A/N: A collection of 'fluff' which is just me getting to write out all of the hopes I had for Lou and Will as a couple.

It was quiet in the annexe. Quiet and dark. I looked around in surprise to see all of the curtains had been draped shut. The home was lit by candles on the floor, candles on the bench top, candles everywhere. Had there been a power outage? Was Will's chair charged enough to get him through?

"Will?" I called as I put my bag on the kitchen table.

"In here!"

I walked into the living room, half expecting Will to be in a mood due to the darkness but that was the opposite of what I found. The living room had more little tealight candles lighting up the room where hundreds of rose petals decorated the floor and chair. And Will... Will was not in his chair. He was on the couch, his arm lazily draped over the side in a suit that had been tailored to perfect. He looked as if he would have been able to get up and greet me, so comfortable out of his chair, but we both knew the truth. A bottle of champagne had been poured for us in two glasses and a small box sat on the table. I sat beside him, beneath his arm and snuggled into his side, moving his arm to wrap around me and threading my fingers through his. It had become such a routine, to be gently nestled against Will.

"What's all this?" I asked as an amused Will looked at me. He was freshly shaven and smelled wonderful, a cologne I didn't recognise. He had a baby blue shirt beneath his black suit jacket, complimenting his eyes which shone so brightly that night.

"You, Miss Louisa Clark, are wonderful. Do you know that?" he grinned at me. I laughed, kissing his cheek.

"What are you up to, Will Traynor?"

He looked at me innocently, a silent hum of excitement radiating off him. He met my gaze. "I know I can't offer you everything I might have five years ago, Clark... but I'll be damned if I don't give you everything I can." I squeezed his fingers, knowing that reminding him that he wouldn't have given me a second look, let alone loved me, five years ago, would serve of no purpose.

He lifted his hand a little, pointing at the box on the coffee table where the champagne lay. "Open it." I unwrapped myself from Will and picked up the box, coloured a blue velvet. I admired it for a moment, wondering if I'd have any purpose for it in the future. Then I opened it to a ring. I almost fainted.

"Clark," Will grinned at me, almost unsurely. "I promise to stay with you until my last breath, promise to stick with you in health and sickness... I promise to take you on adventures and not be trapped by my chair. I promise you a good life. Clark... will you marry me?"

I felt tears drip down my face as I stared at the ring. A golden band with stones decorating the focal point of the ring: a large diamond. I could tell just from the look of it that it had cost more than I'd have made in six months of pay, perhaps even a year. Despite unsure of how I felt about hoisting that rock around all day, I could see it. The life with Will, the rest of my life spent by his side.

He laughed. "Is that a yes? I didn't mean to make you cry..."

I laughed too, shaking my head. "Happy tears, happy tears, I promise. Yes, a million times yes, Will!" I placed the ring carefully on my finger, testing it's weight on my hand, surprised at how natural it felt on my finger.

Will waited a moment before impatience caught him. "Well, let me kiss my fiancee, damn it Clark!"

Will was not soft. Never had been, never will be. He was logical and to the point and wouldn't spare your feelings if it came to telling the truth. It's almost funny, seeing someone so constantly solid, crumble. When I'd held our son to Will's lap, Will cried. Not in the silent crying way but in the snotty, messy sobbing of somebody who had lost hope so long ago. Someone who had given up the thought of ever having sex, let alone children. And here he was with his son.

I wrapped my arm around Will's shoulder, kissing his cheek.

"We did good," I promised as he looked up at me through misty eyes.

"You make me so happy, Clark," he murmured, quiet enough for only me to hear. I moved Will's arm around the baby's head, helping Will feel the tuft of hair on his baby's head. The little hands of the infant outstretched slightly and grabbed at anything around him: Will's thumb was the first thing he found. He fiddled with Will's thumb, letting out a noise that resembled a gurgle in response. Will laughed, his face a lit. He would be a great father, I knew this as soon as he'd met Thomas for the first time. I was so glad I was able to give him what he deserved.

"What should we name this little guy?" I asked, stroking Will's hair with one hand, and my son's with the other. Will looked up at me, his eyes holding all the gratitude and love in the world. We'd had the name talk so many times over the nine months, coming up with several names that never quite suited. Christian, Lucas, George... Will had scoffed at me when I'd suggest Will Jr. and we came back full circle.

"Noah," Will asked, moving his thumb as much as it could in the baby's hand.

"Noah," I repeated, staring at the child with eyes so perfectly close to Will's. "Perfect."

And so Noah Traynor was born.

I'd seen Will a lot of things - angry, sad, disappointed, delighted, proud but for the first time, I saw Will determined to improve in his chair. It had begun when Noah had begun walking. Clumsily and eagerly, Noah wanted to climb everywhere and on an afternoon where I had been preoccupied, Noah had fallen and scratched his knee. Will told me he'd felt helpless, completely trapped.

"It could have been so much worse," he whispered to me as I squeezed his hand. That was the day that Will demanded more physio than he'd ever done before, looked into more research on spinal injuries, just tried for the first time since his accident. It was mostly unsuccessful - there had been advances in some areas but most of it seemed out of reach. However Will worked tirelessly in physio.

"He's putting in effort now," Nathan mused at me a week after Noah's injury. "He's motivated. It's... wonderful, Lou. It really is wonderful to see him so determined to improve again."

It took months for any noticeable changes - gradual use of his fingers was the goal. It was around six months into physio that he could lift objects. With limited use of his elbows however, carrying Noah, a hope I could see glaring in Will's eyes, was still out of reach. So came the next goal.

We were expecting a daughter by the time Will had gained use of his elbows (it was tiring and sometimes even painful but he was able to move them with some concentration.) Throughout the pregnancy, Will had been able to move his hand to touch my belly, delighted by the kicks and movements. To see the wonder on his face, the delight, was worth the wait.

And at long last, Will got to hold his son by himself. Noah giggled in his daddy's arms, delighted by the interaction from his father.

"Who's Daddy's favourite little boy?" Will baby talked, blowing raspberries into Noah's cheek.

Our house was a happy house now with babies crawling and happy grandparents popping in daily to check up on us. It had been ten years since Will's accident and eight since he'd met me. Little Noah was five now and our newborn baby girl, Olivia, had begun crawling and babbling happily. They both clearly had a favourite when in their father's arms. I think children know subconsciously how deeply important their existence was. How it had marked something off in Will's book, that he could be a father, not trapped by wheelchair as he'd assumed. We'd developed a routine now - I look after the children when they started crying in the middle of the night and once Will was seated in his chair, he took the day time with some assistance from some items that helped make this possible - a crib with a button that lowered the wall so Will could reach for Olivia; a small bar fridge low enough that Will could hook his foot into the fridge door to collect a bottle of milk. Noah was mature enough to realise he couldn't run away from his father who clearly couldn't chase after him.

One night had been a particularly hard night with Olivia keeping both of us up - when I'd seen Will still in bed at 11am, I nearly had a heart attack, jumping out of bed. But Nathan was holding little Olivia, who was dressed in a fresh onesie and being bounced on his hip.

"Did you know that your daddy used to ignore your mummy? He's so silly, isn't he, little Ollie?" Nathan pecked her forehead as he took a bottle of milk out of the microwave, testing it on his palm. "And your mummy! You should have seen her when she first walked in - the fashion sense of a child! Well, that hasn't changed much, has it?"

I coughed behind him, raising an eyebrow. Nathan grinned at me. "I let you guys sleep in, no worries. Noah is with Josie on a walk and this little cutie," Nathan paused to make an excited face at her, "is just the the best patient I've ever had! You go back to bed, we're all good."

I gave Nathan a look of appreciation and practically jumped back into bed, snuggling up to Will who opened his eyes groggily.

"Hey handsome," I murmured, pulling Will into a more comfortable position from the position he'd slept in. He smiled at me, his body faced towards me on his side.

"Well, aren't you cheery so early in the - oh, what time is it, Clark? Did I sleep in? I'm sorry - fetch Nathan will you?" Stress marked Will's face and I reached the stroke his face, shaking my head.

"We have a babysitter. We can stay in bed all we like."

Will paused, eyes on the door before a sly grin crossed his face. "In that case..."