There had been tea, to start with, when Archie and Nick first sat down in Archie's den. Sometime over the course of their conversation the tea had become laced with whiskey, and by the time the more mundane had been talked out and they'd gotten to the real meat of the conversation the tea as abandoned completely in favor of straight shots of
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Honestly, her first emotion was relief, that nothing had happened. But hard on its heels was a real irritation and worry -- for him to be singing like that, Nick was absolutely pissed off his gourd. And for an injured Watcher to be out after dark and drunk enough to be making that much noise was stupidity of the highest order.
Belle stood on the front steps, and waited for them to sway their way around the corner.
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The fact that he's managed the trip from Archie's to home without falling, even with the support of his new friend and cane, is probably something of a miracle. He does stumble quite a bit, though, as he makes his way to the bottom of the stairs, his singing finished for now.
"It's m'wife. My wife," he repeats for emphasis. He likes the sounds of the words, that even after two weeks seem amazing to be able to say again. "'ello, love."
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At the point at which he comes upstairs, she's sitting on a meditation cushion, still warm from her shower and her damp hair is braided. Her eyes are closed and her breath is slow and even.
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He stands, and watches, and doesn't know what to say. Or if he should.
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When he doesn't, she lets her eyes flutter open and meet his.
It's been years since she's looked at him and felt at a complete loss as to what to say to him.
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