fleur delacour is a classy lady. (alluring) wrote in flippedrpg, @ 2012-03-20 19:23:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! log, ch: can: bill weasley, ch: can: fleur delacour, p: kristy, p: trish |
WHO: Bill Weasley & Fleur Delacour
WHAT: Family Reunion pt. two
WHEN: Backdated to Monday, March 19. Somewhere between 8:30 am and 9:30 am.
RATING/STATUS: G. Complete.
Today had been overwhelming, and Fleur already felt terrible anyway. It had started with waking up in a hospital bed with strangers looming over her, and then she’d wandered outside to see that she was in the middle of the ocean with no land in sight. She’d written in the journal they’d given her hoping for answers, but instead had found an entire family of people that couldn’t possibly exist yet. The “answers” she got read more like riddles, and she knew quite well that it was the content and not the language that caused the barrier in understanding. This was insanity.
Never one to simply believe what she was told without proof, particularly not in a strange, shouldn’t-be-existent world with strange, shouldn’t-be-existent people, she’d made the decision to go and meet the child claiming to be her daughter. The words of William had been reassuring in their own way, as she found them entirely more believable when coming from his familiar handwriting, but she still felt uneasy. She needed to know for sure before she could proceed, so she’d gone to Sigma block for answers.
What she found was, indeed, a daughter. It was unmistakable, Victoire’s appearance a mix of her own and William’s. The Veela blood was a definite indicator as well, as was the middle name the girl sported. It was impossible, but the little freckled redhead was certainly her child.
There wasn’t enough time to cover all of the important details, though. Victoire went off to school, leaving Fleur behind in the wake of the strange information. Almost immediately after the little girl had gone, Fleur had been sick, barely making it to the little bathroom in the unit she apparently shared with her daughter. A mix of the overwhelming situation and the seasickness she’d been trying to ignore had overtaken her, leaving her to sit rather miserably on the cool floor, her back against the wall and her eyes closed in an attempt to calm the lack of balance within her body.
Bill actually found himself rather delighted with the circumstances. Perhaps this was best attributed to his eternally cheerfulness, or his marked optimism, but Bill only saw opportunity in their circumstances. Of course, in his heart he did fret for Dominique and Victoire and Fleur at home alone, but he knew that it couldn't have been truly dire circumstances if Victoire was here and couldn't remember either he or Fleur disappearing. And all the same, Bill had gone on to marry Fleur a few years ago. She came from a time before they'd even been engaged. He couldn't imagine how she was dealing with all of this influx of family, and Bill's heart was heavy for her, but he couldn't entirely contain his own sheer pleasure at the situation. He had grandchildren! Five of them! And one was a doctor, or at least on her way to becoming one. His chest was swollen with pride.
Coupled with this was an eagerness to see Fleur, and also to assuage her fears and her concerns. While he knew her as his wife, Bill recognised her inability to comprehend what was happening as if she were still, to him, the charming French tourist from the Triwizard Tournament. He knew that she was daunted right now, caught up in a world of strange languages and sounds and people. He knew she would be scared. This worry brought him to her door, which was slightly ajar, and he allowed himself to slip into the bedroom.
Bill moved to call out to her, or to Victoire, when he heard the unwell chorus echoing from the bathroom. Instantly, his worrying instincts kicked in and he rushed to the door, knocking with the gentlest rap of his fingers on the wood. His brow knitted in concern, he pursed his lips and whispered, ‘Fleur, sweetheart? It’s me. It’s William. Are you alright?’
Perhaps that was why the knowledge that William was here made her so calm, the simple fact that he knew her as more than just that pretty French girl from the tournament. He knew how difficult it had been in the past months for Fleur to get settled in England, and had been a significant part of the reason, if not the only, that she’d stayed. Her William was so very kind and helpful, and he went to great length to help her feel comfortable and safe. She trusted him more than very nearly anyone, so having him here was a tremendous relief.
Of course, she wasn’t terribly thrilled about being caught while so ill, but her misery took precedence over her vanity. She still blushed at the sound of the knock and the familiar voice. She immediately felt relieved. “I feel very ill, William. The rocking and all of the water,” she felt dizzy thinking about it, closing her eyes again. “The door is not locked.”
Of course he did. Bill had always found her beautiful, of course, but there was just something about her that radiated from the inside out. Rather than become enamoured with her beauty, it was her inner-light, her radiance, that he was attracted to. Her penchant for making lists of everything. The way she smiled when she was happy. The slight crinkle her nose gained whenever she was confused, or offended. And he loved that she loved him, too, and that they were so very happy together. There wasn't a bit about her that didn't make his heart swell three sizes too large. It was almost a dull ache now to realise she knew nothing of their future together; that they had won a war, and married, and had beautiful babies and grandbabies and all the rest.
Bill stayed by the door until he was invited in. He didn't go to Fleur immediately, but grabbed a washcloth from the linen closet that he had spotted on his way in. He moved to the sink and dampened it with soap and warm water. 'My poor angel,' Bill murmured, affectionate and full of concern. He finally knelt down beside her at the toilet's basin, and took her blushed cheeks for sickness. 'Look at me, sweetheart. We'll make you better.'
Very gently, as if she were made of the finest china, Bill took her chin in his hand and used the cloth to wipe her brow, and then her parched lips, bringing coolness to her skin. Even ill, she was as radiant as ever, and Bill couldn't help himself but smile. She was exactly as he remembered, albeit slightly younger. He brushed her hair from her eyes and set the cloth down, pausing to take her hands. 'Are you alright, now? Look at me, Fleur.'
Fleur had thought William beautiful the moment she’d seen him at the Third Task, his hair as red as the other Weasleys, but in a different, lovelier way. It had been a twist of fate that had brought them together again at the bank, a mix of her need to learn English and his decision to take a dull desk job for his family’s sake. She’d been more than eager to get to know him, though, particularly when he’d stood up for her against the very crude and misogynistic goblins. He brought her flowers every day, and she actually believed that he meant it when he said she was beautiful, not seeing it as simply an impact of her blood. He was perfect, she felt, and she loved him entirely.
It was a bit odd to think that he’d experienced so much more than she had in their lives together, but she was glad for it in a way. It meant that he would know Victoire, that he’d be able to be there for her while Fleur was getting her bearings as a mother. As soon as the fact had been accepted, Fleur’s mind had gone to work preparing for how the future would be. If they were stuck here, then she would be this girl’s mother at her young age. She needed to plan for that.
For now, though, she was focusing on not being ill. She felt immediately comforted when William joined her, her eyes still closed as he spoke. She opened her eyes briefly at his first request, but they didn’t stay open for long, nausea hitting her again.
She let him take his delicate care of her, the cloth helping to relieve her quite a bit. By the time his second request came, she was able to open her eyes, a smile on her face. Her expression turned very curious and concerned at the sight, though. “William, what happened to your face?” She brought a hand, tracing one of the scars with a finger.
Of course he had.
Stand up against the goblins, that is. Bill had been working for the bank for over five years before Fleur Delacour joined their team. He was one of the few who actually earned their respect, but this also put him in the precarious position of being one of the few with the ability to put them in their places. And Molly Weasley raised a gentleman. When he'd found out they were hassling her, with their cat-calls and snide comments on her assumed stupidity, Bill had intervened immediately. He hadn't thought it significant, or anything he wouldn't have done for a sister or a friend. It was merely within his Gryffindor nature.
Those flowers, well, he'd presented them to her bashfully and had never stopped since. Even now, married for almost five years as they were, Bill still brought home a big bundle of flowers at the end of the work week and ushered their babies off to his sister or Molly or sometimes even Charlie, just so they could have their date night. The romance was forever alive, at least for Bill, whose blood pulsed warm and hot whenever she looked at him in a certain way, or grinned her toothy grin.
And of course he would be here for her now, he would protect her and help her adjust to their new situation. And he hoped, in time, that she would accept their children as exactly that. That they could be as happy together here as they were in their own time. Her smile made his heart flutter wildly, and then it sank when she asked her question. He was so used to his own appearance that it hadn't occurred to him yet. Of course, she wasn't there for his transformations. For his attack in 1997. She hadn't even been involved in the war yet. She was fresh and wonderful and new, like linen and spring flowers. His smile faded and he took that wandering hand in his own, gently, bringing it to his chest.
'Would you really like to know?' Bill asked, and tried for a half-hearted smile once more. He turned her hand over in his own, and traced the lines with his calloused fingertips, before bringing it to his lips. 'It was... you're a little behind, my dove. It was a werewolf.'
There was a great deal about this new situation that made Fleur panic, a lot of it having to do with her need for things to be clear and factual and precise. She had a future husband who was a good deal older than she remembered, a daughter who was more than half her age, and apparently a grandchild. This was a world that was, for all she could tell, without her own family. She barely knew Bill’s yet, aside from Ron and brief encounters with Ginny. It was strange to think about all of that, and terribly overwhelming, but she’d set it aside for now, allowing Bill to tend to her. If anyone could make this okay, it would be her William.
The scars were a shock for her, who immediately feared for him. They were obviously deep and had come from a significant wound, and she waited with bated breath for his explanation. She settled her hand on his chest as he drew it near, then watched with that same expression of curious concern at his question and as he kissed her hand. At the words, her other hand came to her mouth, tears springing to her eyes.
“A werewolf,” she repeated, images flashing in her mind of how painful this must be for him. “Oh, my beautiful William, such pain! When?”
Bill, honestly, hadn't yet realised the ramifications of their differing ages. He had always been a little older than Fleur; older than most of the Order kids, really. Being the first-born Weasley had its perks like that. He had been born at a time where he could still remember his uncles Fabian and Gideon, as well as other members of the secret organisation, the ones who had died. But still, it didn't immediately pop into his head that Fleur, as she had been when he met her, was only nineteen. Barely an adult herself. All he knew was that she was still his wife, and they somehow had a ten year old daughter here, and a grand daughter who was well into her thirties. If it was hard for Bill to understand, Bill who was so understanding and prone to suspending his beliefs, he couldn't imagine how Fleur was taking it all. And yet, just as he remembered, her affections took precedent. She cared about what had happened to him. Bless her heart.
The thought made him smile wider, and the scars as she had touched them stretched with the motion. Fenrir had got him good, he had to admit that. One of the scars was deep enough that the flex of muscle twitched whenever he spoke, and shone a wispery silver in the light. It ran the length of his face, too, from hairline to chin. Not to mention that one of his eyes had been sealed shut for almost a month when it first happened, and now blinked a little differently to the other. It always surprised people that someone so beautiful and so seemingly vain wanted him. But she did, and they loved each other passionately.
But then she seemed to be crying, and Bill felt alarmed. He immediately let go her hands to pull her into a warm embrace. He still wore his winter sweater, hand-knitted by his mother from the Christmas just passed, and he ran a scarred hand through her blonde hair, stroking gently. 'Shh, please don't cry,' Bill pleaded, and kissed her forehead. 'No pain. You were there the whole time, and made sure the healers took the very best care of me.' He gave a goofy smile down at her wet face, and stroked her pale cheek with the back of his hand. 'You even had my mother be quiet for three seconds, which is quite the talent, sweetheart.' His smile wavered again. 'June 30, 1997. We were... there was a war, and we were fighting. Do you remember any of that?'
They were something of an exception for each other. Fleur had never had anyone other than Gabrielle truly care for her for reasons beyond just her appearance until Bill. And Bill needed someone other than his family to put him first, to worry about all of his cuts and scars and bruises and pain. He needed someone who would listen when he rambled on and on enthusiastically about his work, which she truly found as interesting as she claimed. He needed someone to appreciate his romantic tendencies and fierce protection, not take it for granted. She’d made it a mission to do precisely all of those things, all while loving him more than anyone else ever could. And she only came from six months or so into their relationship.
She clung to him as he embraced her, all of her anxieties over this strange place and odd circumstance melting into his sweater. “I am sorry, but I cannot help but to cry,” she said into his chest. She listened as he spoke, pleased that she’d been there for him in his time. That made it easier. She finally pulled back, leaning into the touch a bit. She smiled at the mention of quieting Molly, though she hadn’t yet met Bill’s mother in her own time. “You are still very beautiful,” she said. At his question, she shook her head. “It is only February 1996. The war is coming.”
Bill just loved Fleur so much. To him, she was everything in the entire world. His moon, his stars. He still remembered how snotty Ginny and his mum had been when he first brought her home, and he had done his best to combat their behaviour with warnings and vigilance. But a lot of it had slipped through, too much, and he still felt guilty for that. But both women had grown to respect her as a member of their family in recent years, and the arrival of Victoire especially had cemented Fleur's place in the family tree as a certified Weasley woman and honorary ginger. She was given involvement in major family decisions, and Molly now deflected to her on raising of their babies, rather than the other way around. The world from which Bill came was, in his eyes, utterly perfect. But so was any that Fleur was apart of. He smiled down at her fondly, and rubbed her cheek again. He was glad that she was not any younger, any more strange to him. He didn't know that his heart could take it.
'Then cry, but please do not be sad for me,' Bill answered, his voice a hushed whisper against the crown of her hair. He stroked her back and ran his hands in circles above her shoulders, hoping to brin some semblance of comfort and ease to his not-quite-wife. The boat didn't help matters at all, but Bill had excellent sea legs from his journeys in Egypt, thankfully. He laughed, surprised, and grinned down at her. 'You think so? You're the most beautiful person I've ever laid eyes on, Fleur Delacour. If you think so, it must be true.'
He nodded thoughtfully, and held her closer, rocking their bodies gently in unison with the gentle sway of the ship, timing their forms to the swish of the waves he could just scarcely hear above their heads. 'It comes soon after that... I propose to you in May. And we marry the next year, in August. The war goes on for a long time.' He allowed his mind to linger a moment longer than he would have liked. On Fred, in particular. He cleared his throat. 'And you fight so fiercely, so beautifully, and save so many people. And it ends. In 1998, we finally win. He’s gone, and we live happily ever after.’
“You say this because you are brave and wonderful. I am sad because I do not have these memories you have of tending to you while you were injured,” Fleur responded, her lip quivering almost in time with her words towards the end. She rubbed the tears away, though. It wasn’t helpful to cry, she knew, but it came also from her frustrations throughout the day. She had him now, though. Everything would be fine. “I think so very much,” she said, smiling. “The most handsome man in Europe. The scars only add to it.”
She wouldn’t have thought that rocking with the ocean would’ve helped, having spent so long trying to steady herself. As she moved with Bill, though, she could feel her brain clearing a bit as her body restored some equilibrium. She listened to him speak, smiling at the words and holding him a bit closer. “May,” she repeated. “And August.” She liked the happy dates. “Victoire is born on the anniversary?”
'We will create new memories,' Bill answered, smiling, rubbing that wobbling lip with the pad of his thumb. To see her cry made his chest hurt, and he hated it. But he understood it, too, he understood that it was a natural reaction to this tumultuous, confusing world she had been plopped down in the middle of. 'Perhaps I will fall down soon, and you can kiss my bruises better. You are the brave one of us, sweetheart. You are the wonderful girl I married, the wonderful girl I loved.' He kissed her cheek gently, and her words drew a surprised laugh from him. He raised an eyebrow. 'You actually told mum the same thing. She thought... well, they thought the wedding mightn't happen because of the attack. But you were wonderful, and put them in their place.'
Actually, Bill considered for a moment that he had been brought forward with everything on his person, and he realised the wealth of memories that his wallet alone held. He let her go with one hand for just a moment to rifle through his breast pocket, the dragon-hide leather falling into his hands. 'Here, have a look,' Bill pointed out eagerly, opening the ribbon flap to reveal the photos he kept on him always. There was one of Victoire, shiny and pink and new in her hospital bed, in Fleur's arms. The next was the picture of the Weasleys in Egypt, from 1993, its edges worn and sullied by dirt. And the last was his absolute favourite, a photo taken minutes before the attack, of he and Fleur dancing at their wedding. Their faces were close and hushed in it, and they kissed briefly, so serene and happy with one another, and ignorant of the world about them.
He curled a lock of her white hair about his fingertips and smiled in return, nodding. 'You said it was only fitting. We lost my brother that night, but found a daughter.’
Fleur nodded at that, smiling at his promise. She wanted to make memories, particularly if they were stuck here. As long as she was here with Bill, she could manage the rest. It would take time to process it all, for sure, but she would manage. “Do not try to do so,” she said, laughing a bit. “If you do, though, I will certainly kiss them better.” At his next words, her nose wrinkled. “They thought something like that would change things? Silly people. You are still the most handsome.”
She looked at him curiously as he moved, following his hand and looking at the wallet with lifted eyebrows. She took the pictures, and immediately burst into tears again. This time, they were happy. She’d settled in her mind already that yes, Victoire was hers, but the photo was perfect proof. The way she saw herself beam in the photo, proud and mussed and in love, and the little wiggling of the bundle she held in her arms… Fleur couldn’t help but to cry. It was perfect and wonderful. The picture of Egypt made her smile, though she knew it wasn’t a memory of her own. She drew her thumb lightly over where Bill stood, young and unscarred and still handsome. The last was just as incredible as the first, proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that they’d married. She could see Gabrielle smiling in the background, too. “Oh, these are so wonderful,” she said, grinning up at him.
At the words, her head tilted a little with sobering curiosity, pained at the thought that Bill had lost one of his brothers. She knew how much he loved them. “Which?”
Bill grinned in a most ridiculous sort of way, and tweaked the edge of her nose with his thumb. 'Could you be any cuter, flower?' Bill asked, laughing, and he meant it. There wasn't a girl alive who could turn his head, not anymore, not once he'd found her. And they had tried, certainly. Something about Fleur, for some reason, inspired jealousy in a lot of women that he couldn't quite understand, but he certainly felt blessed that she chose him when she could have, quite literally, had anyone she liked. He smiled, and shook his head. 'They thought you might be upset that I wasn't... that my face didn't look the same, but they were very silly, yeah. I'm glad you did, though. I thank Merlin every day for our happiness.'
And then she was crying, and Bill was alarmed again; at least until he saw her smile, and that her tears weren't hysterical but happy. For a moment he felt his own eyelashes prickle, but he was able to swallow them down with a vague clearing of his throat. He grinned wider instead and pointed out a nurse to the side of the first photo. 'I think she's a bit upset because you screamed in French at her for a solid hour, but I think it was worth it. Isn't she beautiful?'
His own gaze lingered on the second photo. He looked from his mother, much younger, to Ginny, who was no longer a child, and then to the twins. Percy looked as proper and sullen as ever, but the twins were buzzing about and putting rabbit ears behind everyone's heads. Fred had managed a bag of Egyptian loot, too, from one of the tourist shops. Gadgets and magnets and the rest. To give to Angelina, he'd said. Bill could still remember. He shook his head and looked to Fleur again, grinning. 'Aren't they? You can keep them, we'll frame them for the flat. Um, that is... if you'll have us here, at least. I think I'll be rooming with Victoire in the mean time.'
He wavered again, and pointed to Fred in the photo. 'My younger brother. He liked you a lot.'
Fleur’s nose wrinkled further as he pinched the tip of it, his words making her smile. He was so wonderful, so calming even when her body was in such a fragile state because of the water environment. She’d almost forgotten her dizzying nausea, even. At his words, she shook her head. “I am not so vain. I am glad they realized this,” she said, smiling. “I am sure we are very, very happy.”
She laughed as he pointed out the frazzled-looking nurse. “I doubt I apologized, either,” she responded, amused. “Though surely she did not blame me! Look at this beautiful child that we created! She is just what I imagined.” She smiled at his words. “I think perhaps we stay together? We are assigned, I believe, and she needs guardians. Perhaps we take turns rooming with her for a little while?” She gave him a thoughtful look then. “They take her somewhere earlier, you know. They did not say where. I think perhaps school? I saw other children being taken too.”
She frowned at the words, sighing and tangling her fingers with his. “I am sure I liked him very much too. I am very sorry, William.”
'You are not vain at all,' Bill clarified, fondly. He pressed another kiss to the corner of her lips, and then to her brow. 'We are. But we can be happy here, too. Very happy. We have a wonderful daughter to share our lives with until... well, maybe we can start a new one. If you'll have me, that is.'
'No, you didn't,' he grinned, and ran his thumb over the blanketed form of their little daughter. He missed her, he realised. More than he thought he would. Even though he knew that she was technically here, he missed the gummy grin, the freckles, the sparse ginger hair. Her diapered little bum running down the hallway at all hours of the morning as he and Fleur tried to sleep off Dominique's birth. It was too much, and he looked away for a moment, pulling his own emotions in check. 'But it was worth it, entirely. She is a most wonderful daughter, and you're a perfect wife.' He visibly brightened at that. 'Oh, yes! I like that very much. I... take her, to a school?' He frowned. He had wanted to meet her, but he figured he could when she returned. He moved to stand and fetched Fleur a glass of water from the bathroom sink, which he pressed to her lips.
'Don't apologise. It happened so long ago.'
Fleur smiled against his gentle attentions, nodding to his words. “We make what we can of what we have, yes. If we are stuck out in the middle of the ocean for the rest of forever, we react as necessary.” She smiled more warmly. “I have you, yes.”
Fleur didn’t have those memories, nothing more than a picture to prove that the ten-year-old she’d just met had been tiny in her arms at one point. Still, it was a solid start. Claiming Victoire was the most difficult step, but she felt that building a strange new life with her and with William as he was would fall into place however it saw fit to do so. She wasn’t worried, not anymore, not about her little family. “I do not know for sure,” she said, her bits of concern showing again. “I did not follow, obviously. But I go out of this block and see other children being taken too. I do not know where else they could go but on this place, as we are surrounded by ocean. I assume school.” She accepted the glass, sipping from it carefully.
'Oh, Merlin,' Bill laughed, and helped her to her feet. He used his elbow to flush the toilet and let Fleur into the next room. Truthfully, he'd forgotten about that detail already in the hubbub of their reunion. 'I don't know how well either of us could take a lifetime on the high seas. At least there's no bees, though?' He nudged her hip gently and flashed a joking smile. What he didn't mention was his worry about his lycanthropy, now. Where would he take his transformations? And he knew Remus Lupin was here, too, a few versions of him. The full moon would be interesting.
'Ah,' he said, pulled from his thoughts, although he didn't entirely know what she had said moments prior. Something about a school, yes. Bill nodded and led her to the bed. The colours were so sterile and bright, and made his eyes hurt a little. Shell Cottage was a lot cosier, with tokens of love and life about them, all with Fleur's perfect touch upon their surface. He glanced idly to the doorway, and rubbed the back of his neck. 'I think... I think we might also have a son, but I don't know him yet, if that helps.’
Fleur let herself be led to her feet, holding onto him for stability as the dizziness returned. “Thank goodness for that,” she said, laughing a little. “Victoire say she is also allergic to bees.” She didn’t have the foresight enough to worry about his transformations, though, and she certainly didn’t know Remus Lupin in a way to know that he was connected, if really at all. (She’d have recalled that a version of him was the person who’d spoken in French with her.)
She slipped into the bed, much more comfortable there than she’d been on the floor, in spite of the color scheme. She felt exhausted, overwhelmed by the events of the morning thus far and from her illness. “A son,” she repeated, smiling. She yawned, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. “You look for Victoire? I worry that I might have been wrong. I do not want her to be in trouble.”
Bill's face twisted for a moment in concern, and he helped steady her with both hands about her thin waist. He always forgot that beneath her sooty lashes and large personality was a young woman, fragile as she was now, prone to sea sickness and allergies and all sorts of things. To Bill, she was invincible, a complete wonder he'd never fully have the capabilities to understand. He kissed her cheek again, and nodded. 'I heard that, too. Makes me feel a bit guilty that she ever had to find out,' he admitted, shaking his head. 'The first time I saw you stung was at the cottage. We were in hiding, and had no access to a healer. Thank Merlin we had half the Order there to help.'
Bill sat on the edge, and pulled the covers to her chin. 'A son,' he confirmed, smiling wider than he ever thought possible. 'Of course, sweetheart. Why don't you get some rest?'
Fleur didn’t like to appear weak or vulnerable, and even now was a bit embarrassed by how unsteady on her feet she was. Perhaps in his timeline, with years of marriage beneath their belt, she felt more comfortable displaying weakness around him. From her world, though, they hadn’t been dating long. She loved him very much, but she still felt that compulsion to always appear flawless and strong. It made for an odd interaction. “It is very bad,” she said, shaking her head. “I am usually very careful, though. I hate that it passed to her.”
She laid down as he sat beside her, smiling as he pulled the covers over her. “Okay,” she agreed, nodding. She reached, tucking a bit of his red hair behind his ear much like she’d done to Victoire earlier. “I see you soon.”
Bill was guilty of forgetfulness; to him, they had been married for years. He didn't pause to think that he might be over-stepping boundaries, at least not right now. Maybe later, once he was alone, he would reflect on this interaction and realise his potential mistakes. But now, she was his wife in his eyes, and that was that. He only wanted to keep her safe, to love her, as he had always done. He smiled down at her, and allowed a brief close of his eyes as she touchd him, before regarding her with a fond smile. 'Soon.'
And with that, he turned from her (but with the smallest glance over his shoulder, of course, to make sure she was comfortable) and left the room, on the hunt for the daughter he'd left behind as a toddler, who now stood ten years old and spritely. It was a wonder he hadn't gone mental, but even if he had, he didn’t mind. At least he was mental with family.