Author Note: I wrote this epilogue a very long time ago, when I first started IYE. It's short, and this is the last thing I'll add to the story, but have a little 'happy ending' that's been a long time coming. -Sar

Epilogue

It was the crying that woke her up, forcing her stumbling from her bed and groping through the dark for her bathrobe like so many nights before. She attempted to rub at her bleary eyes as she staggered from the dark bedroom, but to no avail, relying on memory to navigate the pitch-black hallway. In being woken from the dead of sleep, she had no idea how long the crying had been going on, but in her new wakefulness she was completely unaware that it stopped even before she left the bedroom. It was not until she reached the familiar doorway at the end of the hall and saw a sliver of light streaming outwards that she realized she no longer heard the distressed wails of an infant.

Her vision suddenly clearing, a smile spread upon her lips as she recognized the faintest sound from beyond, pushing the partially-closed door just a touch wider on silent hinges.

He was sprawled out on the floor, on his back, his eyes closed and his lack of movement causing him to look as though he were sleeping. But she knew better. He was positioned just beside the white basket crib she had so carefully picked out all those weeks ago, clad only in pajama bottoms with the crib empty. Instead, it was his arms –or arm, to be more exact—that was full with a small bundle of cloth, resting peacefully, quietly against a bare chest, cradled in the crook of one, toned arm. From this angle, she could just make out the tiny face hidden amidst the baby blanket and clothes.

He was singing.

The sound was low, almost inaudible to her ears, but it was calm and beautiful nevertheless. It was something she had never seen or heard him do before the birth of their child. In fact, she had not even known he could sing before the first night she had stumbled upon his late-night baby episodes, and he did not repeat such performances in the daytime hours. It was a special treasure he preserved only for the child he loved so very dearly, and she felt her heart melt just watching him.

For once in a long while, he looked at peace: a rare joy. The hard planes of his face were smooth, relaxed. His body, normally coiled and ready to react, lay at ease, his muscles unknotted. He appeared in a manner she had never seen before, even in the throes of sleep—all because of the small treasure in his arms.

Five years… it had taken them five years to get to this point.

She still had nightmares sometimes, waking in the dark with tears running down her face and her chest heaving in desperate gasps. There were moments when they made love where she became suddenly frozen, old memories of pain and terror flashing through her mind. But he was always there, solid and steady, soothing her and coaxing her back to the reality of the life they had found with one another. Now, watching him hold their child—something beautiful created by their love—she put aside the old fears and accepted that they had found their own peace, beyond the end of war.

For the first time in their lives, they were both safe.

Leaning against the wall just beside the doorway, she slid slowly to the floor and rested her head back with eyes closed, listening to the sound of that quiet voice as it soothed their firstborn. He would find her there in the morning—fast asleep with a smile on her lips—and carry her back to their bed.

END