He sat at the bar and watched the door, expectantly. He arrived at 11:00, just in case she was early. He had not slept at all, spending the entire night at his drawing board with the two dimensional Emily. He waited as long as he could stand to before leaving to come into town, pacing around his studio and then drawing repetitive and imperfect images of her. He showered twice and changed his clothes three times. In the end he wore a suit she had chosen for him in London and a shirt and tie that had been her gift to him on a birthday. He made sure that he shaved, and that his shoes were polished. He wanted to buy her a present, at least get her flowers or something, but Robin said that probably wasn't a good idea. He didn't like coming empty-handed. A thought struck him as he waited: he came to her with nothing but his heart when he asked her to marry him. Maybe it was the right thing after all. It was 12:10. He took a sip of his drink slowly. Maybe she wasn't coming. At 12:25, he drained the dregs of his second scotch. Emily was never late. He stared at the ring of condensation that his glass left on the polished bar and thought about how it felt to slip his ring on her finger the day they were married. He thought about how it felt to have her slip into his arms every night. Was all of that gone from him now?

The door opened and he saw her dash inside, shaking the droplets of water from the Mack that she held over her head. It hit him like another freight train, but this time is was just relief and the urge to draw her. Seeing her again took his breath away. How long had it been since he felt that flutter in his chest when she walked in the room? Far too long! The sparkling crystals of water in her hair shone like diamonds. She wore it up, as she always did in public; twisted into a tidy knot near the crown of her head. She wore some sort of white and navy striped shirt and navy, wide-legged pants. Chanel, he recognized – not because he knew or cared anything about women's fashion, but because Emily wore it exclusively when she wasn't wearing his clothes. Oh, for a pencil and paper to sketch her profile! It was such a relief to want and need to do that again! But, he knew this was not the time. He stood when he saw the maître d' motion toward him and he saw her look into the bar. He gulped back the nerves that suddenly rose in his throat.

"I'm so late!" she came toward him and shook her head. "I apologize. I didn't mean to make you wait." She stood in front of him and looked up. Every fiber of her wanted to reach up and kiss him, pull him into her arms and just will this away. She resisted that impulse and smiled at him instead, slightly.

He shook his head, "It's alright." It was anything but right! On the other hand, he would have sat here forever if there was even the slightest chance that she might appear and give him the chance to regain what he had lost. He reached down and tentatively brushed his lips against her cheek. He was aiming for her lips, but she turned her head at the last moment. Her skin was damp and she tasted like satin and spring. "It's raining," he said simply. He had to say something.

Emily nodded at his statement of the obvious, "Yes, it is. The EL was a madhouse. May I?" she motioned to the stool on his right. He was nervous, that was obvious. So was she. How did one start a conversation like this? Leaving had been one thing. In a way it was easy and obvious to just go. To now try to some sort of understanding about why would be awkward and difficult. Regardless, he needed to be able to hear her, so she asked for her usual place on his right-hand side. The old injury was not normally a problem, but if he was upset at all his left ear was useless. When his blood pressure rose, his ability to hear decreased.

"Of course," he shook himself and pulled it out for her, embarrassed at his own lack of manners. He had always just assumed that she would be there, at his side. That assumption, the fact that he had taken her presence so much for granted over the past few years, was why they were here. He raised his hand and ordered Scotch for them both. What was he supposed to say? He waited until their drinks were delivered, then took a deep breath, "I want you to come home."

Emily took a sip of her drink: Balvenie, single malt, one of their favorites. She didn't say anything in response. She didn't know what she was supposed to say or do, but she knew she couldn't just go back. It couldn't be about what he wanted, either. If they were going to make this work it had to be about both of them. Things were going to have to change if they were going to try to be together again. Last night, after she spoke to him and had time to calm down, Emily realized that she did want this to work. She did not want to be alone for the rest of her life, and Teddy was the only one she had ever wanted to share it with. She let his words rest without responding. A part of her needed to let him feel some of what she had for years. Her journal this morning was a jumble of emotional ranting and raving; pages of the pain and doubt that had filled her white night. Although she was feeling the aftereffects of far too many nights without rest, writing it down was the catharsis she needed – it always was. She hoped she was less likely to fall into an abyss of anger and self-pity today because of it.

Teddy shuddered in the silence. Okay, that wasn't the right thing to say, obviously. When he heard it through her ears he realized it sounded selfish. It was not his prerogative to want anything from her; he had to earn it. Suddenly he knew what he needed to tell her more than anything else. "I started drawing the other night," he said the words softly.

Emily snapped her head up to look at him, in surprise. She saw that he was still nervous, but this was a boon she had never expected. When he looked at her she smiled, for real. "That's wonderful!" Her joy was absolutely genuine. This was the best possible news she could hear today – it was the best news she had heard from her husband in almost ten years. It meant that there was hope.

Her smile made him shudder. It was like magic to him when she looked at him that way. He took a deep breath, "It's rough. I feel awkward and uncoordinated, but… It's coming back to me, I hope." But all I want is for you to come back to me. He couldn't say that right now, somehow. He wanted to, and vowed that he would.

"It will," she nodded emphatically. "The hardest part is just getting started." She twisted her wedding ring around her finger with her thumb, absently. She wondered what had made him start again, but didn't feel that she had the right to ask, somehow. She was forming her next sentence when another voice interrupted hers.

"Frederick! Emily! Great to see you!"

Teddy's eyes flashed darkly at the man in annoyance, "Good afternoon, Joe." He offered his hand, but desperately wished this hadn't happened. He glanced at Emily. She had turned away from him and was staring at the drink in her hand. He saw her set her shoulders back with a decision and place the glass down precisely. He laid his hand on her wrist to stop her from leaving. It couldn't end like this, not now. He was not going to leave the words unsaid.

Joe Kennedy was nattering on about something and then took the seat on Teddy's left. Emily knew that this was impossible. They could never discuss anything now. She wanted to meet in public so that their emotions could not get the better of them. But she should have realized, or rather remembered, that going anywhere in public with Teddy meant business could and would creep in. That was the last thing she wanted to even think about right now – that was the reason they were in this situation to begin with. They would have to find another time. Teddy's hand on her wrist changed everything.

"Hope you don't mind if I join you?" Kennedy asked, obviously expecting the answer to be yes.

Emily wanted to pull away, desperately. She wanted to wrench her hand from Teddy's and run, as far and as fast as possible. She didn't want to sit here and listen to him talk about politics and position. She didn't care how it looked. This was not the man she wanted to be with right now, or ever.

Teddy looked at his wife and felt the tension in her hand. He knew that she would walk out if he didn't do something. "Actually Joe, we're leaving." He stood up and pulled Emily with him, rather abruptly. He made their excuses and led her out of the bar. He quickly retrieved her coat and helped her put it on. When they stepped out onto the wet street, he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry to rush you out like that. It just wasn't the time to start a conversation with him."

Emily looked up at him, "Don't apologize for that." She smiled at him gently, "Thank you for giving me the time." She was surprised that he had been willing to end the conversation at all. Kennedy was one of the people that Teddy usually made time for, regardless. It was still pouring out and she pulled up the collar of her coat as they stood under the awning, "Where to now?" She desperately hoped that he would not suggest going to Willomere. She couldn't do that.

Teddy took a deep breath, "Wherever you like. I just don't want to be interrupted any more, I need… we need to talk about this." He noticed that her coat was soaking wet and probably not warm at all. He pulled off his own and draped it over her.

At least he realized that! Perhaps she could handle doing this in private. "Let's get a cab then." They stepped up onto the sidewalk and Teddy hailed the first car to pass them. Emily pulled his coat closer around her unconsciously – it was habit. She had realized that there were certain minute and practical matters that fell solely into Teddy's purview in their relationship. Ordering dinner, hailing cabs, keeping her warm – they were all his. She had missed those more than she thought she would over the past few days. The sounds that her apartment made at night were rather frightening when she had to hear them all alone. For that and so much more, she needed her husband. She desperately hoped they could solve this.

Once they were in the cab, she spoke up quickly, "84 West 4th Street." She settled back beside Teddy and took a deep breath. She stared at her hands for a moment as the car moved slowly through the traffic. His arm rested on the seat behind her. Something that had been automatic for so long was somehow different now; she was aware of him in a way that she had not been for a long time. It was a sensitivity to his presence that had dulled over years of marriage, with familiarity and expectation. Emily thought that perhaps that might need to be changed too. This felt a bit awkward, but in a way it was a relief to just feel his nearness again. She knew that she could reach up with her left hand and take his so easily. It was what they both wanted. Not yet. She cleared her throat and tried to make conversation, "Robin is back from Vienna?"

"Yes," he looked out the window at the intersection they crossed. The address she had given was in Greenwich Village. He didn't know anyone in the Village other than his aunt and Janet, but he guessed that she must. That rankled. It was the New York epicenter of art and he had no idea what was even there. He'd spent too damned long on Wall Street to even know what was what in the art world these days. His wife had friends he had never met, or if he had he hadn't paid enough attention to know that was where she would go when she needed someone. What else had he ignored? What on earth was he supposed to say now?

They rode in an awkward silence the rest of the way. Emily stared at a crack in the vinyl of the seat in front of her. It looked a bit like a lightening fork, jagged and harsh. The very thought of it made her shudder. In spite of the fact that it was July, the air was cool and damp, and getting mostly soaked on the way from the train station had not done her much good. His coat helped, but she wanted to move closer to him and absorb the heat from his body. That was a luxury that she was no longer entitled to. She had given up that right when she walked out the door of their home. She shuddered again and hugged her arms about herself more tightly. To think that she might never have that again chilled her soul.

Teddy dropped his arm onto her shoulders, more out of desperation than anything else, and pulled her closer. He couldn't bear it when she was cold. Somehow it meant that he wasn't taking care of her. Well, that was certainly true right now. How long had it been since he had last been there for her when she really needed him?

Emily exhaled and moved into the embrace, "Thanks," she whispered gently. She knew he didn't hear her. It was a relief to her that he was still willing to be with her; that was something they could build upon.

The cab finally stopped and Emily reached for her purse out of habit. She never took cabs with Teddy, he always had a car. So when she was in one, she was used to paying. His hand moved quickly and stopped her. He handed over a bill she hadn't seen or felt him remove from his wallet, and helped her out, onto the sidewalk. Oddly enough, Teddy didn't usually pay for things - he never seemed to have to. She pulled her key out of her purse instead and stepped up the two concrete stairs to her door. She felt him behind her and realized that it was a comfort to have him there. She had returned to her flat last evening just after dark and wondered idly if it was really safe to be out and about alone in this rather questionable area of town. His body behind her was reassuring.

She used her shoulder to push open the heavy door. It had a bit of a trick to it – you had to pull the handle and lock toward you while you turned and pushed at the same time. She grabbed the mail from the floor and then stood up. He still stood on the doorstep, waiting for an invitation. That said something; he realized at least a bit of what was going on. "Come on up," she offered, trying to be as congenial and casual as possible, in spite of the reticence she felt. She shut and locked the door behind him, throwing the hallway abruptly into shadow. He let her precede him up the flight of stairs.

She tossed her keys and purse onto a chair at the top of the stairs and turned to face him, his coat was still around her shoulders. "Well, this is it," she waved her hand at the open area they stood in. She hated to take his coat off, but did and hung both it and her own up in the wardrobe, feeling its absence from her shoulders keenly.

Teddy stepped forward slowly. It was beautiful, absolutely beautiful. The light seemed to shimmer here, in warm, golden waves. Motes of dust spangled as they swirled about him. The rain had stopped as they drove, and now the warmth of the July sun was returning. "The light is incredible," he said softly. He stepped in further and stood in the center of the open living area. "Whose place is this?" He desperately hoped they wanted to sell. Hell, he would make sure they sold. This was an ideal studio.

Emily smiled to herself in satisfaction; she had known he would appreciate the light, and she also knew he would want to buy it. She still knew that much about the man in front of her. He would buy a whole house for one good window. "Mine," she said. He turned around in front of her and she saw the confused look in his eyes, "It's not for sale." Her grin widened.

"Yours? But how?" his forehead creased in confusion. How long had she owned this? Had she planned to leave him all along?

Emily made herself move forward to stand with him, "I've been married to you for thirty-eight years. I learned how to buy real estate too, you know." She touched his arm gently, stroking a line from his bicep to his wrist, "It was supposed to be a surprise for you. I suppose it is…" she let her voice trail off to nothing. Her fingers still rested on his hand, touching his wedding ring. She couldn't help but touch him, somehow. There had been a connection there once, a need to touch and be touched. There had been reassurance in contact, rather than reticence.

"Rather," he murmured. He stepped closer and took her hand, "Please don't leave me, Emily?" his voice was broken, but he was finally saying what he needed to. "I'll do anything you want me to. I'll sell the house, we can move back to the Island, whatever…" he shook his head. "Just don't leave me?" He felt somehow like he should get down on his knees and beg for this. It was worth it, if that was what it would take.

Emily dropped her head and looked at the hand that held hers. She squeezed it in spite of herself and shut her eyes. "I can't do it, Teddy. I can't live like that. We were lost to one another. I can't…" The tears fell onto their clasped hands. She didn't continue. She had to get a hold of herself! She couldn't give in just because he held her hand, as much as she wanted to.

"Oh God, love…" he pressed his lips into her hair and threaded his fingers into it. "I'm so sorry."

They stood that way for a long time. Finally she lifted her head and looked at him. She touched his cheek gently with her free hand, "I didn't want to leave you. I tried to tell you, but…" she shook her head. "It was like talking to a stranger; you never heard me. You never even heard that it was me talking to you. I can't do it… I can't live with someone I don't know."

"You know me, Emily," he whispered. "You know every fiber of my being." He desperately wanted to kiss her and make this all go away, but something inside him knew that even if they made love it would not make any difference, only cloud the issue and make everything more difficult for them both. They had to settle this completely before anything else would really work.

"Do I?" she asked quietly. "I did, once, but I don't know now. That scares me. I can't give myself to someone I don't know, Teddy." Physically it was her husband who stood in front of her, and she felt that he was hearing her now, but what about when the rest was in the way? Were they strong enough to fight that? She might as well say it. "I need you. I don't need houses and cars and business and money. That means nothing to me."

"It was all I had," his voice was a whisper.

Emily shook her head, "You had me. You've always had me." He still had her. This was what she feared more than anything – why she hadn't wanted to do this in private. What if they couldn't work this out? If he didn't understand that she was there for him, none of this could happen. And yet, 'whistle and I'll come to you, my lad' had never been more true for her than it was right now. But she couldn't lose herself in that again. She wouldn't survive it.

He shook his head, "I don't know how to say this to you. It hurts so much." He took a deep breath and tried anyway, "I've failed you too many times, Emily. I couldn't turn to you when I was never strong enough to be what you needed." He looked at her in desperation. He kissed the hand that rested on his cheek. He couldn't help but touch her.

"What on earth are you talking about?" Here it was. For the first time since their son was killed, he was opening up to her. "You have never failed me, ever… at least not before this. Teddy what is it?" Whatever it was had nearly torn their life apart.

"You lost two children because of me!" he blurted. "How can you ever forgive a man who…"

"Teddy!" she grabbed him into her arms and held onto him. "No!"

He set her away, gently, and walked toward the windows that looked out at the river. He didn't see anything real through the blur of his tears. He remembered coming home that night and seeing Jed. He remembered standing in the hallway and reading the telegram about Frank. It was those things that he saw instead of the view in front of him. It was the ultimate failure. He had failed the woman he loved when he let a part of her die.

"I have four children because of you," Emily said gently – the italics were completely necessary. "We have four children. We have four grandchildren. That's joy Teddy, not failure. Don't ever call our children a failure." She never spoke of their boys in the past tense. She never had.

He turned to look at her. There was nothing left but to finish it now, "I should have saved them," he whispered. Saying it out loud hurt, but it was a clean cut, keen and bright with pain. It was not the festering, agonizing guilt that had consumed him for the last nine years.

Emily felt her knees crumple and she slid down to the floor. How could she have not seen this? This was everything she had thought and felt. How could she not know that her husband, the man who had made their children with her, would not feel the same way? "How did I not see this?" she whispered, more to herself than to him. How many times had she thought the very same thing? How many times had she wanted to go back and feed Jed more often, give him more strength to fight it with? How many times had she wished that she understood the date she wrote in her diary years before it happened? December 7th, 1941 – the day the world as they knew it changed.

It was work just to exist. He had to make himself live through the pain. He had to take the air in and let it out, consciously. As he did, he realized that something had lifted, some unconscious weight was gone. Breathing came easier. The tears slowed. He opened his eyes and looked at his wife. She sat in the middle of the floor in a band of light from the windows, staring at him with a look that he understood. She was offering him everything she had. She was giving and he knew that he had to take. This was his one and only lifeline.

She watched as he crossed the floor and sat down beside her. She leaned against him and let him hold her. She let him past the wall again. He kissed her slowly and she kissed him back. There was no need to rush this now. Whatever was going to happen next didn't matter. There was only now and there was only them – together again.

She arched against him in the bed that had seemed so lonely to her this morning. "I don't remember…" she whispered the words close to his ear and held him closer. "Oh God, I can't remember," she shut her eyes and the tears came quickly, hot against her cheeks, hotter than his lips on her skin as they kissed them away.

"What? Honey, what don't you remember?" It was all familiar to him; every inch of her was mapped in his hands. He could trace every line, every contour, cover her in color and turn her tears into light. And yet, it was never the perfection he felt inside her.

She held his face in her hands and looked at him, gulping it back so she could speak, "Sometimes I can't remember what they looked like, but then I look at you and I see them. I don't remember the last time you held me like this. I can't live like that, ever again." She knew he understood when he moved inside her.

"Remember," he rasped and gathered her into his arms. "We'll never forget again."