasn't something Millie needed to hear, so he just held onto her more tightly, wanting to counter her thanks but knew that it sometimes just needed to be said and accepted. Instead of saying a word, though, he just gave her a little squeeze and rubbed his hand up and down her back.

Keiran leaned back a bit - enough to look down and nod at her question, holding her to him as he lifted off of the ground and let her feet settle down. This time, they were really meant to leave the room, so he leaned over and pressed a kiss to her temple before they went back downstairs. "You've got me. Always will."

As they descended the stairs, Keiran suddenly found himself glad that he didn't suggest he take her into that last memory before they ate. He wasn't actually sure he wanted her to see that at all, now that he thought about it. Keiran was fairly certain his ears were burning as he registered just how much embarrassment would have befell him. After all, he hadn't always been the sort of guy that Millie thought he was, now. He could only imagine how much hell he would get if she had heard her husband walking down the street with Robin as one or the other of them commented on "the gams on that one," or even something so simple as which pub they were headed to that night. Even Avery hadn't seen much of that side of him, and Keiran found himself grateful. At least the only one who could truly destroy his ethos with his children (so far as he knew), was Robin.

A little smile pulled at his lips, though Keiran wasn't sure if it was out of place or not, and he accepted a bite of the breadstick she offered, only slightly surprised by her first comment. "Alright. So how about you work on making a fancy salad or something along those lines? D'you want anything else?" he asked, reaching towards the fridge. His action was halted, though, when she continued, because he didn't at all want to let go of her if she wasn't quite ready. So he drifted his hand down her arm, taking her free hand in his own once more. He lifted her hand, turning it so he could press his lips against the back as she continued.

"It's okay to not be okay, baby," Keiran assured her gently, giving her hand a squeeze. "You've seen me at my worst. I'm not going to judge you for being in pain."

He drew in a breath at those three little words, feeling like they somehow meant more now that she had gone through that day all over again, but from the outside looking in. It wasn't the same, and he understood that problem quite well, given that he had done the same just before her. But hers was worse. His experiences couldn't really hold a candle to what she had shown him, but it also wasn't fair, somehow, to compare the two. Both had changed the individuals standing in that kitchen, and now it was up to them to take their new selves and their new house and cook up something worthwhile. As far as Keiran was concerned, they were on the right path. "I love you, too, Missie."

Although she had requested that they work on dinner, Keiran wasn't sure that Millie was as focused on the task as she tried to be. So he took a moment, leaning down to nudge his nose against hers, to try and figure out a better way to spend the evening. The first thing that came to mind was the one Millie had often leaned towards, so Keiran figured it would be a good enough suggestion. "Maybe we should forgo the chopping and instead lean towards some smaller snacks, maybe a drink, and a bath? Sort of seems like our thing, now."

Once it had been agreed upon, Keiran gave her a quick kiss and moved to pick up a bottle of wine and glasses, leaving Millie to sort out what she wanted to nibble on, then led the way up to their room. The bath was started, and he worked on pouring up a glass of the red for her and then for himself. Then he sat himself on the edge of the tub, testing the temperature and closing the tap once it had filled the bowl of the bath enough. Keiran extended a hand towards her, settling that hand at the base of her spine so he could nudge a bit and bring her closer. A first kiss was pressed against her stomach, before he drifted up and stood to face her properly. His fingers drifted beneath her shirt, suggesting his willingness to help her out of it, but he waited, instead pressing his forehead to hers. "Thank you, by the way, for sharing that with me. I should've said. It means so much that you wanted to. And I love you all the more for it."

She felt small. She felt vulnerable. She felt as though, with all of the sadness welling up within her, she’d never be happy again. She knew that last little nugget of self-revelation wasn’t as true as those that had come before it. Being near Keiran was enough to set alight within her the candle of happiness she carried for them. Having him near, feeling his hand in hers or his arm curled protectively around her, was enough to bring her around to a private smile that she reserved especially for him. His reassurances were welcome and consoling and another reminder of why, against her better nature, she relied on him so much when she was the girl who relied on no one for fear of them leaving her. She need him because to her he seemed like the only person who felt it was okay to not be okay and she wasn’t okay, far from it, but with her husband she felt closer to it as though he was the light and she a dancing moth about him, drawing her strength from his heat.

The blonde woman felt a little laugh breach past her lips as he leaned into her, brushing his nose against hers. She wrinkled her nose at him in response but, if possible, leaned only further into him, her fingers combing across the small of his back in a gentle rhythm she hadn’t even noticed she’d taken up. She wanted to tell him a hundred-thousand more times how much she loved him and the words were tripping across her tongue, desperate to be vocalised. She held up the breadstick that they’d shared, her eyes lighting up notably at the knowledge she could have some more. She even fancied the wine which she felt was a miracle in itself given how iffy she’d been towards it lately. She would only have a little glass, she decided, as the last thing she wanted to do was get drunk by virtue of all the steam that would be wafting around the bathroom.

It was a case, then, of grabbing a few bits and she stretched to some dips though she did struggle to carry it all. Regardless, she got upstairs and managed to sort things out on one of the little tables in the bathroom which had been bought for this purpose. She reflected that perhaps the bathroom should have been another bedroom, given how spacious it was, but then given how they were very prone to languishing when utilising a time of day when they went unmolested by children, friends or students, it wasn’t as though the room would be neglected. The witch had finished her breadstick and it was a simultaneously happy and forlorn affair when her husband coaxed her into his embrace. Her attention was diverted and she was content enough to be in his arms again, far happier than she would have been with the box of breadsticks, but she did send them a little sad look all the same before gathering a smile for Keiran.

“Hey not fair,” she pouted when he stood up. “I liked being taller than you for a second.” It was her bad luck that the men in her life were all enormous giants of epic proportions. She wasn’t a short woman at all, either, and that was the irony of the thing. She was already rueing the day when Liam would stand head and shoulders above her and somehow win arguments with that alone and smother his mother with a cuddle, in the hope of assuaging any anger she held towards him and somehow succeeding, too.

Her smile softened when he spoke and she rubbed her hands up his arms, bringing them across his shoulders to settle where his skin began to sweep up into his neck. She liked it there, almost as though her hands were meant to carve around that place, little though they were. She inclined her head upwards and stole his lips in a chaste, tempered little kiss that was no show of passion, for sure, but was indicative of much more. It was thanks, of course, but it too was a little nuance to say that the unburdening of that memory was something she’d not wanted to do if she was to speak from the pitch bottom of her heart but it was something she felt lighter for, as though the cards she’d held for so long were beginning to chafe and hurt and the hands that so tightly grasped them needed relief. It was a lot to put into a kiss, a lot for him to decipher, but in part she sought to vocalise it too.

“I want to…” she bit the inside of her cheek, lowering her gaze for a moment before finding a stronger voice that would actually articulate as she desired. “I want to show you more,” she expressed, her eyebrows knitting together before softening out again. “There are things that, I think, you need to see to sort of see why I was me when we met. Like with your memories.” She smiled a bit. “Of which I want to see more, by the way,” she reminded him with a smile that helped to take the tenor of seriousness out of her voice. “I think, also, if we ever buy a bar just on the off chance we might do something hair-brained if we get bored in our old age … we should definitely look at the Jamaica memories,” she babbled on. “Sun, sea, sand ….” Millie paused. “We need a holiday,” she draped over him dramatically, sighing whimsically, a grin lighting up her features.

Millie sobered and stood up properly, bringing her hands to his cheeks. She leaned up to kiss him again and then popped back down, off of her tip-toes to look at him more seriously. “Thank you for coming with me and for staying with me and … I don’t know what I’d do without you, Keiran.”

Bath called, breadsticks demanded and the heat of the water was impossible to further ignore. Sliding down into it was ecstasy. Feeling it wet at the ends of her hair and lifted up over her back as they dispersed it with their bodies was something else entirely. All of the angry knots that had wound into her back over the months that had past were beginning to unfurl with the coaxing heat and as she leaned back into Keiran, even though the emotional turmoil still bit, she felt calmer and more contained, though somehow transparent and more visible to him as though that particular card she had let go of was not so tragically lost after all. It was shared and the pain unburdened and understood. She was loved.

“Merry Christmas,” she offered, sliding her fingers through his. “Do you think the babies will like it here?” She asked after a moment, thinking of the garden which she hoped to fill with life as spring dawned. The cats, Merlin knew, would hate it.