"I love your hair," he said and picked up a few strands.

He twisted the curl in his fingers, and Viola looked at the movement from the corner of her eye.

"I believe it's one of the first things you said to me," she murmured.

They lay on the B'n'B bed, her tucked into his side, her laptop on his legs.

"Did I?"

"I mean this time around," Viola explained with a chuckle. "In Nana's kitchen. You stared at me like I'd sprouted feathers and then just deadpanned that my hair was longer."

"It looks rad. Not that the short one wasn't good," he said. "But this is so bloody fit."

He pushed his hand into her hair and then slowly moved it away, letting her curls run between his fingers.

"You've always had a thing for long hair." Viola laughed. "I could tell by the actresses who you said were attractive."

"I suppose," he agreed lightly, still playing with her hair. "Just not as long as Fiona's."

"Too long?" Viola snorted.

He hummed and then turned and pressed a tender kiss to her temple. "Vi?"

"It's boring you, isn't it?" she said. "I told you From Up on Poppy Hill wouldn't be the best choice for you. It's soppy, and slow, and–"

"No, the cartoon is fine," he said, and then tapped the space button on her Mac, pausing the film. He then picked up her hand and kissed the back of it. His whiskers scraped at her knuckles, and then he kissed them again. "Can you tell what's going on? With your thing, and the bleeding, and–" He cleared his throat. "Just– how you feel, and what it means in terms of– you know. Just whatever you can tell me– want to tell me, I mean."

Viola couldn't help but chuckle. Good thing you speak 'Rhys uncomfortable mumbling' fluently, Viola.

"I'm in pain, and I'm bleeding, and we can't have sex for a while," she said. "And I'll need to see my doctor, and I might need a small surgery. And depending on the test results, there are quite a few different ways to proceed. I don't mind talking about it right now. You can ask."

"Right," he said in a dark voice. "And– what's the worst case scenario here?"

What a Rhys thing to ask, she thought entertained.

"A major surgery, possibly a hysterectomy and/or oophorectomy," she answered and met his questioning eyes. "If the removal of the endometriosis tissue doesn't work, or if the pain returns, they can just remove my uterus and my ovaries."

She could see him swallow, his throat bobbed.

"That is the worst case scenario," she reminded him.

"You're so calm about it," he said.

"I'm a doctor, love. They are just internal organs to me," she said. "And I'm still processing obviously. I think, if my life were different, if, say, I was married and trying to conceive, and then received this news, I'd be– less calm about it," she said. "And again, in my case, I hadn't had any symptoms up until now. They will probably start with hormonal therapy. If it fails, they will try a conservative surgery to try to remove the endometriosis tissue and to keep my uterus and ovaries. And of course, if the treatment goes well, they will start pushing me to have a baby, because the longer I wait, the less the chance. I'm also thirty six, never birthed a child, and have a low body mass, so my risk factor is pretty high. In some cases, having a baby lowers the risk of endometriosis tissues regrowing."

His eyebrows twitched, and Viola imagined thousands of little cogs spinning in his brain.

"I sort of thought it's the opposite," he said. "That it's sort of off the table now. Wouldn't it make it worse?"

"Not in some cases," Viola said.

He opened his mouth, and then closed it again. Viola shifted, sitting up straighter, and gave him a warm look over.

"What? Were you going to offer your candidacy to help me out?" she teased, and he looked at her askance.

"You just said we couldn't have sex for a while," he said.

"To think of it, you're right. If I go through treatment and decide to have one, I could just use a donor," she drew out - and then burst into loud laughter at the view of his utterly shocked face. "Heaven above, Rhys! I wish you could see your face!"

She folded in half, her arms wrapped around her stomach, and laughed and laughed. It was definitely a slightly manic reaction, but he did look ever so taken aback!

"Vi, are you– you're joshing, aren't you?" he asked, and she felt on her side, already crying from laughter.

"Oh my– I can't– breathe!Your– face!" she squealed.

"Vi, I can't tell! You're so bloody calm all the time!"

He sounded almost distressed, and she wiped the tears, chuckled a few more times, and rolled on her back and looked at him.

"You are impossible to read," he gritted through his teeth, each word separate. "I don't understand you. Never have. And you're so bloody– regal!" he blurted out.

"Pardon?" she asked, still giggling, and he groaned and rubbed his face with his hands.

"I don't know where I stand with you, Vi," he said in a low voice. "And it drives me bonkers. I'm serious. If we go back to Fleckney, you go back to your flat, and in two months you announce that you found a donor and now you're having a baby of some buff rocket scientist, I won't be surprised. It properly aligns in my noggin with the understanding of your character." He glared at her. "Which I have none of whatsoever. You do your thing, Vi, always have, and I don't know what you're cooking there in your giant brain."

"That's– oddly flattering," Viola said, biting her bottom lip to hold back her laughter.

"It's not a compliment, Vi," he grumbled, but a chuckle rumbled in his throat. "Blimey... Can you just say things to me? You know, just as they are."

"I do, love. But I don't have any answers for you," Viola said and patted his forearm. "There are all sorts of tests to be done, and–"

"I don't mean your endometriosis, Vi," he said, sounding slightly exasperated. "I mean us."

"What about us?"

"I mean, how much your problem is– our problem," he said pointedly. "And before you say anything, I know, alright? Your body, your rules, and so on. But– say, they tell you to have a baby–" He trailed away and gave her an expecting look.

"I think I'd rather do it au naturel than have some buff rocket scientist wank into a tube for me," she said, and he groaned and fell on the bed, face down into the pillow.

Viola giggled from such an unusual display of silly theatrics.

"Vi..."

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry," she said and climbed on top of him.

She stretched along his body, his heat pleasantly soothing the pain in her stomach. He was so massive she could use him as a mattress. She pressed her cheek to his nape and threaded her fingers in the soft curls on the back of his head. He pushed his right hand under his head, settling his cheek on the back of his palm.

"I know what you want to hear, love," Viola said softly. A pang of doubt made her heart clench, but she reminded herself that she'd said it yesterday - that he wanted to marry her and to have her children - and he hadn't argued. In Rhys Holyoake terms, that had been pretty much a proposal. "But I can't make any promises to you," she said. "I'm still in shock, and I need time to wrap my mind around all of it. I need to go back to my flat, just as you said, and go to the doctor, and there will be hospital visits and waiting for the results. And I might ask for your help, or I might retreat into myself, and just deal with it alone, because that's what I do."

"That didn't answer any of my questions," he grumbled. "More, please," he added and pushed his head into her hand for more scratching.

Viola doubled her efforts, which were no effort at all. His hair was soft, heavy, and she realised that perhaps a touch could be her language of love as well.

"In my giant brain," she started, and he chortled under her, making her body shake slightly. "These are two different things," she continued. "My endometriosis and our relationship. Like you said, my body, my rules. If the question of having a baby comes up, I'll decide, and it'll depend on whether I'm ready, whether it's the right time, and only then I'll be able to decide where I'm going to 'obtain' said baby."

"And again, I properly can't suss out if you're joshing," he murmured, his eyes closed.

"I'm not," she said. "Obviously, if you and I are living together in this situation, and we both want it, then we'll have them together. If in this hypothetical scenario we've broken up and I'm living alone in the flat above the surgery, maybe I'll reconsider that buff rocket scientist's tube."

His thick long lashes fluttered, and he peeked at her with one eye.

"You know how I hate emotional, whinging people, and always complain why people can't just be direct and rational?" he drew out.

"Yes," Viola said and kissed his ear.

"I take it back," he deadpanned. "Your cold rational mind is killing me."

"Would you rather I cried, asked you to marry me, moved in with you, although our relationship is untested, and then demand you to whisk up a baby with me as soon as possible?" she asked.

"Well–" He faked thoughtfulness, and she swatted his shoulder. "Maybe not the crying, marrying, or whisking up parts, but–" He raised his one visible eyebrow.

"Rhys," Viola said softly, and he closed his eyes again.

"Just remember the offer always stands," he said. "I'll hire Mrs. Little on a permanent basis, and I swear to hang my jackets in the closet as soon as I come in."

Viola opened her mouth hoping some clever retort would develop, but it didn't, and she went back to scratching his head.