Hunter had never been happier than she was right now. Sure, they were living in the South SIde, and sure there was almost constant gunfire, but she was happy. She had just made Detective in the CPD, and you worked at the underfunded elementary school on the next street over.

They didn't have much, but you could make it work. She came home to good, home-cooked meals and a new underprivileged youth at her dinner table. You two were living off her salary, as all of yours was going into a savings account for IVF. It was Christmas time, and she had been saving for a ring.

You had married her under the oak tree in their backyard, with no license or priest or family because yours didn't speak to you. She wanted it to be official- you deserved something pretty. Today, when she came home, she found you in front of the fireplace. You were holding a small bundle of fur in your arms, feeding it small slivers of what looked to be some of her steak.

When she stomped the snow from her boots and shed her heavy jacket, she walked into the living room. She kneeled behind you, cold hands sliding under the sweater you had thrifted recently to warm themselves on your belly. You let out a noise of protest, but didn't move her hands. In your arms, was a small puppy.

The dog copmed down on the meat happily, content to be warm, covered, and safe. It looked like a young German Shepherd, one ear folded and tail wagging. It had a healing cut over it's left eye, and looked far too lonesome and pitiful for you to allow to sleep on the streets. "Are you feedin' that dog my supper?" Hunter asked, jokingly deepening her voice in false anger. But you didn't realize her teasing, and instead looked sheepish.

"I'm sorry, my darling Hunter. I was only giving him the scraps- I figured that might be alright. I bought one for myself, but you can have it." You said, nervously holding the dog close to your chest. Her expression fell, and she insisted that she was only playing a bad joke and she wasn't actually angry- not even close. She had never given you a reason not to trust her, but you had grown up with a father like that, and it had become an automatic response to become meek and carefully docile under anger.

After she had calmed you down and assured you she would still eat the steak you had made for her, she set her departmentally-issued pistol down on the coffee table and wrapped you up in her arms. As you leaned back and cradled the dog in the blankets like he was the baby you wanted oh-so-badly, you tilted your head up. She leaned down and pressed a kiss to your ever-so-soft lips, pulling away after a few moments. "How was your day, my darling?" You asked hands moving slowly in some sort of spell or rune or something. The lights on the Christmas Tree in the corner came on, and their small home was warm and comfortable- a safe-haven against the brutal snowstorm outside.