prompt from imagineyourotp on tumblr: Imagine person A of your OTP retiring early because they're completely and utterly exhausted after an all-nighter. They sleep for a considerable length of time. Person B comes home, hours later, to find Person A asleep. Not wanting to wake person A, they instead slip under the covers and cuddle close to person A. Person A, having anticipated this, embraces them closely and together they fall asleep as though they'd been sleeping together the whole time.

Boarding the plane now.

Ned puts his phone away, having confirmed that Nancy sent no message after. He had to work a full day, thanks to the project he and his team are responsible for completing by the end of the week, and he didn't even leave until thirty minutes after he usually does.

He's impatient to get home to his wife, but he knows very well that she is completely and utterly drained, and likely will be for the next day. Her flight was incredibly long, and the case she worked was frustrating. All their phone calls were terse, thanks to her distraction and the stress she was under. Half the time, his phone calls had gone unanswered and unreturned.

Nancy loves her job. And then, on days like this, she's worn out and it's like every bit of her strength has gone to finding the solution to her case. Then she comes home to him—and that's how she recharges.

And Ned loves her. Maybe he doesn't love this part as much, seeing the woman he loves hollowed out for the benefit of a person who may not care or even know she was involved. She specializes in time-sensitive recoveries, of people, secrets, merchandise and weapons, and half the time when she's gone he's not even allowed to know where. But she tells him anyway, because there are secrets and then there are secrets, and if she's gone missing he wants a trail to follow and a way to find her that doesn't involve wrestling his way through miles of bureaucratic red tape.

He has her, and it's just as incredible as being allowed to possess a star for his very own.

He has it down to a science; he picks up chicken marsala and pasta e fagioli soup with breadsticks from the Italian place on the way home, even though he's glancing at his watch every thirty seconds, impatient to get home, to get to her. Traffic is terrible and when he finally makes it to their townhouse, her car is still parked in its usual space, but a drift of fall leaves has gathered against the windshield wipers.

From long experience, he lets himself in but doesn't call for her as he disables the alarm. He leaves the takeout bags on the kitchen table, his briefcase beside the couch, and makes his way up the stairs.

She is in their bed, face hidden under the covers but her reddish-gold hair on her pillow; she's in the middle of their bed and he can see her comfortable flats toed off in the middle of the rug and her clothes in a pile on the floor, her suitcases not yet unpacked and lined up beside their dresser. He can hear her breathing.

He smiles and goes downstairs, eating a breadstick before he puts the food away. It will keep; it always has, but sometimes she's keyed up enough to still be awake when he comes home.

Then he toes out of his own dress shoes and leaves them in their closet, strips out of his suit and leaves it neatly draped over the trunk at the foot of their bed. When he's in his boxers he pulls back the covers and slides beneath with a sigh. Nancy makes a soft sound in her sleep and Ned rests his head on his pillow, reaching for her. She stripped down to her own underwear before sliding into the bed, and her skin is warm against his as he cuddles her to him.

"I'm glad you're home," he whispers, closing his eyes.

Then she drapes her arm over him, releasing a soft, contented sigh. "Love you," she mumbles.

"Love you too."

He's drifting off—he's had a long day too, though not nearly as long as hers—when she makes another soft sound and moves against him. "Didn't love you yesterday when I was throwing up everything."

Her voice is still a little slurred with exhaustion, and Ned strokes a hand down her hair. "Mmm?"

His eyes are just drifting open and her features are shadowed in the last few dying rays of sunlight as she pushes herself up and looks down at him, swallowing a yawn. "You knocked me up, Nickerson."

His eyes widen, and he's speechless for a moment; her words were soft and matter-of-fact, but her lips curl up a little as she studies his face. "Nan? I…"

"Yeah," she agrees when he trails off, and plants a soft kiss against his lips just before he grins. "That's how I felt too."