Over the course of the next few days, it became apparent that it was not just Rand the modern-day lawyer who was inhabiting that body, but Randal the ghost, as well. Two lives, but not two separate souls - one soul, one mind, one body, one heart. It was confusing at first to reconcile all the memories and experiences of two separate lifetimes, and one afterlife, and there were times when his speech patterns tended to slip back and forth from the more cordial speech of the earlier part of the 20th century and the present day. With the painting burned and Isabelle's ghost freed, the whole house seemed to take on a lighter, happier feel, just like the former master of the house.

There was just one more thing they needed to take care of to make it all official, and it wasn't about the house or the inheritance. Over the course of a few days, he made all the arrangements. He'd had to call into work and arrange to take a few more days off, but once they learned why, they were more than willing to comply with his wishes. He woke early that morning and crept out of bed, tossing on a bathrobe before making his way downstairs, as quietly as he could. He'd made sure not to wake her, though he did lean over to brush a kiss against her cheek before slipping from bed.

The woman he left in the bed was no more or less what she seemed, what she had always been. Her faith in him had never wavered, even when he had come back to her, living and breathing and utterly unaware of who he was or what he meant to her. They called the first days, weeks, months, even years, of a relationship the honeymoon period; if that was so, then Kit was sure they would be living on honey for decades. Even in her sleep, she was aware when he left, rolling over to gather his abandoned pillow into her arms, pressing her face into the scent of him left behind.

A little while later, the smell of breakfast wafted through the house - not a full English breakfast like he liked, but something more to her liking. Whether she got up and joined him or he went to her was irrelevant. It wasn't just breakfast he had planned, but something far more important.

The smell of food was what eventually woke her - that, and the slow dawning realization that he wasn't lying beside her as she had grown accustomed to over the past days. Blinking the sleep out of her eyes, she rolled onto her back, brushing her hair out of her eyes as she grinned to herself. Too impatient to play at being asleep, she wriggled out of bed, remembering to at least put his shirt on before she slipped out of the room, padding downstairs toward the delicious smell and even more delicious presence of her Rand.

He was humming to himself rather merrily as he moved about in the kitchen, wearing nothing more than an old-fashioned looking striped bathrobe. He had coffee brewing, rather than tea, and had thick slices of bread frying in a pan while he sliced up some fresh strawberries he'd bought at the market. It wasn't quite clear what he was humming, but whatever it was, it seemed a quite happy tune, if a little outdated.

Tucking her arms about herself, Kit leaned in the doorway, the silly grin she had worn on waking fading into something warmer and softer as she watched him at work, biting her lip in an attempt not to giggle at the sight of that silly bathrobe of his. He was so attached to the thing, despite its almost threadbare cuffs. "Should I go back to bed, or can anyone join in?"

He beamed a smile over at her as he turned toward her, that silly bathrobe loosely cinched at his waist. He licked a bit of butter from an index finger at the sight of her, in a ridiculously happy mood for some reason, besides the obvious. "I can bring you your breakfast in bed, if you like, love," he replied, giving her the choice of either joining him or curling back up in bed.

"Now why would I go all the way back upstairs when all I want is right here in front of me?" she asked him, her voice warm with the adoration she didn't need to keep at bay any more. She moved into the kitchen, sliding her arms about him to press a kiss to the bare skin peeking from the v of his robe. "Good morning, by the way."

"Good morning," he echoed, a spatula in one hand and a butter knife in the other, unable to return the embrace, just yet. "I hate to be break this up, but I need to flip the toast." French toast, that is. He did manage to kiss the tip of her nose, though.

She laughed, ducking out from under his arm with a gentle, if cheeky, pat to his rear end. "Is there anything I can do to help?" she asked, looking around at his breakfast preparations with interest. It didn't look like there was a full English happening here, but then again, she never quite knew what was going to turn up on her plate when Rand was cooking.

"Actually, if you don't mind, you could set the table," he suggested, smirking a little at the pat to his rear, which he was only just starting to realize she was rather fond of. "I hope you like French toast. I haven't made this in a while. There's a pot of coffee on, unless you'd like tea."

"I haven't had French toast in a long time," she assured him with a warm smile, moving to open a drawer and exhume some of the cutlery. She was going to have to get an organizer for that drawer at some point, rather than have them both risking multiple cuts every time they went looking for a spoon. "And you know how I like my coffee." She leaned around his arm to look at his cooking. "What is the occasion, dare I ask?"

"What' I can't make breakfast for my fiancee without there being a special occasion?" he asked, with a slightly mischievous gleam in his eyes, before he turned back toward the stove to finish up his cooking, returning to his humming as if all of this was quite ordinary.

"Well, no, I didn't say that," she laughed, backing up to claim plates before finally turning to the table to set their places. She had no idea quite what was going on here, so the selection of condiments was extensive by the time she had finished. "But I seem to recall an agreement that, on week days, I make breakfast so you can sleep in a little longer" Or did I dream that?" She nudged his hip with hers on her way toward the coffee pot.

"Oh, well, I called the office and told them I was taking a few days off. Do you have a problem with that?" he countered, chuckling at the gentle hip check. More than a few days actually, but she'd find out the details soon enough. He kept an eye on her as she moved around the kitchen, as if he was keeping track of her movement for some reason.

Kit paused, pleasure mixing with more than a little suspicion in her expression as she looked over at him. "What on earth for?" she asked through her smile. "Not that I'm complaining, naturally, but ....why take time off so close to Christmas, when the law courts are closed for two weeks anyway?"

There was that little half-smirk on his face again, as if he'd done something sneaky, which, in fact, he had. "You did. Remember when you were signing the paperwork to get the house Listed" You signed an application for a marriage license, too. I called in a few favors and got us a special dispensation, so we don't have to wait the usual two weeks."

"What?" She burst into giggles, duly impressed by his sneakiness as her arms curled about his neck once again. "Remind me to read everything you wave at me in future," she told him sweetly, lips brushing his once again. At this rate, breakfast was going to have to be reheated. "You are marvelously sneaky, love. I adore you."

He shrugged, that grin widening a little, though he did not thankfully blush. "I'm a lawyer. I have to be sneaky sometimes," he explained nonchalantly. "If you really want a new dress, we could dash out for a few hours before packing," he suggested. Rings were another matter, but he had taken care of that, too. He just hoped she didn't mind him deciding for her. He was a little old fashioned that way.

"Now why would I waste a few hours shopping when I could spend them much more enjoyably with you?" she pointed out, despite her minor moment of omigoshineedclothes girlishness. She did, as he had pointed out, have a closet full of dresses she'd barely worn more than once. Her mind hadn't turned to rings, though even if it had, she trusted him to have everything they required to get this made official done and dusted. "How much packing do I need to do?" Which was a roundabout way of asking whether or not he'd laid out a honeymoon weekend for them as well.

Though breakfast was getting cold, he had a smile on his face. In fact, he could hardly stop smiling lately, ever since the two halves of his soul had been reunited and Isabelle's presence in the house had disappeared. "There's not much point in going all the way to Scotland, if we're not going to stay at least a few days," he reasoned. Though it wasn't all that far away really, if all they wanted to do was get married, they could have done that right there in Hastings.

She laughed cheerfully, nuzzling close for a long moment. "That still doesn't tell me how much I need to pack," she pointed out. "Although I could probably pack for a week or two with just one suitcase, if you don't mind sharing your living space with my intimates hanging out to dry everywhere."

"I happen to be rather fond of your intimates," he replied with a smirk, as he leaned close to brush his nose against hers. "What do you say' It's not too late to cancel, if you'd prefer something else." He had made a lot of assumptions, but neither of them had family really, except for her estranged mother. There was no one he really cared to have present - the only person he needed there was her.

"We're not cancelling," Kit informed him firmly, stroking her fingers through his curls. "It's perfect, love, absolutely perfect." She kissed him very gently, very briefly, and moved to slide off his lap. "And now I will eat breakfast, and then I will eat you."

He smiled softly into her kiss, rolling his eyes a little at her teasing. "Good lord, woman, I'm not dessert!" he said laughing, though he could hardly complain. He gave her rear a little affectionate pat as she moved away from him, and adjusted his robe as he turned back to the table.

Giggling at that little pat, she slipped from his lap to retake her seat, rubbing her little Cookie Monster against her cheek once again before lifting her knife and fork. For a moment, she looked like nothing so much as a small child waiting to be served impatiently, grinning at him from across the table. "Just as well you didn't bring this to me in bed, or it would definitely have gone cold before we got to it."

"It's the robe, isn't it?" he teased back, a playful gleam in his blue eyes. He knew the bathrobe had seen better days, but it was comfy and worn in and one of those things he just couldn't bear to part with. He was slowly unpacking what belongings he'd brought with him, as there was no question about where they were going to live. He scooped up a few slices of French toast and set them on her plate, along with a few strawberries, allowing her to choose her toppings for herself from the array of choices she'd laid out on the table.

"And the robe, yes," she giggled, surveying what she'd been given and going for the whipped cream. A ludicrous choice for breakfast most of the time, but today was something special. "Are we taking the train to London this evening, then, or are you going to park your car in a dubious car park for the duration of our absence?"

"Would you mind awfully if we take the train?" he asked as he skewered a couple of slices of toast for himself. They could easily arrange for a cab to take them to the station so they didn't have to take the car. He spread some butter over his fried bread until it melted and followed it up with jam.

"Of course I don't mind," she assured him, covering her own French toast with liberal amounts of whipped cream. Setting the can aside, she then began to arrange her strawberries on top in a pleasing pattern. "We don't have to be in Euston until half past eleven tonight, and, well, the train from here will get us there in half an hour. Forty minutes, tops. Whatever are we going to do with the time, Mr. Soon-to-be-groom?"

"Besides packing, Miss Soon-to-be-bride?" he countered, as he cut into his breakfast with a fork and knife. "How long would you like to stay?" he asked, leaving it up to her whether they stayed for a few days or a few weeks. They both deserved and needed a vacation after everything they'd both been through lately, and what better way vacation than a honeymoon"

This, she seemed to give considerable thought as she chewed her own first mouthful, though her answer was delayed somewhat by the rather unsuitable for the breakfast table groan she emitted. Evidently his cooking was something else about him his bouncy sculptor enjoyed greatly. "Mmmm ..." She swallowed, batting her lashes at him across the table. "Is there a rule that says we have to stay in Gretna?"

"What, do you want to go see Nessie?" he teased back before taking a swallow of his own first bite of breakfast, an amused smile on his face at her lash-batting. "Are you flirting with me, Miss Clarke?"

"Am I not allowed to flirt with you, Mr. Nichols?" she asked innocently. "Maybe I should put some music on and recreate Halloween 2013 for you, instead." She grinned, utterly shameless when it came to him. "And no, not Nessie. But Edinburgh has a certain allure."

"I am telling you." The sound she made might almost have been a laugh, but for the complete lack of any mirth in the sound. She leaned back into him, smoothing her hands over the arms that wrapped about her. "She didn't do anything," she said quietly. "Anything. She was excellent at playing the part of a mother, in public where people could see her, but I might as well not have existed. She didn't come to any school events, she didn't show any interest in me at all. She went through men like a knife through butter; every time I got attached to one of them, he'd be gone. Even now, when she tries to contact me, it isn't because she wants to talk to me ....it's because she wants me to sell the house so that Nana's estate will revert to her. She wants Nana's money. She never wanted me."

If what she was telling him was the truth, then their mothers were as different as night and day. His heart ached for her, and he almost wished he'd never brought the subject up at all. "I'm sorry, love," he told her, brushing a kiss against the side of her neck. "There may come a day when she regrets it, but I promise you I will never mention it again."

She sighed, twisting to curl into his arms. "I should have told you before, I suppose," she said quietly. "But it seems so petty on the surface, to cut her out of my life just because she didn't ever want to be a mother in the first place. I can't explain it better, love. I don't hold grudges as a rule, but I can't forgive her - not for what she did to my dad."

"Why didn't you go live with him?" he asked, curiously, though she may not have been given a choice. He knew she'd been close to her grandmother; it was a bond they both shared, though only part of his soul remembered her.

She shrugged lightly. "I was three, Mum got full custody," she offered. "I don't know why, but it took a couple of years for Nana to convince her to allow him visiting rights. And then I lost him." Unexpectedly, she felt herself tear up, pressing her face against that ridiculous bathrobe. She'd thought she had cried her tears for her father a long time ago; why, then, did talking about him now seem to bring them back"

He held her close, wishing he'd never asked about her mother, wishng he'd never brought the subject up at all. The grief he felt for his own parents' deaths seemed trivial compared to hers. At least, he'd known love from both of them before they'd been taken from him. As fresh as the grief was over his mother's death, he could at least console himself with that. There was nothing he could say or do to take away her pain, but he would be there for comfort and console and love her for as long as he lived. "I'm sorry, Kit. I shouldn't have brought it up. I'm so sorry." He wished he could take his words back, but it was too late for that now.

She shook her head, pushing the tears away before many had a chance to fall - another thing she had learned from years as her mother's daughter. Despite how easily her tears fell when she felt his pain, she never truly let herself feel her own. "No, you needed to know," she told him quietly, raising her head to look up at him, offering up a small smile. "I should have told you before."

"You told me a little," he admitted, but not so much that he should have known better to ask. He wished she could have met his parents. They would have adored her, but it was too late for that now. "At least, you had your Gran. She was a lovely woman, and she loved you very much."

Her smile grew at the mention of her grandmother, though it was touched with more than a little regret. "I miss her," she admitted softly, nuzzling close to him once again. "I'll never be able to thank her for giving me this house, and for you."

"I'm sure she'd be very proud of you. In fact, I know it. She talked about you often. You were her pride and joy." If her mother had neglected her, at least, she'd had her grandmother to make up for it. Perhaps one day, he'd meet her mother in person and give the woman a piece of his mind. He touched a kiss to her temple, loving and protective. "Let's not talk anymore about it. We have packing to do," he reminded her with a warm smile, ever patient, ever loving.

Kit raised her head once again, the softness back in her smile as she rose onto her toes, drawing him down into a slow, gentle kiss. The long-held resentment against her mother was carefully packaged away once again, and unlikely to be unpacked unless the woman committed a serious infraction. "We're getting married tomorrow," she murmured to him, fingertips tugging the belt of his robe loose to let her hands slide over his skin. "Can't you think of anything you'd rather do right now than pack?"

He just about melted into her embrace, his lips lingering longingly against hers. If what was hidden beneath his robe was any proof, he wasn't really thinking so much about packing at the moment. "I can think of a few things I'd rather do right now," he admitted, his forehead coming to rest against hers. They had at least a few hours to kill, and he could think of no better way to spend them than with her. "Would you like a preview of what it will be like to be Mrs. Randal Nichols?" he asked with a soft smile on his face.

"Always." The mischief in her eyes was always touched with love whenever she looked at him, her workshop and ongoing projects forgotten in the wonderful surprise he had presented her with that morning. She had no deadlines within the next couple of weeks, and her work habits were such that she was already ahead of schedule on everything anyway. There was nothing to stain their time together.

And with that said, he took hold of her hand and led her away from the kitchen to the bedroom they had chosen for their own. In another few hours, they'd be on a train bound for Scotland to at last join their hearts and lives in marriage. For a man who had ended his life a century ago, his heart so shattered he could not bear to go on, it was like a miracle. He was getting a second chance at life and at love with the woman who had broken the curse by opening her heart to him and letting him in, giving him a reason to hope and trust and love again. And this time, it would be forever.

((Patience doesn't seem to be a virtue for these two anymore, does it' Who knows, maybe one day Rand'll get a chance to give his prospective mother in law a piece of his mind. Stay tuned for Gretna Green!))