It was finally Friday. Not Barbara's usual Friday, which typically masqueraded as a Monday in disguise and pushed her into a double-shift on both Saturday and Sunday. The start time was never consistent, either. Sometimes she worked the graveyard shift, carrying through the night and inevitably staying late into the morning until she could slip out three or four hours past her original time, staggering out to her car and flopping into the driver's seat, blinking as the mid-morning sunlight flooded eyes adapted to fluorescent bulbs. Sometimes she went in first thing in the morning, intending to work her scheduled twelve hours and be done with it, only to get whisked away into a last-minute emergency call and be spat back out on the sidewalk just as one day rolled into the next.

Her sleep schedule was shot to hell, night bleeding into day and the presence of sunlight not making any difference whatsoever in whether she slept or not. She couldn't remember the last time she'd actually had a weekend off; even when she didn't have to work, if Jim had plans and was out with friends she was left all too often alone and lost with her thoughts. And so, she took on more shifts, volunteered to switch with people who had sick kids, who had unexpected birthday parties and nights out. She certainly never had plans, never had anyone to go home to or anything to make her feel she needed to have a consistent schedule.

Jim had grown up far too early, taking on the burdens of the world somewhere along the way when her back was turned. By the time she realized, it was too late, and her baby boy was well on his way to being a man and certainly didn't need the same amount of "mothering".

Not that she'd been there as much as she'd wished even when he was young. The guilt was always there in varying amounts-she'd had to spend far too much time at the hospital than she had wanted during the course of Jim's childhood. Single parenting didn't leave many options on the table when there were no other sources of income from which to draw, and she'd had to work years of night shifts in order to be able to be a parent, to be able to go to his open houses and parent-teacher nights, to be able to have that one weekend where she could do a birthday party.

Her every spare moment had gone into Jim, and she didn't regret it for an instant.

This weekend, though—this weekend was hers.

Friday was finally (finally) just that—a Friday. No work Saturday, no work Sunday. Just one more shift to get through and she was a free agent for an entire two days. Barbara wasn't sure how to take that, either. For the longest time, it had just been her and Jim against the world, pushing each other to get through the bad times and fighting to show the world that they weren't defined by all the shit her ex had put them through.

Barbara went through the day with purpose, constantly expecting some major emergency to rear its head and tear her out of her carefully calculated schedule. But, six pm rolled around without incident, and Barbara all but sprinted to the door as the clock changed. "Big plans, Dr. Lake?" the nurse at the welcome station teased, a knowing grin playing on her lips. "Nothing big, Tracy," Barbara demurred, the small smile and blush that spread across her cheeks giving her away. "Mmhmm, well, you get out of here stat before they find an excuse to drag you back to that ER," the other woman replied, nodding at the door.

Barbara didn't have to be told twice, slipping through the door and fishing her neglected phone out of her pocket. One message from Jim sometime after lunch, saying he'd be in Trollmarket all weekend helping with the repairs, and one note from Walter: Hopefully your day is not too overrun with crises, my dear. I'll be there at six to pick you up regardless, and heaven help any morons who stand in my way.

She grinned and rolled her eyes as she imagined him typing out the sardonic missive, reading through it twice before realizing she was standing in the darkened parking lot staring dopily at her cell phone. Red-faced, she stuffed it in the pocket of her scrubs and looked up—to see Walter parked not ten feet away, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips as he stared blatantly at her through the windshield.

"Of course," she muttered, rolling her eyes and shooting him a look of fond exasperation as she jogged over to the vehicle. "Do you ever catch me not being ridiculous?" she lamented, opening the passenger door and sliding in beside him, snapping her seatbelt into place.

He took her hand as she released the strap, giving it a quick squeeze before letting go to turn the key in the ignition. "You've yet to demonstrate any instance of ridiculousness in all the time I've known you, my dear," he replied, pulling away from the curb and guiding them out of the hospital parking lot.

She gave a noncommittal "Hmm," and closed her eyes, leaning back against the headrest and letting the trials of the day ease from her tired body. It hadn't been a terrible day by any standards, but a twelve-hour shift was still a twelve-hour shift, and Barbara was tired. Her feet ached, and her lower back gave an annoying tug as she moved, voicing its complaints at her hours spent over the table with a young man bleeding out from a car wreck.

Walter glanced over in concern, his green eyes soft in the light of the passing streetlights. "Are you alright, my dear?" he asked, right hand leaving the steering wheel to find hers once more.

"Oh yes," Barbara's eyes fluttered open and she mustered a small, tired smile in return, squeezing his fingers. "Day eight of eight," she said by way of explanation. "I'm just a bit worn out, is all."

And Walter knew it well. Since their return from Trollmarket following Gunmar's defeat, Barbara had been going one hundred miles an hour, patching up trolls and Changelings in the days following the battle and then launching straight over into a week of nonstop shifts at the hospital. He had done his best to help where he could, spending far more time at the Lake's house than his own small apartment in order to keep things cleaned up and have food ready and waiting when Barbara got home.

He and Jim had crossed paths briefly, that first afternoon he decided making dinner would not be considered intruding, as the young Trollhunter came trooping through the door flanked by Claire and Toby. Jim had pulled up short, eyebrows knit together in consternation as he took in the sight of his Changeling principal-turned-enemy-turned-ally-turned-something-to-his-mother standing in the middle of his kitchen with a pot of water balanced in one hand and the other turning on the burner at the stove. "Pasta," Walter had offered, a light flush staining his cheeks as he glanced awkwardly over Jim's shoulders rather than meet his eyes. "For dinner-for Barbara. She hasn't been home long enough to eat anything this week, let along attempt to make something."

"Awk-ward," Toby had muttered, grunting as Claire elbowed him sharply in the stomach. "Shut up," she'd hissed, eyes soft as she looked between the bemused Jim and the Changeling in the kitchen. "It's sweet."

And Walter had flushed even more, setting the pot on the burner with a dull thunk and raising one hand to the back of his neck. "I can go, if you wish," he had offered, the uncharacteristic uncertainty making Jim's eyebrows shoot skyward.

"N-No, it's fine," the boy had returned, a slight smile stealing across his face as he seemed to come to some internal decision. "We're heading out anyway-Blinky needs all hands on deck getting things organized back in Trollmarket." His eyes narrowed. "You take care of her," he commanded, and Walter had inclined his head in acquiescence.

After that, they had settled into a strange understanding where Jim conceded his kitchen duties to Walter, and Walter made sure he was there when Barbara arrived home after each shift.

Now, sitting in the car with her, he found himself once again overcome by the influx of sentiment that always seemed to consume him when he found himself in her presence. She had come to mean everything to him, to be the driving force behind his every action and decision. The thought was simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating-having spent centuries striving to ensure he was beholden to no one but himself, to find himself ensnared so neatly in her web was overwhelming.

"Where are we going?" Barbara murmured sleepily, eyes heavy as she blinked ferociously in an effort to force them to remain open.

"Home," he replied, brushing a hand across her brow, smoothing away the lines carved out by the trials of the day.

"But, didn't we have plans?" she protested, struggling to sit up and turning to him in concern. "Walt, you didn't cancel anything on my behalf, did you?"

He gave a low, fond chuckle. "No, my dear, my only plans tonight were taking care of you." His affectionate mien briefly slipped as a flash of hunger blazed in his green eyes, and her pulse jumped ten beats as a flood of desire surged through her in response to his stare. "Plans," he murmured, voice trailing off into a growl that had Barbara suddenly as far from tired as she had ever been, "can wait until tomorrow." And the light passed from his eyes, giving way to a warm and caring regard that had her questioning whether she had simply imagined the lust (and love, though neither of them would acknowledge it yet) burning in his eyes.

"That," she accused, reaching across the center console to grip his thigh (and smirking as he all but shot out of his seat, muscles jumping beneath her hand), "is not playing fair." She jerked as he whipped the car into the driveway and threw it into park, unbuckling to turn and face her with such a loaded look that her breath caught in her chest. "Barbara, dear," he all but purred, leaning over to grip her shoulders and guide him towards her, "I have never played fair." His thumbs stroked along her neck, tracing light patterns across her skin as they trailed along the ridges of her collarbone. Only after she met his advances with a slow smile and a nod did he strike, one hand sliding up to palm her jaw and tilt her head up to meet his descending mouth.

Barbara was on fire, every nerve ending where they touched burning with sensation, the exhaustion of the last two weeks completely eclipsed by the passion that flared beneath her skin. Her hands rose of their own accord and fisted in the lapels of his jacket, tugging him closer as she yielded to his kiss, mouth working ferociously against his as she gave as good as she got.

Walter had not planned to lose his composure in such a manner—he had honestly intended it to be a quiet evening in, no deviations along the way. Fate had a handy manner of intervening, however, and now he found himself consumed by such a tremendous rush of desire that he could not help himself. He groaned and buried his free hand in her hair, its partner shifting from her jaw shifting to trail a fiery path down her neck. It was a kiss both tender and demanding, as Walter sought and searched and took everything she offered from her own embrace.

Lips parting, he took her lower lip between his, worrying it lightly with his teeth before sweeping his tongue into her mouth. Barbara propelled herself forward, pressing her torso as tightly to his as the car seats would allow and wrapping an arm around his shoulder as she tilted her head to allow him better access. Her other hand rose to card restlessly through his hair and causing Walter to growl against her mouth.

Conceding all pretense of propriety, he braced himself and shifted, pulling her across from her seat and into his lap, curling a possessive arm around her back. Barbara laughed into their kiss, a bright, happy sound that he would sacrifice everything to hear every day. She slid her hands up his chest, pushing his jacket down as far as it would go and tracing lines across his ribs over his sweater, feeling him shudder beneath her touch.

She opened eyes that refused to stay focused, meeting his gaze with a look of such desire that he lost what modicum of control he had, eyes flashing scarlet. Barbara inhaled sharply, a shudder of pure lust spiking through her. They hadn't spoken much of his troll form, but he had caught her eyeing him contemplatively throughout the past few weeks on the few occasions he had elected to shift and had wondered at the gleam he saw in her eyes. Now he knew the path her thoughts had taken and he repressed a groan, tearing his mouth away from hers to trail a line of kisses down the pale column of her neck. He reached the juncture of her neck and shoulder and bit lightly, applying just enough pressure to leave a mark that would claim her as his own.

"Walt," Barbara breathed, nearly undone by sensation. Her fingers fisted in his hair, yanking him back up to her waiting mouth. She raked her nails lightly down his sides, hands sliding under his dark sweater and across the cool skin of his stomach, tracing lines across his waist and around to his back.

Finally, the need for oxygen overtook them, and both drew back slightly, gasping for breath. Their eyes locked, their mutual hunger giving way to a more muted tenderness. Walter could not repress a chuckle as they each took in the other's appearance. Barbara's hair was snarled, her glasses knocked askew, and her scrub top was riding embarrassingly high on her waist exposing a thin strip of pale stomach that had Walter repressing the urge to lean down and apply the same attentions he had to her neck. For his part, Walter appeared somewhat more composed outwardly, other than the jacket bunched up around his elbows; however, the tell-tale, rapid-fire beat of his traitorous heart beneath her palms gave him away.

"Well—"

"That was—"

They both laughed, Barbara leaning forward to press her face against his chest, melting into his neck and wrapping one arm around his waist as the other rose to his press against his heart. "Thank you, Walt," she murmured, lips tickling his skin and sending a shudder rippling through him.

"For what?" he inquired, his hand rising without conscious thought to smooth her hair, fingers combing through the fiery strands before settling at the nape of her neck, playing with the fine tendrils that curled about her shoulders.

"Mmm," she nestled in closer, eyes flickering closed. "For everything the last few weeks. I know you've been going out of your way to take care of me—and Jim, as much as he'll allow—and to keep the house straight and make those wonderful meals for me—"

Walter smiled, hit by a sudden upwelling of pure adoration toward the woman in his arms. "It was no trouble at all, my dear," he assured her, tucking an errant hank of hair behind her ear before cupping her cheek in his large palm, thumb smoothing over her bottom lip. He looked down at her with an expression of such tenderness that Barbara thought she very well might melt. "I would do so much more for you with no thought at all for the consequences."

The inadvertent sincerity in his words floored them both, and Barbara buried her face in his sweater so he wouldn't see the uncharacteristic tears that gathered in the corners of her eyes at the utter conviction contained within his words. "I know you would," she choked out, giving his torso such a ferocious squeeze that Walter knew precisely what it was she wasn't saying.

"Barbara," he said thickly, trying not to gulp or stammer as he fought to get the right words out, "I—"

Drawing back from his chest, she pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, eyes bright and swimming with unspoken emotion. "I know, Walter," she said, nose brushing his chin as she turned her head up to brush her lips against the opposite corner of his mouth. "Me too."

His heart swelled, and he choked back the words that welled up at her admission, biting back utterances that did no justice to the significance of the situation. Instead, he simply pressed his forehead against hers, eyes slipping shut as he cradled her to him, cherishing the feel of her in his embrace and realizing with dawning wonder that this was the beginning for them—for far too long he had lived on the cusp of his story's dénouement, always waiting for the catalyst that would send him spiraling down to the conclusion.

A whisper of clothing and the shift of Barbara against his chest brought him back to the present, and he realized as her breathing slowed and softened that the events of the last few weeks had finally caught up with the woman in his arms, sleep claiming her as its own for the night.

Humming, he pressed a light kiss to the top of her head and gathered her in his arms, swinging open the car door and working his way out into the crisp evening air, his burden feather-light in his arms. She would be embarrassed she had fallen asleep, he knew, but it was what he had planned from the beginning. She had all weekend, and after that—well, they had forever.