AN: So I had intentions to continue this story, and then I decided not to because it felt complete. And then S9 happened and I had thoughts so naturally I had to put my feelings somewhere (and make others suffer in the process). I suppose you can consider this a companion piece to the first chapter. A 'then and now'. It obviously takes place after the events of 'What Comes After', and would fit comfortably in the time jump, wherever you'd like.

Anyway, enjoy. And as always, the characters aren't mine but the angst definitely is.

She missed him most in the mornings.

It'd always been 'their' time. Early, when those first golden streaks of daylight would peek through the curtains, casting a warm glow in the space that, even after years of radio silence and empty searches—still carried traces of him.

The deep rumble of laughter, shared jokes and smiles. Their talks, about nothing and everything. The silent glares and the occasional eyerolls in rare moments of disagreement that were resolved as quickly as they sprang up, with quiet kisses and nods of understanding.

And the physical reminders lingered. All over the house, All over Alexandria. But nowhere more than this space. Their space.

The side of the bed, his side. The mattress still dipped at one spot, on the edge, right in the middle, where he sat to take off his boots.

And the clothes she hadn't bothered packing away. Or giving away. Not all of it, at least. Instead the button up shirts became hers. Denim soft and worn and smelling of soap and sunshine, warm flannels to lounge in on lazy days or layer up once the weather turned colder. And the boots. Unmoved, still at the foot of the bed that still felt like it belonged to them. It was theirs. Still theirs.

From the moment her feet touch the floor in the mornings, she still feels him. Still expects the grazing kisses to her shoulder, or any other part he could reach, eyes still closed while he waited for her to turn over, mouths meeting in a mix of mint and morning breath, a tangy blend that should have annoyed her, stickler for dental hygiene that she was, but there was something natural and intimate about the no-frills connection.

Their love was made for early hours, slow, wandering hands, lingering touches, soft hums of pleasure between sleep-filled meetings of mouths that only grew hungrier and more determined but no less hurried. The rush of sweetness that almost always shifted into something headier, foreheads pressed together, bodies writhing and arching in a perfect, easy rhythm.

They loved as if they had all the time in the world. Achingly, completely.

The emptiness of 'after' is something that she doesn't get 'used to'. She simply soldiers on, carrying his memory and crafting the future they'd envisioned, for their family. For their world. With a resigned kind of stubborn, the quiet determination he used to love about her. She goes on, because she must. For him. For them. For the people who look to her as their leader.

But still, she misses the arms wrapped around her. Strong and lean and sure and safe.

She feels all those things now, still.

She gives that comfort. That love.

To their daughter. Smart and solemn, with a heart as big as her older brother's. She was truly Carl's legacy, in looks and temperament.

And to the little boy with the dark brown eyes, her eyes. And his. The questioning gaze, laughing light, and a smile that could melt even the coldest heart.

They are her joy. The reason her feet hit the floor, the motivation to get her moving, shouldering the responsibilities like the blade at her back and the knife in her boot.

The regular morning routine. Plans to oversee, children to wake, breakfasts to be prepared. It's not just survival now, but sustainability. Thriving. And for a moment, lying against cool sheets with the cool buttons of a worm denim shirt pressed to her bare skin, she feels a crashing wave of emotions wash over her.

The sadness, she doesn't linger in. She remembers that ugly kind of darkness that comes with deep despair, the pain she wallowed in at the loss of Andre and Mike, drifting in and out, feeling less than nothing.

Instead, she shuts her eyes and focuses on the other feelings, strong and radiant, plucking them out like the sweet apples she loved, to savor. To safeguard.

Pride. Hope. Love. It all leads back to him, the promises they made, the future the designed. Built on faith and paid for in sacrifice. She was still here. Greeting another morning in a different kind of quiet but always, always with him. In memory, and in her heart.

She counts herself lucky.

To be loved so fully, the pulse of it lingers on, after all these years.