For now, anyway. But Rand was a lawyer and knew well how to be polite even in the most difficult of circumstances. As for the ghost, well, he was even older than Andrew and raised in a time when good manners were highly-valued. "Yes, thank you," replied Andrew, pulling Amelia's chair out before retaking his seat. He might be old, but he wasn't decrepit. "I really don't deserve her, but she keeps me young."

"No, you really don't deserve her," Kit agreed with a barely stifled smile, long accustomed to double-meanings but confident that her mother would take it as a compliment.

As Amelia did, laughing delightedly at her daughter's words. "Well, aren't you in a lovely mood today, darling?" she thanked Kit warmly. "It must be because you're in love. You simply must tell us everything, Randal. When did you meet?"

Another man might have faltered or exchanged uncertain but knowing glances with his wife, but Rand hardly missed beat. He reached for Kit's hand, brushing a kiss against her knuckles, not just for show, but out of sincere affection. He didn't dare tell the woman the truth, as she'd never believe it anyway. He did look to Kit now, a warm smile on his face as he remembered their first meeting in this lifetime. "A rainstorm," he said, starting the story off. "My car broke down near the house, and she was kind enough to let me take shelter inside until it was fixed." That was not completely true, but it was the gist of it and he reckoned they didn't need anymore information than that.

"That can't have been very long ago, or I would have known about it," Amelia declared, happy to play the role of loving mother if it got her compliments. "You're not about to make me a grandmother, are you?" Before Kit could respond, she'd already moved on, curling her own hand about Andrew's affectionately. "Darling Andrew saved me from the most awful taxi driver you could name," she offered. "He simply charmed me off my feet!"

There was a slight pause as Kit forced herself not to react to the implication that the only reason anyone would marry her was because she was pregnant, raising a warm smile instead. "What is it you do, Andrew?" she asked curiously, her eyes deeply affectionate as her gaze flickered to Rand.

Rand might have jumped in and asked whether that was before or after she'd divorced her last husband, but he thought it would be better if he kept things civil. He held his tongue once again, allowing Kit to redirect the conversation back to Andrew.

"As little as possible," the elderly man replied with a soft chuckle, lifting a hand to call the waiter to their table so they could order drinks. "Might I recommend you start with a scotch' They have over 400 varieties of whiskey here, if you are so inclined," he said, to Rand, before turning back to Kit. "I was a banker by trade, but now I deal mostly in art, collecting and restoring old painting. Your mother tells me you are an artist, as well?"

Startled to hear that her mother had actually done more than complain about her, Kit glanced at Amelia in surprise, which the older woman took as an invitation to enter the conversation once again. "I did hear that one of the local churches in Hastings had taken a chance on commissioning you, darling," was her bright interjection. "I do hope it went well." Her eyes strayed back toward Rand, however. Something was knocking on her inner doors, trying to get her attention, it seemed.

Kit shook her head, forcing herself not to take offense again. "I'm a sculptor," she told Andrew politely. "I work mostly in base relief, but always in wood. And Mum's right, I was commissioned last year to provide a new altar piece for the local church. Which went perfectly well, Mum, and is in pride of place. Oh, I should probably tell you ....we've applied to have the house Listed. It would be a shame to lose it to time and decay, don't you think?" Perhaps it was a low blow, but Kit wanted to get her opinion in there quickly.

Rand had yet to mention that his name was the same as the man who'd built Nichols House, unsure if Kit's mother would even make the connection. He felt Amelia's eyes on him, but ignored her for now, focusing his attention on the discussion at hand. "It's a lovely piece. The church is very fortunate to have it," he commented on the work of art he'd seen for himself and knew to be a matter of pride for the church in question. He was holding a lot close to his chest for now, as if testing the waters first to see if they were safe. He had not yet revealed much about himself at all, other than how he'd met Kit.

"I think that's a spendid idea, Katrina!" Andrew broke in. "We really must do something to preserve our aging treasures, self included!" he added with a warm chuckle.

She laughed, aware that her mother had not risen to the bait and a little wary of why. "I'm sure you're not old enough to be declared Listed, Andrew," Kit assured the older man. She liked him already, which was unfortunate; unless he had a firm grip on her mother, he wasn't likely to be in her circle for more than a few years.

Amelia, meanwhile, seemed to have come to a conclusion. "And what is it you do, Randal?" she asked, to all intents and purposes genuinely interested. "You remind me of someone, but I can't quite put my finger on it. Don't tell me Katrina's managed to catch the eye of someone famous who could have anyone?"

Rand caught the slight, as subtle as it was, but again let it go, choosing to answer her question honestly and forthrightly, without telling her more than she needed to know. "I'm a lawyer," he replied, choosing that term for his chosen profession, rather than solicitor, which sounded so much less important. The less information he gave her, the better, he thought. "I'm sure it will be Kit who's famous one day, not me," he countered, giving his wife's hand a pat.

Thankfully, the waiter chose that moment to wander over and inquire if they wanted to order drinks or appetizers. Rand let Andrew choose the drinks from the variety of whiskies in the scotch bar and ordered the scallops plate for his starter.

"A lawyer" Goodness me, Katrina, you did hit the jackpot, didn't you?" Amelia chuckled, raising her eyes to the waiter to order for both herself and her daughter without even a glance. It was just as well Kit wasn't in an argumentative mood, though it looked as though she was going to be eating rabbit for her starter, and risotto for her main. She flicked a vaguely amused glance in Rand's direction - at least her mother hadn't ordered fish. "And here was I, only last week, worrying that you were going to end up with some coarse soldier or penniless musician like your grandmother did. Wasn't I, darling?"

This was offered to Andrew, which meant that Amelia completely missed the way Kit almost choked on her water trying not to laugh.

Rand bristled just a little at the remark about soldiers and musicians, but somehow managed to hold his tongue again, except to defend his predecessor, which was, in all truth, himself. "You may as well know that I am distantly related to the man who built Nichols House, who was both a solider and a musician, and who was neither coarse nor penniless. In fact, he was quite well off, as can be evidenced by the grandeur of the estate."

That, at least, made him chuckle. "I promise I won't strangle her, but I can't promise much more than that." He glanced back toward the dining room, wondering if it was safe to return and whether or not her mother had any clue what she'd said that had caused them both such pain. He wasn't sure if it was worse knowing she was ignorant of her own faults than if she knowingly caused such damage. "I suppose it would be rude to leave now that we're here."

"We don't have to stay long," she promised him. "Let them feed us, and I doubt Andrew would misunderstand if we leave straight after the meal." Her fingers brushed his cheeks tenderly. "I love you," she reminded him fervently. "One silly woman is not enough to spoil our honeymoon. It's only a few hours, love, no more."

Reassured and comforted by her, he frowned back at her, knowing she was right, but dreading going back to that table where he was going to have to put on a fake smile and pretend he was having a good time. Well, at least, Andrew seemed pleasant enough company. What he was doing with the likes of Amelia, Rand could only guess. "Yes, all right. I suppose we must," he agreed, wishing things could have been different, wishing Kit could have the relationship with her mother than she not only deserved but craved. He drained the remains of his scotch, which was far too expensive to let go to waste before turning away from the bar and taking her hand to head back to the table where her mother was waiting.

She bit her lip, holding firm for a moment. "I can do it myself," she offered quietly. "If you would rather not stay. I've handled my mother before, I can do it again. I don't want you struggling, love, not at all. Not if I can possibly avoid putting you through it."

"No," he replied, repeating the word in a softer tone of voice. "No, Kit. You are my wife. My place is here with you." He drew a deep breath as if to gather his courage and his composure. "I love you, and if she is going to be part of our lives, she is going to have to accept that we are together and that we are always going to be together." He touched a light kiss to her lips before taking her arm. "Let's try again, shall we?"

She relaxed just a little, leaning into him as he kissed her. "Thank you," she breathed against his lips, hugging close for a long moment before gathering herself together once again. "Let's go back." She smiled gently, drawing him away from the bar and back into the restaurant.

He escorted her, hand in hand, back to the dining room to the table where her mother and new husband was sitting huddled close together in conversation. A few more hours was all Kit asked, and he was determined to get through it with as little conflict as possible. "I apologize for my rudeness," he said as they approached the table, taking the blame for what had just happened, though it was clearly not his fault at all. "My mother passed away a short time ago, and I'm afraid I'm not handling it as well as I hoped."

Kit glared at her mother from behind Rand's shoulder, and was genuinely surprised by the discomforted expression on the older woman's face.

"No, Randal, I am the one who should apologize," Amelia said awkwardly, glancing briefly to her fiance before continuing. "I rarely think before I speak. The rudeness was mine, and I do apologize for it. I am very sorry to hear of your loss."

Kit's glare softened, slightly disbelieving eyes turning to look at Andrew curiously. What had he said to effect this miracle"

Rand wasn't sure what had happened while he and Kit had been at the bar, but he suspected Andrew had intervened for him, perhaps insisting Amelia apologize to her daughter and new son-in-law. "Thank you," he said as he once again pulled out a chair for Kit before reclaiming his own seat. He wasn't sure if Amelia was sincere in her condolences, nor did it matter. It was just a few hours of his life, after all. "In the end, her death was a blessing. I'm sure she's at peace now."

There was a moment of awkward silence as the younger couple took their seats once again, allayed only by the arrival of the first course of their meal. Amelia, clearly feeling the sting of whatever had been said to her, cast around for a subject that wouldn't cause too much aggravation. "How are you enjoying your honeymoon?" she asked, a hint of the timid woman a part of Rand remembered showing through. "You seem very happy to be here."

It was going to take a little more than casual conversation for Rand to warm up to the woman again, but he was willing to make an effort to at least be cordial, if not friendly. "I have to admit, it was a little spontaneous, but we saw no reason to wait when we both knew what we wanted," he said, turning a warm smile on Kit and giving her hand a soft squeeze before letting go. If that smile didn't tell their companions how much he loved her, then nothing else would.

"Spontaneous seems to suit us," Kit agreed softly, brushing her thumb over his knuckles before letting him go. "We got married in Gretna Green, Mum."

Amelia's eyes lit up, surprised and seemingly pleased by this news. "Oh, how wonderful, Katrina," she smiled over her meal. "You've always wanted to marry there."

Despite Kit's surprise at realizing that sometimes her mother did pay attention, this little declaration seemed to clear the air a little between mother and daughter. "What about you?" she asked the older couple. "What are you planning for your wedding?"

It was a safe enough subject, and Amelia was only too happy to gush about their plans for their own wedding ceremony, filling the air with talk of guests and flowers and dresses. When she put her mind to it, she could be a perfectly charming dinner companion, and it seemed that she had decided to put her mind to it, even going so far as to ask for Kit and Rand's advice on simple things now and then. With that awkwardness overcome, the meal passed surprisingly easily, proof that Amelia didn't have to be quite so glaringly insincere in order to spend time with her own daughter.

By the time dessert arrived, the four of them were chatting amicably together and even laughing as Amelia and Andrew shared their own plans for their impending nuptials. It was hard not to like Andrew, who seemed to be a calming influence on Amelia, and Rand found himself actually growing fond of the old man. He still hoped Amelia and Kit could overcome their differences, but now knew it was going to be a lot harder than he'd originally assumed.

Perhaps it hadn't been as calm an evening as Kit had hoped for, but she couldn't help being glad that Andrew seemed to have some access to the woman her grandmother had always said was in there somewhere. It boded well, at least for her mother's future. Maybe this one would last. Still, it had been a long couple of hours, and she was happy to refuse dessert with a smile, edging her seat closer to Rand, to lay her cheek against his shoulder as he and Andrew chatted, unaware of Amelia's eyes on her. For all the woman's lack of maternal instincts, there was a wistful sort of happiness in her eyes as she watched her daughter, absorbing just how comfortable, how happy, Kit was with her new husband.

"Somehow I don't think there's anything very enticing about Marley's Ghost, do you? And chains are a bit extreme, don't you think" It's supposed to be about titillation, not torture," he pointed out as he waited beside her for the elevator. "There's more than one use for bathrobe sashes, however," he teased, glad it was just the two of them there, so they weren't in danger of being overheard.

"Even your bathrobe's sash?" she laughed, one hand resting on his arm as she gave into the urge to remove her shoes. She wasn't really a high heels sort of girl, at least in the shoes department - boots were a different matter. Losing inches didn't matter so long as her feet stopped aching.

"Is there any other?" he teased back, unable to stop himself from darting a glance to her feet as she stepped out of her shoes. There wasn't anything sexier, in his opinion, than a woman who wasn't wearing any shoes. He cleared his throat suddenly as if to distract himself from any lascivious thoughts, at least until they found their way to their room.

She laughed, catching the flicker of his gaze as he looked down at her feet with a rather knowing glimmer in her eyes. "Well, maybe we should buy you a new bathrobe so you don't need to worry about ripping the old one up if I get excited," she suggested, drawing him by the hand into the elevator as it arrived.

"Mmm, sounds like a plan," he admitted as she drew him into the elevator. Why he was so damned attached to that old bathrobe was something of a mystery, but was probably similar to why she was so attached to that old coat of hers.

Giggling, Kit leaned back against the wall of the elevator as the doors closed, sighing with contentment. She rested there for a moment, lifting her head to offer him a decidedly cheeky smile, one hand rising to crook her finger in his direction. "Come here."

He smiled, amused at the fact that his wife seemed unable to wait until they got to their room before she wanted a piece of him. "Yes?" he asked, as he crossed the small space toward, knowing they didn't have much time before the bell dinged to let them know they'd reached their floor.

"Nothing." How was that for an innocent smile" It almost succeeded, but for the decidedly wicked glint in her blue eyes as she looked him over. "I'm just wondering if I told you how deliciously edible you look this evening."

"You have now," he replied with a smile as he slid his arms around her waist to draw her close, leaning his head in to leave a trail of soft kisses against her throat. There was no question where this was leading; it was just a matter of how much they'd be able to accomplish before that silly bell dinged.

Just like that, all thought of her mother's thoughtless behavior was forgotten, washed away in the slow spill of loving pleasure he gave as she curled her arms about his neck. So much for dignity of any kind - not that clumsy Kit practiced it much, anyway. She grinned, gently nipping his ear, and jumped lightly up to wrap her legs about his hips, as close as she could get without thoroughly embarrassing both of them in a relatively public place. Well, not embarrassing herself, anyway ....the fact that she was murmuring salacious details about what she intended to do to him the second they were truly alone might not have been doing much for the equal partition of his blood supply.

His body was definitely reacting to her attention in ways that were both pleasant and uncomfortable, not to mention hard to hide from her in the position in which she had put herself. The things she was murmuring into his ear were shocking enough to make a sailor blush, but only further added to his distress. Unable to restrain himself much longer, he pushed her up against the corner and kissed her much more thoroughly than before, making sure she knew without question what effect her seduction was having on him and that he had no intention of letting her off the hook.

He had married a very tactile little woman, and this was his reward for that action. Not that she minded, of course - Kit was bound and determined to do everything she could, whenever she could, to keep him away from any doubts about her heart and soul belonging entirely to him. The sound he muffled with his kiss was certainly not suitable for public consumption, even if she did dissolve into loving giggles when the ding of the elevator cut short any further demonstrations. Her nose circled his tenderly as she drew her fingers through his hair. "Can you walk, love, or do you need something carried?"

As far as he was concerned, the elevator announced its arrival at their floor far too soon for his own comfort, and he groaned in frustrated annoyance as she cut their kisses short, even as she was still wrapped around his mid-section. "Nothing wrong with my legs," he murmured back as her nose touched his and he felt her fingers in his hair. He was tempted to make a dash to their room just as they were, but thought better of it. He was a little old-fashioned, after all, and it would never do for strangers to see them that way. He carefully unwrapped her legs from his waist and lowered her back onto the floor. "Last one there is a rotten egg?" he asked, with a playful gleam in his eyes.

"Hmm ..." She looked up at him musingly as she backed out onto their floor, seeming to consider this for a moment before taking off at a run without warning, bare feet giving her a distinct advantage on worn carpet, even if she didn't have the key.

He rolled his eyes, even as he chuckled at her willingness to play along. "You cheated!" he called as he dashed after her, his long-legged stride not having much trouble in catching up with her, even if he was wearing shoes. He snagged her arm as he caught her, just outside the door to the room and pushed her up against the wall again to smother her in another kiss as he fumbled with the key.

"Of course I did!" was giggled back to him, her laughter lost in the kiss he pressed to her lips as she was pinned back against the wall, doing her damnedest to distract him as thoroughly as she could while he tried to open their door. She loved this sweet juxtaposition of his character - the old-fashioned gentleman who wouldn't be seen dead embracing his wife in an elevator, and the modern man who was quite happy to chase said wife down a corridor and kiss her until her head was spinning.

It was sometimes like two opposite sides of his soul struggled for dominance, though they were not all that different in the end. It was more often than not the modern Rand who won the struggle as he was far more comfortable in this day and time than the other whose memories and experiences had so recently merged with his. He couldn't help but break away from her lips, gasping for breath and grinning from ear to ear as she tried to distract him. "I should take you over my knee," he warned as he tried to focus his attention on getting that door open before someone popped a head into the hallway to see what all the fuss was about.

Perhaps it was strange, that after a solid year of swearing to love him always, of promising that her steadfast heart was never going to falter, she should suddenly worry that perhaps she wasn't everything he wanted or needed, afraid of losing this wonderful feeling. He was right; it had been so long since she had been truly happy, she didn't quite know what to do with it. Her life revolved around him now. She nestled close in the tangled sheets, murmuring his name lovingly. "You should tell me when you want me to stop taking my pill, you know," she added, a little teasingly perhaps, but serious with the subject she chose.

He arched a brow at her question, obviously a little surprised by it. They'd talked about having a family someday, but they'd never discussed a time frame. They'd only just gotten married a few days ago, and while he wanted to have a family, he hadn't had much time to think about it just yet. He was quiet a moment before replying, wondering what she wanted. It wasn't like there was any reason to wait really. They were both fairly settled with jobs and a home, but were they really ready to be parents" "What do you want?" he asked, wondering what she was thinking.

She bit her lip. It wasn't something she had thought too hard about herself, brought to light by her mother's thoughtless insinuation earlier. However hurtful that might have been at the time, though, it did raise the question. "I ....I'd like to wait a while," she admitted softly, stroking her fingers against his cheek with loving tenderness. "I want to enjoy us for a while, before we contemplate bringing a baby into the chaos that is me." She laughed quietly. "I have an awful mental image of me falling over and squashing our children at random."

"We could always wrap them up in bubblewrap," he suggested with a grin. Though she might think herself clumsy, he thought she was being too hard on herself. "You're going to be a brilliant mother someday, but I do think we should wait a bit." Not because he didn't want children or because he didn't think they'd be good parents, but because he, too, wanted a little time to enjoy being a twosome before they became a threesome.

"And I want to enjoy Christmas with you, without worrying about morning sickness or not letting myself get tipsy," she added, just a big child at heart herself. She loved the Christmas season the way her grandmother had - not the gaudy commercialized thing it had become, but the bright, festive, family celebration Katherine had taught her to enjoy over the decade they had lived together. It was just around the corner; any day now, he was going to catch her hauling an eight foot tree in through the front door again.

Thankfully, this time he'd be able to help with that tree and actively take part in their holiday celebrations. He'd be able to decorate and bake cookies and go to church and exchange gifts, like everyone else did. And for the modern-day Rand, he'd be able to spend his first Christmas in the house he now shared with his new wife. "We should make a list," he suggested, snuggling closer.

She giggled happily, glad he was as enthusiastic about the season as she was. "I need to make the Christmas pudding soon, or it won't be edible in time," she admitted gleefully, tracing her fingertip down along his nose and over his lips. "Should I get you an ugly sweater?"

"That's not what I meant," he said, chuckling a little at her question, though she seemed to have misunderstood what he meant. He turned his head toward her as she traced her finger against his face. "I meant a list of things we want to do before we have children." Because once they started a family, things were bound to change.

"Oh, like ....lunge wildly at the Pope, that sort of thing?" she asked innocently, stealing a line from one of her favorite comedians and making herself laugh in the process.

He chuckled again, seemingly familiar with that particular event. "I wouldn't recommend putting that on the list," he said. "Isn't there anything you'd like to make sure we do before we start a family?" he asked curiously, unable to think of a single thing himself at the moment.

She thought for a moment, but there was really only one thing she had always wanted to do but never had the motivation for. "I, um ....I've always wanted to visit Bavaria," she admitted shyly. No surprise there - the craftsmen and women of that region were known for the beautiful simplicity of their woodwork, but there was far more to see than just carvings. "Maybe I should get a whiteboard and put it up in the kitchen, we can add things as we think of them."

"Bavaria," he echoed, not quite making the connection with the woodworking, but knowing the countryside there was purported to be lovely. "All right. The next trip we take will be to Bavaria." He knew it might take a lifetime to do everything they wanted to do together, but at least, it was a start. "I'd like to take our children to Disney someday."

"Paris or Florida?" she asked with an impish smile, amused by the way their one-item list of things to do before they had children had morphed into what they'd like to do when they did have children. "You know, I love you with everything I have, but I have no idea what you like to do."

"Paris," he replied without hesitation. "I should like to visit Paris again," he mused aloud, his thoughts drifting a moment to memories of both this lifetime and the one previous. "I'm really rather boring, come to think of it."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," she told him, shaking her head at his assessment of himself. "You are in no way boring. Just because you may not like, I don't know, hang-gliding or something death-defyingly stupid like that, it doesn't make you boring at all."

He laughed again, mostly at himself and the thought of him doing anything even close to risky. "I think perhaps there was enough excitement during the war to last me..." He trailed off, realizing suddenly that he was talking about another lifetime, one that only part of him seemed to remember.

She didn't blink, nuzzling in close to kiss him as he trailed off. "Well, I don't know about that," she murmured, "but you're definitely exciting enough for me. You may have to learn to get used to catching me out of thin air when you come home in the evenings, because I do believe I can guarantee pouncing on you every time."

"Yes, well, you haven't seen any of my work yet," he pointed out. "I thought about going to art school, but law pays better." That wasn't the only reason, but it was the only reason he was giving her at the moment. He hadn't had much time to indulge in sketching and painting these last few years and was eager to try his hand at it again.

He'd never have to pay anyone to frame his work for him again, that much was certain. Kit smiled at the excuse she was given, fairly sure that wasn't the only reason he had decided against art and on the law. "You'll have to show me some of it soon, then," she told him affectionately. "After all, you've seen my workshop in all its glory."

"Yes, but you are an artist, Kit," he reminded her. There was a big difference between someone who painted for a hobby and one who sculpted for a living, or so he thought. It never occurred to him to try and make a living from painting; it was just something he did purely for enjoyment.

"There's no difference," she told him, shaking her head with a warm smile, her words almost echoing his thoughts. "Why do you think I sculpt' I do it because I enjoy it, and I'm lucky enough that people like what I create and are prepared to spend ridiculous amounts of money on it. That could change in a heartbeat, but it wouldn't me carving. I would very much like to see some of your work, love, but only if you're comfortable to show me. I know it's very personal."

"I think I'd like that," he said, though he was more than a little nervous about showing anyone his work. There wasn't much to show her really, but if there was anyone he was willing to share it with, it was her. "I'm afraid some of it was put in storage when....when Mum died." At the time, there hadn't seemed much point in taking it with him, and so it, along with some other things he'd deemed unnecessary, had gone into a storage unit until he got himself settled in Hastings.

The compassion that had drawn him to her even when she was a child softened her expression as he mentioned his mother, gentle fingers smoothing against his cheek. "You never talk about her, you know," she said softly, not wanting to push but sensing that he needed to talk to someone about his loss. "She must have been very special. If you ever do want to talk about her, I'd like to hear it."

"She was very special," he replied, a soft smile on his face at the memory of his mother, touched by Kit's concern and compassion. "I will," he promised. "I'm just not ready yet." He wasn't sure when he would be ready. Would talking about her be a relief or would it only make it hurt worse" "What about you? You must miss your Gran." Strange how they had both lost the person who'd meant the most to them in all the world and both relatively recently.

"I do," she confessed quietly. "But she's everywhere in our home. Her personality is stamped on every piece of wallpaper, all the restoration work that's already been done. I keep finding notes in her handwriting, hidden away in drawers - just little things to remind herself what she was planning to do at some point, but ....I don't know. I didn't come home in time to say goodbye, and I'm always going to feel guilty for that."

"She knew, you know," he said, touching his fingers to her cheek, hoping to return some of the caring and compassion she had given him so freely. "She knew how you felt about her. You were very dear to her, Kit. She was very proud of you." He offered a small smile before sliding close to touch a tender kiss to her lips, hoping he could ease her heartache at least a little.

She smiled, just a little tearful as they talked about her grandmother, closing her eyes as he kissed her tenderly. "I'd like to honor her, somehow," she murmured quietly. "Her and your mother. But I don't think I can draw them out of wood. They were both too alive to be captured that way."

He didn't think drawing or painting them would quite capture their spirit either, but he thought he might have an idea. "What about a memorial garden" You could sculpt something for that. A dove perhaps" Or some sort of fountain?" It was only a suggestion; he was sure once she thought on it, she'd come up with plenty of ideas of her own. "Something to remember them both by."

Her smile faltered for just a moment as she considered this, already knowing where they would make such a place. "Beneath the apple trees," she said quietly. "Where the old Randal's parents are already." He'd lost her for a moment, caught up in deciding just what she would carve for the two women who had meant so very much to them in this lifetime. That smile deepened again. "I know exactly what to make for it."

Rand's expression fell just a little at the mention of 'the old Randal' and his parents, though he wasn't quite sure why. "The old Randal" was part of him now; they shared the same thoughts and memories and experiences, and it was always a little strange to think of him as a separate entity. He pushed those confusing thoughts aside for now and turned his attention back to the subject at hand. "What do you have in mind?" he asked, curiously, having no idea whatsoever what would make for a good memorial.

"A mother and child," she said simply. "Nothing overtly recognizable as either one of them, but they were both important to us, in their own way." Her fingers gently touched his cheek; she'd noted the way his face had fallen at her words. "I only say 'the old Randal' because it's his mother and father there already, and I know that his mother can never take the place of yours, love. I know better than most who you are, remember?"

"I like that idea," he said, without hesitation, trusting her not only to make something beautiful, but knowing she was talented enough to accomplish it. "I know," he replied, not too surprised that she seemed to sense what was bothering him. "It's just confusing sometimes, that's all. I have memories of things that he didn't experience, and well, vice versa, but it's as we're one now, and it's all the same thing."

"I can't even begin to understand it, or try to imagine it," she told him softly, brushing the tip of her nose to his. "But I love you, all of you, regardless of what you remember or don't. You're my match, Randal Nichols, and I have no intention of ever letting you go."

"That goes double, Mrs. Nichols," Rand replied, touching his nose to hers. Now that they were together, he had no intentions of ever letting her go. Though they might not have their whole future planned out just yet, if he had anything to say about it, they were going to have many happy years ahead of them.

((And there we have it, one happy couple despite a fairly appalling mother! Many, many thanks to my partner in crime!))