The scent of cinnamon and warm apples filled the kitchen as you pulled the pie from the oven, its golden crust bubbling at the edges. You set it on the counter with a satisfied sigh, wiping your hands on a dish towel just as the front door creaked open. You're about to happily greet your wife when your eyes widen and your jaw nearly drops at the sight of her.

You know for sure most of the blood staining Grell's clothes isn't hers, but you can't mistake the bruise on her forehead and the dark stains deeply coated into the fabric of her vest. She looks exhausted, but she still manages a soft smile once her eyes meet yours.

"Good evening, darling," Grell muses, her voice soft and slightly hoarse. The sight of your wide-eyed, pouty face makes her chest ache, and she's quick to make another affirmation. "Oh, don't worry, most of this isn't mine." Your look of concern doesn't waver and she sighs internally. After all the time Grell's spent as a grim reaper without any serious and longing relationships with anyone, she wonders how she got so lucky to find a little human so willing to dote on her.