Exiting the room, several sets of eyes swivelled around to look at her. Ollie, however, wasn't one of them -too busy playing with his grandmother's hair.

"What happened.." Lizzy asked, jumping up from her chair.

"I've told him the truth, but he's confused and still not convinced. I thought maybe Ollie could help him remember?" she

The doctor nodded with approval. "Good thinking, Miss King. Do you or Mr Stones mind if I come along?"

"I presumed you'd ask that so I already discussed it with Harraël and we're both fine with it."

Soundlessly, Cassie handed her grandson over to his mother and shot her a half-hearted smile.

"He'll be okay, I am sure of it." Moira told her while balancing Ollie on her hip. "He took the news much better than I would've expected."

Her face softened, though the deep crease between her eyebrows remained.

"He's a hardhead, just like his mom." Moira tried again, and this time, Cassie cracked a smile.

"I know."

With a clipboard in hand, the doctor held the door open, and closed it behind them after they'd both entered. A smiling Harry sat propped up in bed, watching his visitors with interest. But before anyone could speak, the flapping of tiny arms and the exclaiming of cheery squeals indicated Ollie had spotted his dad.

Filled to the brim with love, Moira looked down at their overly-excited baby boy. "He's missed you."

"Really?"

"You're his dad." She said in a way that inclined his question was the most ridiculous thing in the world. Which it was.

Harry's face modified, eyebrows folding down and his expression becoming solemn. It was such a radical change from the smiling boy just a few seconds ago. He parted his lips. "Can I..." he began in a hushed tone, his eyes meeting hers like two magnets connecting. "hold him?"

"You don't even have to ask, silly." Moira practically shoved their son on top of him.

Ollie didn't seem to have any type of problem with that though, for he happily clung to his daddy and nuzzled his face into the crook of Harry's neck -babbling as he did.

An expectant silence settled over the room as Harry observed the tiny miracle in his arms, seemingly deep in thought.

"He looks so young."

Moira laughed. "That's because he is. 10-months remember?"

Ollie's wide, emerald eyes were watching him intently, his little cheeks flushed from all the excitement and Harry had to stop himself from cooing a high-pitched 'aww'. Bored with the lack of action, Ollie decided to lift his hand and stick a finger up his dad's nose. The shocked reaction he received was all the entertainment he needed, as a grand stream of giggles spilled from his mouth.

"Glad you find that amusing, little man." Harry muttered, as a ghost of a smile flashed across his face. Gently removing Ollie's finger, he continued to fold his tiny hand into a fist, and then pretended he was going to eat it -which only provoked an even bigger wave of hysterical giggles.

Suddenly, he froze.

"Harry? What's wrong?" Moira sounded panicked, although nobody could blame her.

He ignored her question as he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to their son's forehead. In return, Ollie brought the hand he'd been holding to his lips, and placed a clumsy, open-mouthed kiss of his own against his skin. Harry smiled.

"I think I remember."

Her head snapped up and she boarded a seesaw of emotions. Her heart in her throat, her palms sweaty, and adrenaline starting to sprint through her veins.

The doctor had a similar reaction, his eyes widened three times their size. "You do?" he questioned, evidently surprised as he began scribbling down notes.

"Yeah, I remembered one morning when all three of us were in bed together and Ollie poked Moira's eyes," he paused, chuckling slightly. "That triggered the memories, I think. Because after that, image after image began streaming in. As if I'd finally found the key to a locked photobox it was... weird."

The doctor nodded, writing some more notes. "What do you remember about the days before the accident?"

"I quit the band," Harry frowned. "and drove through a red light." The feeling of complete and utter shame washed over him, he felt disgusted with himself, wondering how he could have ever been so stupid to bring himself and other drivers into danger. He felt relieved that the crash had only seriously injured him, and no other people as well. Apparently the driver had been able to walk away with just a few scratches. Thank god.

The doctor performed a physical examination, and two brain scans. Just to be sure they weren't overseeing any major errors. Which as it appeared, they weren't. As it turned out, Harry had emerged from his coma with a mild form of False Memory Syndrome. Luckily for him, it had only lasted for a couple of hours.

If all went well, he'd be discharged from the recovery ward and ready to go back home in two weeks. Although he'd still have to go to muscle therapy every day for the upcoming two months. But as long as he'd be with his family, he did not mind.

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"Moira."

Harry's voice was gentle when he called out her name, just as the door was pushed open; a bright light flicked on and conveniently illuminated her path up to where he stood in the doorway of the bedroom, waiting for her. After she passed him, their shoulders briefly brushing, Harry closed the door behind him.

More silence followed the gentle slam of the door shutting. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as his warm breath wafted down her skin; fighting down a shiver, she continued to ignore him and took the first couple of steps towards the left side of the hallway.

Harry lashed out suddenly, hand grabbing her arm in a tight grip; she was wheeled around swiftly to face him.

"Where are you going?" he demanded in a quiet but hard voice. She saw the clinch in his eyelids as he narrowed his eyes at her, as she felt herself doing the same. But she didn't want to look at him, in fear she'd burst into hysterics, or tears.

"Shower," she mumbled, weakly trying to yank her arm free. Harry let go without a word, making her stumble back a few feet. She shot him one last glare before pivoting on her heel and marching towards the bathroom; it wasn't until half-way that she felt his presence again.

"Go aw-"

"I want to join." He stated calmly, a hand just grazing over the small of her back. They reached the bathroom door and she halted in place, his body accidentally bumping into hers.

"No." she told him sternly, staring straight ahead at the wall facing her.

Harry chuckled softly -presumably at her immature behaviour. His hand pressing down on her skin with some more pressure, to try and physically coax her to open the door. Digging her feet into the carpet, she rounded in on him with a face that could only be described as '80% done'. Harry stopped laughing, his face solidifying into an emotionless mask as he looked down at her with curious, solemn eyes.

"Why are you still angry?" he asked, his voice remaining calm. still remaining calm. She shook her head stubbornly, denying his words immediately.

"This is not about me being angry. This is about me wanting to take a shower by myself. Which is legal in this country, you know?" She replied loudly, trying to side-step him.

"But I want to take a shower with you."

An arm wrapped around her waist before she could book any sort of progress. Involuntarily, a sigh escaped from her lips - a sigh of defeat. She was giving in, once again, and she didn't like it. Better yet, she fucking despised this particular side-effect of love. No matter what he did, she'd always forgive him in the end. And it made her feel weak.

Slowly, she peeled his arm off her before giving him her response. "Fine." She said, voice soft and tired. She was emotionally, mentally, and physically exhausted. The stress from the last months finally taking their toll on her. Not to mention reality had finally dawned on her.

Harry had flushed his career down the drain and worst of all; risked his life -in the span of three days.

"But you can forget about having sex, Harry. I can't even stand to look at you right now."

He let out a sharp exhale so tiny that she had to glance up at him just to make sure she hadn't imagined the noise. Sure enough, his lips were parted slightly; she hadn't imagined it. His face cleared of all traces of emotion as she allowed him to drag her into the bathroom. He flicked the light on and walked over to the shower, slid back the glass door, and turned it on. The jets started with a slight tremble before water spurted out of it quickly, hot steam rising as soon as it hit the cool tile of the shower floor.

Then, he slowly turns to her. Moira bit her lip, eyeing the shower then eyeing him as his gaze softened when it ventured up and down her body. Finally, she understood what people meant when saying somebody was undressing them with their eyes; Harry literally was.

His fingers rose up to play at his hemline, no use for tending to the three buttons at the top of his gray long sleeve since he already left those undone. They kept eye contact as he lifted the shirt from his body and pulled it off. He looked at her expectantly once the shirt dropped to the floor, but she was too busy unwillingly gazing down his chest, softly sweeping over the permanent ink stuck onto his skin. He had so many of them, some that still left her full of wonder to this day. But she had to swallow thickly and tear her eyes away when she saw his most recent tattoo, the one he'd gotten for her birthday.

That hurt to look at.

He'd risked it all. And though it seemed like Moira was angry at him. She really wasn't. In reality, she was scared to death. Terrified that he'd be taken away from her. Now that she had a first-hand experience of what it was like to live without him, she never wanted him to leave her side again.

Staring at the floor rather aggressively, her hands began to fumble with the waistband of her jeans, undoing the button and pulling down the zipper before she slid the fabric off her legs and kicked them away. She heard Harry do the same.

The slam of the shower door startled her a bit, and when she looked up, she found he was already in and standing under the hot stream of water, his neck bent down, face lowered. Moira paused to stare at him for a few moments, her eyes running up and down the parts of his body she loved most; everything.

Finally, she whipped off her shirt and unclasped her bra before tiptoeing over to the glass and joining him.

He didn't look up when she entered, but did make room. Cautiously, she slid her body into place between his and the glass wall separating the shower from the bathroom; his hand fell to her waist without a word said, and when Moira saw he wasn't going to make another advancing move, she let him keep them there.

Finally, he tilted his head up and a sense of déjà vu washed over her as she was reminded of the first time they saw each other. With curious eyes he had watched her, eyes that seemed to pierce right through her, eyes that had momentarily rendered her speechless; their beauty close to overwhelming. He looked exactly like he did then, only now, his hair had grown, he had a new tattoo, and his eyes.. they looked older.

Naturally, and like everyone else, he aged. But Moira reckoned that the stress from the past 14 months must have matured him significantly.

Something snapped inside of her as she found herself leaning into the pressure he was applying onto her hips. Soon enough, she'd lowered herself into his arms, and he was wrapping them around her slowly, hesitantly -respecting her.

"I thought you said you couldn't even stand to look at me," he murmured against her ear. She thought about this for a moment.

"I suppose my heart didn't care."

Under the comforting flow of warm water, they hold each other for what felt like the first time. They stood there for minutes, their skin wrinkling like cherry-red prunes, the steam fogging up the glass walls. Their arms never once faltered or fell from around each other until they both knew that it was time to start moving. Otherwise they'd have surely suffocated from the steam increasing in heat and thickness the longer the shower stayed running.

The whole time they slowly washed and rinsed each other of the day's filth, the actions nothing lustful or hurried or sexual but rather thorough and relaxing. She basked in the feeling of how gentle and quiet he was being. True to his word, he'd only wanted to take a shower with her. No drama.

Being naked in front of Harry was something she was comfortable doing now, she supposed, because she had no problems or worries or raging self-consciousness when she stepped out of the shower, hair drenched and skin wet, with Harry right behind her. In fact, she even let him help dry her off -just like he'd done all those months ago.

It was hard not to realize that Harry was aroused; hell, she was too. But she figured they were both too drained that acting upon their arousal would just be too exhausting.

Harry excused himself from the bathroom to grab them clothes; he came back with dark blue sweatpants hung low around his hips, Calvin Klein boxers stuffed beneath them. He held out a shirt for her -one of his shirts actually- and let his eyes linger on the towel wrapped around her just for a millisecond. After she slipped the white fabric onto her body, she realized it was the first time she'd ever worn one of them.

Once underwear was pulled up her legs, Harry looked up from where the hemline of his shirt fell against the middle of her thighs and met her gaze, tilting his head to the side ever so slightly. She felt like he was scrutinizing her as his green orbs continued to stare at her face.

Harry finally shook his head -just a little- and turned around, but not before reaching a hand over to grab hers, his fingers wasting no time in lacing theirs together. Feeling their hands click in place, snuggling into the unknown, internal warmth that comes with it, Moira sighed.

He pulls her out of the bathroom, her drying hair curling down the length of her back and getting his t-shirt damp, his wet hair shining from the lights of the bedroom. Harry got on the bed first, falling back to sit down on his usual side of the mattress and swinging his legs over to rest on top of it; his hand never releasing hers, and she realized why when he gently tugged her on top of him.

Moira hesitated for a moment before her heart gave a wild thump and she complied without another second guess.

They were cuddling, chest to chest. And it felt so good. His heart was pressed to her ear, the warmth of his bare chest leaking into her face and neck and filtering through his thin shirt, keeping her warm. The blanket was tugged up and settled around them by Harry's one hand, and she felt their legs tangle automatically once the covers were over them. After rubbing a loop on her leg, Harry's hand rested on her spine, fingers dancing up and down the bumps of it through the material of his shirt.

"Babe?"

Moira hummed in reply, feeling completely at ease with his masculine, freshly washed scent surrounding her.

"Are we going to be alright?"

She lightly pressed her lips against his chest. "Always."

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