Big news, big night: The morning (is it?) after

[newredmuses]

Did he sleep at all last night? He may have tried, long after he and Kate had exhausted themselves with talking and crying and laughing. It's hard to say too, when he first noticed that he was lying awake, watching the light in the room change. (Of course, he'd been told, that there isn't sunlight here, as such, but the facsimile is fine enough.)

The scar in his side tells him he is dead, but in faith, lying here beside his wife, his own Kate, he feels nothing of the sort.

Now, is she sleeping still? He slides closer, and plants a kiss just so on her bare shoulder.

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[valiantrebel]

And when he lets go, the world shrinks down to two souls on a bed, and it lasts.

[tiltingwithlips]

She follows him, a few moments later. For she told the truth, earlier: what else can she do, but follow her lord where he leads?

(A question for another time.)

By the time they shudder and rock to a standstill together, Harry's back is scratched and Kate's hair is no doubt tangled.

[valiantrebel]

He has made a dreadful mess of her hair, for which he must needs be forgiven. He notes her marks on him as he rolls off her and lies panting beside her.

The light in the room is rich and golden; a beautiful morning at the end of the universe. He stares up at the ceiling, brow knitted. He thought.

Well.

He shifts onto one side and catches Kate's eye, though he neither remarks on their exertions nor moves to touch her again. Watching will content him, in this moment.

[tiltingwithlips]

Nuh-uh. Nope. Watching is for other people. Kate will be snuggling him now, and will brook no argument.

Now get over here and be a pillow for your wife, Harry Percy.

[valiantrebel]

...if the lady insists, he may be cajoled and coerced, with some loud complaints for punctuation.

He offers up an arm, and all the room on his chest -- will that do?

[tiltingwithlips]

Perfectly! It's a lovely chest. His generosity is much appreciated.

She curls one arm between them, her knuckles brushing his skin, and throws the other over his waist, and very contented is she.

[valiantrebel]

What's his is hers and all that, of course.

The arm in question he wraps around her shoulders, and with the other he rests his hand on hers (though he will soon begin skimming his fingertips over her skin, perhaps beginning an endless and improvised game of cat's-cradle with her fingers).

It's just that he never thought he'd get to do this again.

And also they're going to have a baby.

[tiltingwithlips]

Speaking of which:

"We're to have a child, Harry," Kate murmurs.

This is still sort of . . . stunning?

[valiantrebel]

"I had just remembered that myself," he murmurs back, also a little bit... bowled over by the fact.

How does one say "I hope my father succeeds in his rebellion so he can come home and see my baby?" in an off-the-cuff sort of way?

[tiltingwithlips]

She closes her eyes.

"I would not have looked for't, in sooth. 'Tis very strange."

[valiantrebel]

He smiles, crookedly. "Perhaps the least strange thing that's passed since the sun last rose."

[tiltingwithlips]

"Mmm."

A breath in, and out.

"My lord?"

[valiantrebel]

"My lady?"

[tiltingwithlips]

"Do you think to stay here? At Milliways?"

[valiantrebel]

Some of the cheer leaves his face. "I cannot go home," he says quietly.

[tiltingwithlips]

"I know. But if you stay here, then mayhap I may have you near."

[valiantrebel]

"That's not in question." He picks up her hand and kisses the knuckles. "But Kate, you cannot be planning on staying here too."

[tiltingwithlips]

She sighs.

"I've thought on it."

[valiantrebel]

"This is no place for anyone to stay."

Particularly not Harry Hotspur, who if he is not at home will always need to be on the move.

"Yet I'll not lose you again, nor the child." He stares up at the ceiling and rubs Kate's arm, distracted.

[tiltingwithlips]

"I would have him know his father, somehow. Know him more than as whatever stories are told and whatever armor is left."

[valiantrebel]

"My armor will be in fine shape," he says, more than ruefully. (In truth, all his armor is in terrible shape, for it was used heavily and often; and his sword, lost somewhere in Shrewsbury, it's certain. If there be relics, they'll be in the hands of men of the king.)

He lifts his head. "Him?"

Did Nita say it so? Can they know that too?

[tiltingwithlips]

"Well," she says with a shrug, "I hope for a son. The wizard said she could not know for some weeks yet."

[valiantrebel]

"Another Harry Percy to plague the world? Should not we hope for a daughter?" He wags his eyebrows. "She'll have all thy temperance and all my looks."

[tiltingwithlips]

She laughs, reaching up to tweak his nose.

"So might a son."

[valiantrebel]

He chuckles. "Nay, a son would have all my patience and all your spleen." Yet perhaps third time's a charm? Who is he to say?