Fiona slept through the second half of the day, and then after a quick dinner - she was so groggy she didn't notice what she chewed - she went back to bed. She had no dreams and no nightmares.

When she opened her eyes, she couldn't understand what time it was. The curtains on the windows were drawn. He wasn't in the bed, and she crawled from under the duvet and walked downstairs. Sunlight was streaming into the lounge. She looked at the clock on the wall. It was clearly morning, it wouldn't be that light at nine o'clock at night.

She found him in the kitchen, writing. His eyes immediately flew up, and he smiled at her.

"Hi," she said.

He pushed the headphones - plugged into his laptop - off his ears.

"Hi. How are you feeling?" he asked.

She nodded and came up to him. He stretched his long arm, scooped her around her waist, and pulled her in. Even sitting on a kitchen chair, he seemed so very tall. She pushed her fingers into his hair and ruffled.

"Better now," she said and kissed him. 

She could feel his lips curl in a smile under hers. After a few minutes, she straightened up and cupped his jaw.

"I want pancakes," she announced and scratched his beard, curling her fingers. 

He squinted like a large cat. Ah, interesting. It seems Fiona has just discovered another 'strategic location.'

"I can make you pancakes," he said, and his - darker than usual and clouded - eyes opened slowly.

She smiled and quickly kissed his lips.

"No one has ever cooked for me," she said and took the other chair.

He got up and started taking ingredients out and arranging them on the counter. She loved watching his precise efficient movements.

"Clem texted me," he said. He took out a container with raspberries out of the fridge. "Am I supposed to wash these?"

"Of course not," she said and snatched the box out of his hands. "I mean, it's probably wise, but they get all wet and soggy. And what's the worst that can happen, right?"

She picked up a raspberry, put it in her mouth, and hummed in bliss. Blimey, she forgot how much she loved raspberries!

"Stop making these noises," he said, his back to her, whisking the batter. "I can't concentrate on cooking."

FIona giggled and popped another berry in her mouth. The sweet fresh taste coated her mouth - and an uncharacteristically cheeky idea came to her. She took another berry and asked innocently, "Do you want one?"

"Sure," he said and turned.

She quickly put it in her mouth, keeping their eyes locked, and closed her lips around her index finger. And then she slowly pulled it out with a moan.

"I properly love ras–" was all she managed, before he made a long stride to her, grabbed the back of her neck, and crushed his lips into hers. His tongue brushed at her lips, opening them - and she realised he was tasting the berries. It suddenly felt so indecent and sensual that she whimpered.

"Uh-huh," he murmured. "I love raspberries too."

He stopped back, and Fiona sagged back in her chair.

"No more of this, Fiona," he said, turning away again. "I'm that close to shagging you on this table. But we can't. Clem texted. They're coming for a visit."

She jerked and gawked at him.

"What?! Who's coming?!" she squeaked. "What kind of a visit?"

"John and Clem. And the babies." He looked at his watch. "I'd say they'll be here in about an hour."

She pressed a hand to her forehead. "Why?!"

"According to Clem, to visit Di and the boys, and to skate." He poured batter on the pan and picked up a flipper from a drawer. "I reckon Di kept pestering him after the last time."

"Will they– will they come here?" she said. "I mean I get it's their cottage, but they just keep barging in! And at the beginning when you brother found out you were here, he came to 'extract' you–"

"And you told him you were worried for his extremities," he said offhandedly, and flipped a pancake.

Fiona blushed. "You weren't supposed to hear that," she muttered. "But my point is, before just you being here was enough to start looking for a different accommodation for me, and now they just keep parading through this cottage!"

"Get used to it," he said and slipped the pancake onto a plate for her. "Can you grab lemon and sugar?"

"What do you mean 'get used to it?'" she grumbled and plodded to the fridge. "I hope they stop once they figure out you aren't abusing me, and I'm not a gold-digger who's after your army pension."

"Is that what George said to you last time?" he asked in a tense voice, and Fiona scoffed.

"It properly doesn't matter, Will," she said.

He flipped the next pancake without saying anything, but she could see he was angry. She stepped to him and pressed her cheek to his upper arm.

"We should move," he grumbled and plated the pancake.

"Where?" she asked in confusion, picking the edge of a pancake on his plate and tearing a small piece off. "This is the only table." She ate the warm morsel, and rubbed her temple to his arm. "These are very good. And you said you can only cook one dish!"

She sat down and sprinkled some sugar on her pancake. He was pouring more batter on the pan.

"I think we should move," he said again in the same even tone, and Fiona stopped neatly rolling up her pancake.

She studied his back - his shoulders seem tense, don't they? - and then she understood.

"You mean, as in moving to a different place? As in–" It can't be! "Living together?"

"Do you want to live with me?" he asked, flipped the pancake, and faced her.

He was frowning, and his lips were set in a firm line. Look at him! It's like he actually doesn't know her answer!

"Of course I do!" she exclaimed. "I keep thinking how painful it'll be when my four weeks here are over and I have to leave you!"

"Then don't," he said simply, and she dropped her fork and jumped up and rushed to him.

"I won't!" she said ardently. "I don't want to! Can I please stay with you?" she asked, and he chuckled, and hugged her, squeezing her tightly.

Fiona pressed her cheek to his chest and closed her eyes. She could hear his deep rapid heartbeat.

His phone beeped on the table, and Fiona jolted, suddenly reminded of the impending invasion of the Holyoakes.

"I need a shower!" she exclaimed. "And I need to change!" She moved away from him and looked him over. "You're just staying like this, aren't you? In the same tee and pyjama bottoms?"

"I have these, a jumper, and my combat trousers," he said with a shrug. "Not much choice. Ah, and the uniform."

Fiona, who was quickly biting her pancake, froze.

"You have your uniform here," she repeated.

"Why?" he asked and chuckled.

He raised an eyebrow - and she knew the gesture, it had to do with her 'appetite' and his appreciation for it - but she didn't catch his mood.

"I don't know," she answered slowly. "It's both... sexy, as you obviously have guessed, but also sort of– it makes it real, you know? You being a soldier, having gone through the war– and I don't know how I feel about it."

She chewed her food and swallowed. He was watching her, his eyebrows once again furrowed.

"Does my limp not make it real?" he asked sharply. "Or the bullet scars?"

"Please, don't misunderstand me," she said softly. "Your past is what made you... you. And I can't condemn it. How can I claim to love you and then reject parts of you? But it's not that simple, is it? The service. It's such a complicated matter, and there are so many sides to it. That's why the uniform - the symbol of it - isn't that simple of a matter, either."

She gave him an uncertain smile - and his face softened. Fiona quickly finished her pancake, got up, kissed him, and dashed out of the kitchen.

"I'll be quick," she shouted to him. "And then I'll have a dozen of your excellent pancakes!"

She thought she heard a quiet warm laugh behind her.

***

She took a shower, changed, and they finished eating, and even put away the washing up, when the doorbell rang.

"At least they rang the bell this time," Fiona grumbled.

"The illusion of choice," he commented.

He was sitting at the table, typing again, but she noticed he hadn't put on his headphones.

"Do you mean, they're pretending we don't have to let them in?" Fiona said and got up. "Maybe I won't then," she added under her breath.

She'd been drinking tea, since she couldn't focus on anything else. Maybe it won't be that horrible. At least it's the lovely, friendly Clementine and the endlessly civil John Holyoake - and not Di and George, she thought.

Fiona opened the door, and the first thing she saw was John Holyoake, pressing his long index finger to his lips, his glacial eyes intent on her. She looked down and saw the ginger babies asleep in a double carrier. She bit her bottom lip, and stepped back and aside.

The door to the black Land Rover in the driveway was half-open, and Fiona saw Clementine's lower half sticking out of it and heard some squeaking and shrieking. John Holyoake walked by her and carefully put the carrier on the floor.

"May we come in?" he whispered, almost inaudibly. Fiona guessed most of it by the movement of his lips.

She nodded.

"Upstairs?" he said in the same manner. "If you don't mind."

Fiona thanked her habdabs that had made her clean up the bedroom and make the bed. She nodded again, and he toed off his shoes, picked up his 'carrot heads,' as Clementine had called them last time, and carefully walked up the stairs. Fiona heard the bedroom door softly open and close. She didn't fail to notice that he'd masterfully avoided all the squeakiest parts of the floor.

Will stepped out of the kitchen, and she silently pointed up and then mimicked sleeping folding her hands under her cheek. He nodded and looked outside.

Clementine stood on the pavement, and two dark-haired toddlers were running around her in circles. She gave Fiona and Will a small wave with her hand.

"At least it's not Di and George," Will said quietly, and Fiona snorted.

She picked up his hand and squeezed his fingers.

"Well, this went well," John Holyoake's quiet voice came from behind them. Fiona looked. He was going down, one of those white baby monitor thingamabobs in his hand. "Afternoon, Ms. Dorrigan. Will."

Fiona saw Will's left eyebrow hike up sarcastically. She suddenly felt sure she was the only one who could see the surprise hiding behind his haughty expression. John placed a heavy pat with his large hand onto his brother's shoulder and gave Fiona a wink.

"I've been lectured and told to behave," he whispered conspiratorially and pointed at his wife with his eyes. "Alright, we'll go skate. Will?"

He lifted his hand with the monitor, and Fiona gasped. Will opened his palm, and the gizmo travelled into it.

John grinned, put on his shoes, and walked out, with a nonchalant 'Laters.'