(no subject)

It's nice, right now. It's good.

The only light in the room comes from a few tealights on the dresser. The light dances over the walls, making soft shadows. The room is warm and quiet.

Simon and Kaylee are in bed.

She's curled on her side, propped on her elbow, head resting in her hand. Her other hand reaches out to brush through his tousled hair; her smile is content, and just a little lascivious. Maybe.

(no subject)

"When you looked at this list," Diana asks, holding it, "did you notice any patterns?"

The list is everything Kaylee could think of -- all the things you have to do in order to be a good wife, and where she learned it.

All the things she could think of are there. The reasons are a little bit harder to find.

Kaylee looks away, looks down.

With a smile that's a little sheepish: "Simon didn't come up with any of it."

"So he's never given you any rules? Nothing he expects you to do?"

Kaylee shakes her head.

"What do you think that says about him?"

"I don't know," Kaylee says, and doesn't say he might like me how I am.

***

"We named him Alexander," she says, and then it's like a knife in her guts, or a bullet, and she manages, "Let's put that one off for a while."

Diana doesn't fight her on it.

***

Twice weekly, their appointments are. She comes outside puffy-eyed, but feeling... cleaner. Capable. Or on the road to capable, anyway.

Kaylee shoulders her bag, and starts to walk home.

-- home, she thinks startled. Really?

Disconcerted, she looks around; she doesn't know what to think about that. So she doesn't. They could stand a trip out to the market anyway, and remembering where to go will take a little concentration.